Chapter One: The Half-Monk in Black

Song Chi hurried through the forest, pressing a hand to his chest as dark crimson blood seeped between his fingers. Thorny branches reached out from the narrow path, tearing his robes, while a longsword wrapped in black cloth hung on his back, sharply out of place against his white attire.

“Tch.” He glanced back, then quickened his steps, though his strength was flagging and his gait grew unsteady. Several small knives flicked from his hand, shooting in all directions.

“Song Chi, you have betrayed your masters and ancestors, stolen the greatest treasure of Mount Shu—do you still intend to resist to the bitter end?”

Song Chi gave no reply; instead, he forced himself to move faster. Suddenly, a golden pattern flashed beneath his feet. Daring not to take another step, he turned to face the shadows within the woods.

Just as he was about to speak, a green flying sword pierced his chest. Life left him instantly. A man in white emerged from the shadows; the knives Song Chi had thrown floated idly beside him.

The man walked slowly to Song Chi’s corpse and removed the longsword from his back. As he was about to leave, an envelope wedged in Song Chi’s clothing caught his eye.

He reached for it, but a droplet of liquid fell onto the letter, soaking into the paper. The man looked up— the moon slipped behind the clouds, and the interlaced branches above deepened the night’s shadows. Looking against the light, he saw only the hem of a brilliant red robe and a pair of spotless black boots adorned with intricate patterns.

The man stepped back warily, summoning his immortal sword.

With a thud, an object rolled to his feet. He looked down: it was a delicate flask, still dripping with wine.

A soft laugh came from above. The figure in the tree clapped their hands and leapt down, sleeves swirling like the wings of a butterfly about to take flight. The man’s pupils contracted as he fixed his gaze on the figure’s neck, where a red cord, rune-like and chain-like, was wound tightly.

With fear, he choked out, “Half-Monk, Xuanse…”

The newcomer landed lightly, red robes embroidered with golden lotus blossoms, collar half-open to reveal pale skin and a finely shaped collarbone. The eerie red cord wound about that snowy neck, lips brushed with a hint of a smile—so faint as to be almost invisible, yet chilling to the bone. With bright eyes and white teeth, sword-like brows reaching to the temples, the figure radiated an oppressive presence. Yet only half the hair was shaved, the other half of raven locks hanging loose—a monk, half-ordained, half-wild.

Steadying himself, the man demanded, “Xuanse Shadow, you slew the Son of Heaven, destroyed the Monk’s Gate—what brings you to Mount Shu?”

The one called Xuanse idly played with their half-loose hair, slender fingers toying with a plain flute adorned with red tassels. Their tone was languid, yet cold and clear: “I saw a snipe and a clam locked in battle—so I’ve come to play the fisherman.” With a flick of the wrist, the longsword wrapped in black cloth flew into Xuanse’s hand. Unwrapping it, a scabbard ornately inlaid with rare gems was revealed; cryptic runes etched along the hilt. Xuanse frowned, drawing the blade slightly so that its cold gleam reflected his frosty visage.

He sheathed the sword, tossed aside the black cloth, and remarked, “I truly don’t see the point in fighting over such worthless iron. I might as well take it home as a hatchet for chopping firewood.”

In the past, the Xuanse Shadow had slain the Son of Heaven and hidden in a monastery, hoping to escape notice under the guise of a monk. Halfway through shaving his head, his wild nature erupted; he destroyed the Monk’s Gate. Across the martial world, his head was worth a fortune, yet none dared approach him. People called him the Half-Monk in whispers.

Seeing the treasure snatched away, the man panicked, though he dared not reclaim it by force. Xuanse said, “Tonight, I’m merely wandering. I’ve no intention to kill—you may leave.” The man hesitated, knowing that if he returned unscathed, his sect would accuse him of stealing the treasure. There would be no way to explain.

Suddenly, Xuanse seemed to recall something, tapping his forehead. “Ah, am I not making things difficult for you? In that case… let me send you on your way.” Before the final word had left his lips, a short sword buried itself in the man’s heart.

Satisfied as the man fell, Xuanse clapped his hands. “Come out.”

From the darkness, a boy of about five or six, delicate as a carved jade doll, ran out and hooked his little finger around Xuanse’s. Xuanse withdrew his hand and ruffled the boy’s soft hair. “Let’s go.”

The boy glanced back at Song Chi’s corpse, murmuring, “Father…” Xuanse followed his gaze, saw the unopened envelope, struck a fire starter, and tossed it toward the wine flask. In a flash, flames rose, and the envelope was soon reduced to ash.

Taking the boy’s chubby hand, Xuanse walked away without a backward glance.

Farewell, Brother Song.