Heir of the Sacred Dragon Sword

2. The Paperweight

“Have you heard the news about the fall of the Sacred Dragon Sect?” asked a townsman, neglecting the untouched food before him.

“Yes, I’ve heard. Terrifying! Rumor has it they even struck at the empire itself. Emperor Xiang Ming was slain, along with his entire bloodline.” Another man replied grimly, his voice low after sipping his tea.

After reducing Boushan to ashes, the Gongliao Alliance had indeed marched straight toward the imperial palace. None doubted their true ambition...

To seize the world.

“Then who will take the throne after Emperor Xiang Ming?”

“Most likely, the leader of that sinister alliance of the dark sects.”

Their grim exchange caught the attention of a young man sitting nearby with a boy. While the boy devoured his meal with innocent eagerness, the young man’s gaze sharpened, his brows knitting ever closer as he strained to catch every word.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the tavern. A flood of people surged past, voices rising like a swarm of wasps. Though their cries were not entirely clear, one name pierced through the din again and again, Xiu Jian.

“It was wise of Huang Fu to do that to the leader of the Sacred Dragon Sect,” muttered an old man as he stepped into the tavern beside a youth. “At the very least, it will serve as a dire warning to the righteous sects: do not meddle in the affairs of the black path. They must learn, we are stronger than they are.”

“Brother Li Min, they said the leader of the Sacred Dragon Sect. Does that mean… Father—”

Li Min glanced around, clamping his palm tightly over young Xiu Zhangjian’s mouth. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow, falling like heavy drops.

He swallowed hard, his heart hammering so violently it made his chest tremble. “No one must ever know who we are,” he whispered, his voice raw with dread. Zhangjian nodded, wide-eyed, and only then did Li Min release him, reaching for a cup of water to steady his breath.

The young man who was guardian, companion, and teacher to Xiu Zhangjian, drew a small black pouch from his robe. From it, he pulled several silver coins and set them on the table. His face pale, his steps unsteady, he hoisted Zhangjian into his arms and hurriedly left the tavern.

As soon as he reached the doorway, his gaze was drawn to the square by the fountain. A mass of people had gathered there, abandoning their own affairs as though compelled by a single dreadful spectacle.

With hesitation tightening his steps, Li Min edged closer. Yet the crowd was so dense he could see nothing of what lay at its heart.

“Excuse me, sir—pardon me, forgive me…” He bowed repeatedly, pushing through bodies, each collision sending a shiver of unease through him. Ever since the tavern whispers had touched upon his sect, his breath had been shallow, his chest constricted.

At last, as he broke into the front row, Li Min’s eyes widened in horror, his lips parting in a soundless gasp. His breath faltered; pain stabbed his heart.

'Zhangjian…' His mind roared as he swiftly covered the boy’s eyes with a trembling hand. Without another glance, he turned, carrying the child away. 'Zhangjian must never know of this.'

He strode as far as he could, each step shadowed by the fear of pursuit. He glanced over his shoulder again and again, eyes scanning for any trace of suspicion, any hidden follower. His mind searched desperately for a sanctuary.

But behind him, at the heart of the crowd, a wooden table stood as the grim altar of a warning. Upon it lay a broad sheet of paper bearing a single, merciless decree:

"DO NOT DEFY THE GONGLIAO ALLIANCE, OR YOU SHALL SHARE THE FATE OF XIU JIAN."

And to weigh down the edges of that paper, a severed head had been placed, its battered face swollen with bruises, its flesh marred by cuts, its eyes half-open in a lifeless stare.

Li Min knew that face. Knew it with every fiber of his soul. His teacher. His master. The pillar of his sect. The sight of him desecrated so vilely made Li Min’s throat ache with the cry he dared not release.

His steps faltered. A warmth spread across his palm. He lowered his hand from Zhangjian’s eyes, only to find the boy’s cheeks wet with tears.

“Zhangjian…” Li Min embraced him tightly, the child’s sobs silent, his body trembling as he bit his own lip until crimson bloomed upon it.

Fury seared Li Min’s chest, a storm threatening to consume him at the sight of his sect’s honor trampled in such barbarity. Yet he smothered the fire, holding Zhangjian close, stroking his head with trembling gentleness.

Through clenched teeth, he swore an oath that burned into his very marrow, “I swear… we will reclaim your father’s head, no matter the cost.”

***

The dim glow of a waning half-moon cast its pallid light across the night, which had crept near its darkest hour. Three men, the same guards who had stood vigil over Xiu Jian’s severed head, now formed a circle around the table upon which it rested.

“What should we do with this wretch next?” sneered a bald man, a gleaming ring piercing through the very bridge of his nose. His nostrils flared as he glared with loathing at the lifeless face of Xiu Jian.

“This demon plagued us even in life. Now in death, he still manages to cause trouble. Better to shatter his skull outright,” another muttered, tugging at the great sheet of parchment pinned beneath the weight of the severed head.

“Hold.” The third, a man with shoulder-length silver hair, raised his hand. “At the very least, we must obey Leader Huang’s command, to display this accursed head in two more cities. For now, vent your anger as you will. Spit on him, like so—*ptuh!*” He spat across Xiu Jian’s face, and the three men broke into raucous laughter as the trail of saliva slid down from the forehead to the brows.

Then...

The sound of flesh tearing silenced the laughter in an instant. The silver-haired man’s grin froze, his eyes darting downward. There, buried deep in his chest, was the sharp gleam of a blade. A dagger, driven straight through his heart.

“Ah… ahhh—” The scream never left his throat. His hands twitched, reaching in vain for the weapon, before his body collapsed with a heavy thud against the ground.

The two remaining men staggered back, eyes wide with shock. Spinning toward the direction of the attack, they saw him.

A lone figure, standing tall upon the roof of a nearby building, silhouetted against the pale moonlight.

Then, one of them bellowed, his voice echoing like a war drum through the dead of night. “An intruder!"