Time passed swiftly, and it was now late spring in March. Willow fluff danced in the breeze, and the air was filled with the fresh fragrance of budding plants. Beyond Mount Cangwu, a convoy of carriages moved slowly, the flag at the front embroidered with a golden dragon, signifying the noble identity of those inside.
Inside the carriage, Li Yuan was dressed in a light, snowy lavender robe, casually reclining on a soft couch. His expression was gentle, like the calm waters of spring. He idly played with a jade flute in his hand, and the melodious notes intertwined with the chirping of birds and the sound of the wind, creating a serene and harmonious scene.
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Once Shadow Four and Shadow Five followed Li Yuan out of the mountain crevice, the man in black silently emerged from the dark cave. He clutched the wound on his abdomen and left without a sound.
Wen Ji quietly found a boatman and drifted south along the Ying River, entering the Xunzhou territory.
The land in Xunzhou lay low, and the small boat moved swiftly with the current. The elderly boatman, sitting at the stern, took off his straw hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and glanced at the young man sitting silently at the bow. The boy appeared weak, clearly injured, and wore a mask covering his face.
"Young man, where are you coming from?" The boatman handed him a gourd of strong liquor. "It's chilly on the river; don't let the cold get to you overnight."
He didn't refuse, taking the gourd and sniffing it. The liquor slid down his pale throat, the fiery heat clearing his mind. After a few sips, his body warmed, and he lowered the mask, returning the gourd. Once again, he gazed into the distance, staring at the dim lights on the bridge, lost in thought.
After a long pause, he finally spoke. "I'm going to look after a certain young master. He doesn't have enough guards." His voice was low, languid, and casual.
"You're quite loyal! I admire young heroes of the Jianghu," the boatman said with a wide grin, revealing his yellow teeth. His weathered face wrinkled with age as he smiled. "Where are you headed, young man?"
"Xunzhou, Shadow Palace," he replied calmly.
The boatman's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly showed respect, cupping his weather-beaten hands together. "You're from Shadow Palace, sir? My apologies for not recognizing someone of your stature earlier."
"The young men from my village always say that Shadow Palace is an impressive place. They'd give anything to get in, but they say it's tough to survive. The moment they try, they're rejected by the headmaster right away."
"I always figured it must be a great place. How else could it be so strict? Once my grandson grows up, I'd love to send him there for training. He could become a bodyguard for some wealthy family in the city—that'd be something to be proud of."
Hearing this, even the usually composed Wen Ji couldn't help but shudder.
Back then, Shadow Palace wasn't yet the hidden underground stronghold it would become. The imperial court was far away, and passersby mistook it for an ordinary martial arts school. It operated as a legitimate business, collecting taxes from students, and the governor of Xunzhou was happy to let it be a money-maker, though he pocketed his own share of its profits on the side.
Wen Ji's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his voice low and hoarse, "There are better places close by, like Chengluan Dock in the south or the Tujia family in North Huachao Sea. Farther out, you have places like the Canglong Seven Peaks and Luocang Mountain—great places for learning."
"Stay away from Shadow Palace," Wen Ji added, his eyes distant and cold, his words both a warning and a lament. "No one survives there."
He knew all too well who protected the Shadow Palace—the father of the young prince from earlier, none other than the current Prince Qi.
Prince Qi, Li Chongjing, was the emperor's younger brother and one of the most powerful figures in the empire, commanding one of the four major military forces, the Xiaolang Army. His wife, Princess Qi, was the granddaughter of one of the founding generals, Nan Feiluan. The name of Prince Qi's household carried tremendous weight—just hearing it could make anyone tremble.
Such secrets were only known to the handful of top experts who had the skill and fortune to make it to the deepest recesses of Shadow Palace. These people were strictly forbidden from leaving the palace without permission.
Wen Ji had already broken one of the greatest taboos of Shadow Palace.
If the Shadow Palace Master hadn't received news that assassins were plotting to kill the young prince, the situation would have been dire. The palace master had been stunned when he first heard the news. If they had waited to send the Shadow Guards after receiving the message, they would have never arrived in time. To put it bluntly, by then, they would only be able to collect the prince's corpse.
When Wen Ji rushed out, he had flown stealthily for dozens of miles, crossing the Ying River with his exceptional lightness skill. He barely managed to reach the prince in time to protect him from harm. However, he had been gravely injured, and returning to Shadow Palace now would undoubtedly get him caught.
But he had to return.
Only by doing so could he remain beside the prince openly and honorably.
When the small boat docked, Wen Ji leaped ashore. He tossed the boatman a gold nugget, pried from the mural behind the Shadow Palace's back gate, and advised him to melt it down before selling it. With that, he turned and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The old boatman stood there in a daze, glancing around but unable to see a trace of the young man. He bit down on the gold nugget and, feeling its weight, chuckled in amazement. "He really is someone important," he muttered, clicking his tongue as he waited by the shore for another passenger.
The tributary of the Ying River wound its way into Xunzhou, where it was known as the Xun River by the locals. At its far end lay Shadow Palace, nestled in an unremarkable forest at the river's southernmost point. At the end of the river, a small spring bubbled with crimson water.
Passersby, such as woodcutters, would claim the red hue came from a type of red clay washed down from the mountain stones. In truth, the water was real human blood.
Wen Ji stood quietly before the blood spring, his gaze trembling, his steps hesitant. He lingered, unable to move forward.
If he left now, he could escape to the ends of the earth, wherever he wished. Freedom was just beyond the spring.
He took a deep breath, his expression darkening as if the caged bird within him had folded its wings, giving up its bid for freedom.
