Li Xian lay injured, content in knowing that he had performed a marvelous feat of warrior—one of which men would speak for hundreds of years in this kingdom. He had achieved the goals that his master had asked of him he made some mistakes but master had told him to get glory. His cousin had left him; a correct action, as the battle continued and the king's group was advancing. He lay pillowed on the legs of his attendant, Tanwu, who had also taken a terrible wound.
The pain was so great that Li Xian could barely register thoughts—and yet, he was in an ecstasy of relief to be in the service of the heavens with every waning beat of his heart. The massive damage to his side—the great puncture wounds that sucked air and spat blood and bile with every breath—left him satisfied that he had killed the demons against the righteous.
