Chapter Two: The Man with the Ghostly Mask

Page 1 of 3

Suzhou lay in the prosperous eastern realm of the Dashun Dynasty, a place bustling with ceaseless commerce, providing the imperial court with vast sums of revenue each year.

At night, its vibrance did not merely persist—it flourished all the more.

Here, so long as one possessed wealth, one could seek out every conceivable pleasure beneath the heavens.

Yet, from another perspective, such economic magnificence inevitably bred all manner of filth and corruption.

The city teemed with tangled gangs and factions, shady dealings thriving in countless unseen corners. Even if the authorities wished to intervene, they dared not act rashly, for one could never tell if a given gang was the hidden hand of some noble household—or perhaps enjoyed the backing of someone in the imperial court.

Thus, when Xu Feng first appeared in Suzhou, he seemed utterly unrestrained by taboo or fear.

He cared not for the power behind any local faction, nor for the stature of those who sheltered them. If he set his sights on someone, that person was doomed to utter destruction.

Now, having just left the Feng family estate, Xu Feng walked alone along the bustling streets of Suzhou, his pace unhurried and calm.

He paused now and then to buy a bowl of food or watch a street-side opera performance, behaving exactly like any ordinary reveler out for a night stroll.

He had always been cautious in his actions. Even with the Imperial Banner as his trump card, he would only move once he’d investigated and felt utterly certain.

Otherwise, there would have been no need to hide away in the Feng household at Linglong, enduring daily indignities.

He wandered the city, stopping and starting, and after more than an hour found himself at the most prosperous night market in the eastern quarter.

Just as he was about to scout the area for any hidden ambushes, a crippled child beggar dragged himself into Xu Feng’s path, both legs broken.

The filthy little waif tugged at his trouser leg, tilting his head up in supplication. “Kind sir, spare some change?”

Xu Feng squatted beside the child, withdrew a string of copper coins from his sleeve, and dropped them into the battered bowl.

“It’s late. Go home and rest.”

Whether the child heard him or not, he bowed his head repeatedly in grateful thanks before pushing himself into the throng and vanishing.

As Xu Feng watched the small figure disappear, his eyes grew cold and predatory.

He was always cautious, never fighting a battle unprepared—a habit that had kept him from being captured by the authorities or the Six Doors to this day.

He’d come with a plan tonight.

In his recent investigations, he’d learned that a gang called Wild Dog Hall haunted this night market.

Unlike the other gangs in the city, who extorted protection fees from merchants on their turf, the Wild Dog Hall had no right to profit from the lucrative night market.

So they found another way: they lured children into their ranks, crippled their limbs or gouged out eyes and tongues, then sent them into the streets to pose as beggars, playing on the kindness of passersby to raise money for the gang.

If a beggar child failed to bring in enough coin, there would be no food or drink—sometimes even a savage beating.

Few survived more than a few years.

In Suzhou, with its rigidly divided territories, beggars without backers could not survive at all.

So Xu Feng was all but certain that the child just now was one of Wild Dog Hall’s victims.

He licked his dry lips, and a hint of bloodthirst flickered in his usually frail demeanor.

Wild Dog Hall—an ideal target for his first strike.

He circled the night market a few times, finding no trace of an ambush, and finally turned boldly into a dark alley.

His manner shed all prior restraint; he strode swiftly and purposefully into the depths of the passage.

When no one was looking, he drew a ghastly white demon mask from his breast and fitted it over his face.

Page 2 of 3

At the same time, wisps of inky vapor seeped from the tattoo of the Imperial Banner on his back, swirling into twisted, venomous ghostly shades that soon melted into the darkness.

These unnameable things were the souls he had slain, now captured within the Banner—only a dozen or so in number.

Though few, they could serve as secret sentinels under the cover of night or rush to his aid in danger, giving him the sense of a one-man army.

With their help, he quickly found the Wild Dog Hall’s lair.

Under two dim lanterns at the courtyard gate, four gang members dozed. Xu Feng’s footsteps in the puddles startled them awake.

Seeing a masked figure with a naked sword approach, they tensed and drew their weapons.

“Who goes there?!”

Xu Feng did not reply, only tilted his head to observe them. To the four, his silence was uncanny.

Suddenly, he lunged forward, his light steps covering nearly fifteen yards in a flash. Even as they shouted warnings, he was upon them, beheading one with a single stroke.