Beneath Shadow Palace lay a secret purgatory, accessible only to the highest-ranking martial experts. Inside, battles raged like a deadly arena, where comrades of today became rivals tomorrow. To escape the inferno, each person fought fiercely, spilling blood like streams that flowed out through this very spring, so the stench of rot would not fill the pit below.
He hurriedly slipped through the back gate of Shadow Palace, bundling up his night-black clothes and stuffing them into a small crack in the wall. He untied the sword belt from his waist, along with his pair of Green Snake Swords. These swords, soft even in their scabbards, were carefully coiled and tied with the belt, then shoved into a separate crack, concealed with loose stones. He made sure to hide them in different spots.
Pulling off his mask, his pale face was revealed—high nose, thin lips pressed together, and cold, detached eyes under his sharp brows. In an instant, he disappeared, and the next moment, his entire body was hanging from the rafters of Shadow Palace. Crawling silently along the beams, he made his way inside, heading toward the underground chambers. His goal was to slip back to his training grounds unnoticed, while the palace master and the overseers were still resting.
Shadow Palace was ruled by a single master and three overseers. The master was a mysterious and profound figure, rarely seen, while the three overseers each handled different affairs with ruthless precision, never showing any mercy.
The underground training ground was dark and stifling, the air thick with the sickening scent of blood. The floor was littered with bodies, most wrapped in bandages around broken limbs, covered in dirt and blood. It was hard to tell whether they were merely resting or already dead.
Each morning, designated workers would come to clear the bodies from the training grounds. Those who couldn't survive the brutal torture would quietly die during the long, silent nights. Their corpses were dragged away, though no one knew where they were taken or how they were buried.
If one did not wish to become a wandering ghost, they had to rise to the top.
Wen Ji returned to the training ground as quietly as he had left. The area was like a labyrinth, divided into four sections, each for a different training group: Taotie, Jiuying, Baize, and Feilian. The members of Feilian group, about a dozen men, were resting together in the sand, their eyes closed as if no one had noticed Wen Ji's absence.
He slipped back into place, pretending as though nothing had happened.
His sleeve was gently tugged. A young boy beside him, covered in bruises but with delicate features still visible through his injuries, whispered softly, "Brother Ji… be careful…"
This boy was Yan Lingshang, a new recruit to Shadow Palace. He was young and honest, and Wen Ji had taken him under his wing. Yan Lingshang, in turn, was obedient and followed him everywhere, calling him "Brother Ji" like he was his leader. And indeed, Wen Ji was the leader.
The Feilian group consisted of 360 Shadow Guards-in-training. Including those who had died from the relentless torture, there were a total of 500 trainees. Wen Ji was the top-ranked, his test scores exceptional.
The Feilian group specialized in light-footwork and espionage, transmitting secret messages and gathering intelligence. However, in a place like Shadow Palace, where light-footwork was of little use due to the confined space, they were often bullied by the Taotie group, whose members were experts in close combat.
Though isolated from the world, Shadow Palace had no less of a Jianghu atmosphere than the outside world. Most of those who entered the underground purgatory were street urchins, petty thugs, or those who already knew some martial arts. Fights broke out regularly, with broken bones, bloody faces, and even deaths being common occurrences. The overseers, however, didn't interfere, adhering to an unwritten rule within Shadow Palace:
Once you enter, if you die, you deserve it.
Wen Ji had been at Shadow Palace for three years, looking out for the boys in the Feilian group during that time. His exceptional skill in light-footwork allowed him to wear down the combat-specialized Shadow Guards of the Taotie group until they were half-dead with exhaustion, before beating them senseless.
He had killed many, but he had principles. Those who came looking for trouble were killed without mercy, but for everything else, negotiations were possible—like letting the Feilian group have all the meat rations for the month. That would settle things. He also had a rule: he didn't fight women. Any girl trying to throw herself at him was waved off, and he'd have one of his younger brothers escort her out.
Wen Ji was cold by nature, not fond of speaking. He wasn't particularly attached to the title of "boss," but he was too tired to explain, so he didn't bother. Among this batch of Shadow Guard trainees, whether it was the bullies from Taotie or the girls from Baize, who only knew medical support, everyone respectfully called him "Brother Ji" when they saw him.
He just had to endure until the Shadow Palace's prison opened this year, and then he would finally see the light of day again.
A sinking feeling gripped Wen Ji's heart.
Suddenly, his wrists were seized and held down.
With a sickening crack, both of his wrists were dislocated in an instant. Agonizing pain shot through his body, causing him to spasm uncontrollably as he was pinned to the ground, unable to fight back.
"Ugh.." He groaned in pain, forced onto his knees.
All the training ground torches were abruptly lit, illuminating part of the massive underground labyrinth. Wen Ji was pressed firmly against the ground, his peripheral vision catching sight of a boot with gold clasps inlaid with beast bone
stepping into view.
His heart sank like ice water had been poured over it. Steward Xue had arrived, and it was clear that this wasn't going to end well.
A pile of items-his hidden night clothes and mask-was thrown in front of him with a clatter.
Steward Xue sneered coldly, "Where did you
go?"
Wen Ji remained silent, neither speaking nor resisting. He knelt quietly, accepting the punishment for violating the rules of Shadow
Palace.
"Don't think you can do whatever you want just because your scores are better than others,"
Steward Xue growled in fury. "Drag him out."
Yan Lingshang, trembling, crawled a few steps forward and secretly tossed a dagger to Wen Ji, whispering in a quavering voice, "Brother Ji, kill yourself.... No one can survive the salt torture..."
Wen ji shot him a cold grance, his eyes distant and sorrowful, his voice hoarse, "Lingshang, endure these three years, and freedom awaits you outside."
Yan Lingshang froze, watching in a daze as his leader, who had protected him for so long, was dragged away.