The candle flame flickered.
Yang Zaixian, the native chieftain of Guizhou, lay bare-chested on his bed, sound asleep with a beauty tucked under each arm. He stirred groggily, rolled over, and mumbled with his eyes shut, "Someone, bring tea!"
"Enjoying yourself, General Yang..."
A faint, indifferent chuckle suddenly sounded inside the room.
At the sound, Yang Zaixian's sluggish mind went blank for several breaths. Then he abruptly shot upright and instinctively reached for the saber by his bed, only to grasp empty air.
His expression changed drastically. He snatched up the brocade quilt to shield himself, spread his arms to protect the two beauties behind him, and shouted in shock and fury, "Guards! Guards!"
As his cries rang out, several heavy thuds sounded outside. A number of imposing figures in fitted martial attire burst through the door, hands on their sabers and swords.
Clang...
A clear ring sounded as a long saber left its sheath. The gleaming blade flew toward the doorway like lightning and plunged into the flagstones as easily as a chopstick piercing tofu, its quivering length barring the warriors' way.
The warriors stared in horror and astonishment. A lean, formidable figure clad in black night gear, an iron half-mask covering his face, sat at the square table in the middle of the room, pouring and drinking wine by himself.
One move was enough to reveal an expert's caliber. The black-clad man's display was extraordinary, and not one of the warriors present felt confident of stopping it.
The black-clad man continued drinking, saying without turning his head, "Don't be nervous. I came to exchange a few words with your general, not to kill anyone."
His face livid, Yang Zaixian glanced at the saber still trembling in the floor, then at the black-clad man seated boldly at the square