The Third Prince Lays an Ambush, Crisis Descends Quietly

Night pressed down over the mouth of the alley. Wind skimmed over the walls, making the iron bells beneath the eaves chime softly. Chen Wuya did not break stride, but his shoulders and back had already tensed. He remembered that sound—half an hour ago, when he had left the Second Prince's residence, this alley had been so quiet that not even a cat's shadow could be seen. Now that the bells had stirred, they only threw the surrounding deathly silence into sharper relief.

Bai Zhi trailed half a step behind him, her left hand hidden in her sleeve, fingertips trembling as they gripped the sword hilt. She said nothing, but her breathing was half a beat slower than usual—the sign that she was preparing to strike.

They had barely stepped three zhang into the alley when a roof tile suddenly slipped.

Chen Wuya twisted sharply aside, sweeping his left arm out to shield Bai Zhi behind him. At almost the same instant, a black shadow pounced from the rooftop, a short blade aimed straight at his throat. He had no time to draw his sword. With a flick of the coarse cloth at his waist, the battered iron shortsword slid into his palm, and he slashed upward with a backhand stroke.

The assassin could not pull back in time. The blade swept across his wrist, and he gave a muffled grunt as he flipped away. But before he could hit the ground, four more figures had already leaped down from the roof ridges on either side, closing in like a fan. Blades flashed in crisscrossing arcs, all aimed at the joints of their lower bodies.

"Not night patrolmen," Chen Wuya said softly.

Bai Zhi nodded. Her flexible sword slid from its sheath like a stream pouring across the earth. With