Ironthorn Ridge.
The sky grew darker, yet the rain only grew heavier. Jianghu wanderers traveling north and south had taken shelter at the Iron Lady Inn outside the ridge. The muddy road beyond its doors had long since emptied of people.
The inn was old and yellowed with age. Even the premium rooms upstairs let in drafts, and traces of sword and saber cuts still marked the tables, chairs, and walls.
Dressed as a Jianghu wanderer, He Can held a few bird feathers and circled the table, muttering the Witch Cult's incantation for delivering departed souls-"Mi mi ma ma~"-and occasionally adding:
"That damned Zhang Chu hasn't died, yet you went ahead first, old sir. What a shame..."
"But don't fret, old sir. Zhang Chu and I might be joining you in a few days..."
A copy of Sikong Patriarch's Erotic History stood upright on the table. It had belonged to Ye Shirong's treasured book collection and had been brought out to help an injured man pass the time. The two of them had fled in such haste last night that they had had no chance to take anything else. Now that the authorities had sealed the residence, this was the only keepsake left with which to mourn him.
Beside the tea table, Zhang Chu held a teacup, his expression gloomy. He ignored He Can, who had been frightened out of his mind, and kept his eyes on the old man beside him.
The old man wore a black cloak, with black smoke swirling beneath its hood. Even at such close quarters, his face remained invisible. The only thing that identified him was a black banner leaning against the wall. Its pole was five feet long, and eight characters were inscribed upon it: "Dark nether powers command the waves; the