Blood fountained from the headless corpse as a wisp of black fog slipped into Xu Feng’s back.

With each kill, his strength grew imperceptibly.

He wasted no time—blade flashing, he cut his way into the courtyard.

By now, the Wild Dog Hall’s members, alerted, emerged with swords, spears, and clubs, forming ranks before him.

Yet to Xu Feng, their display seemed oddly unnatural.

He had earned a fearsome reputation among the city’s gangs. Even a group like Wild Dog Hall, upon learning the "Demon Mask" was at their door, would normally show bravado masking their terror.

But now, there was no fear on their faces—only mockery.

Was his attire not obvious enough, and did they not recognize him?

Just as the strangeness struck him, the crowd parted. A fat man with a ring-hilted saber stepped forward.

“Well, well! Such a late-night visitor. Judging by your getup, you must be the so-called Demon Mask?”

Xu Feng did not answer, body tense, prepared to flee.

Yet before he could move, heavy footsteps sounded behind him.

Moments later, blades and torches surrounded the courtyard, sealing every exit.

The uniforms and silent discipline of these men marked them as no mere gangsters.

Six Doors.

Xu Feng’s heart plummeted.

Damn it—he’d been set up!

There had been no sign of an ambush during his scouting; even the ghostly sentinels had given no warning. Where had these men come from?

Seeing Xu Feng on edge, the Wild Dog Hall leader’s fat face twisted into a grotesque grin.

“Well now, Demon Mask! Weren’t you here for my head? Why so still? Or did the sight of Six Doors’ officers outside scare you stiff?”

Page 3 of 3

While the man sneered, three figures approached from behind.

The first was a middle-aged man in Six Doors’ purple uniform, his face stern and severe.

To his right stood a youth holding a sword in both arms, whose features bore a striking resemblance to Zuo Jincheng, with whom Xu Feng had once crossed paths.

On the left was a petite, exquisitely dressed young woman—beautiful and haughty.

Xu Feng’s heart lurched as he recognized her—Feng Yumian!

What was she doing here?

Had his identity been exposed? Was she the one who tipped off Six Doors?

But Feng Yumian did not spare him a glance. Instead, she kicked the Wild Dog Hall leader in the thigh. “Out of my way!”

Though lacking martial skill herself, her casual kick sent the blustering leader tumbling across the ground.

“Spare me, young lady! Spare me!”

Such was the power of the Feng family.

The youth to the right of the captain joked, “Yumian, if my sister-in-law saw you like this, she’d surely have words about your behavior.”

Feng Yumian sneered, “When did my elder sister become your sister-in-law? Have you forgotten her husband is still that useless Xu Feng? If your brother Zuo Jincheng had any real ability, why not break into my house and take his place? For now, all he can do is sneak around for trysts outside!”

The youth’s retort faltered under her sharp tongue, his expression turning sour.

He snapped back, “Didn’t you have your family’s guard push him into the water last time? He didn’t drown, and not much later, that very guard died in your house. Isn’t that laughable?”

Feng Yumian’s face darkened as she looked at Xu Feng, still silent in the middle of the courtyard.

Months ago, the mysterious death of that guard had made her suspect her brother-in-law had finally snapped. But on reflection, Xu Feng was a frail scholar, no match for a trained guard.

Later, it was found the guard had been poisoned—and the manner of death matched the Demon Mask’s subsequent killings in the city.

Thus, she’d set her sights on the Demon Mask.

Not that she cared for the guard, but the incident had cost her face.

Hence tonight’s trap.

“So it was you, you dog, who killed my family's guard?” she demanded, chin high and contempt in her eyes.

Xu Feng remained where he stood, meeting her gaze through the mask.

It seemed his identity was still safe; their encounter tonight was mere coincidence.

Meanwhile, the Six Doors captain stepped forward, holding a scroll.

He read aloud, “Demon Mask, you have flouted the laws of Dashun, killing seventeen people in Suzhou over the past six months with brutal methods and for personal gain. Do you acknowledge your crimes?”

Xu Feng smiled.

Six Doors knew better than anyone who his victims were—yet here they were, joining hands with scum like Wild Dog Hall to arrest him. The irony was palpable.

Ordinarily, though escape would be difficult from such a siege, it was not impossible.

But tonight—he had no intention of fleeing.