Echo of the Blue Mountain Excerpt

From five streets away, the screams echoed. They ebbed and grew in volume, the harsh crack of a bamboo cane encouraging louder and louder wails with each strike. The brute of a soldier wielded his cane with adroit deftness, flicking it quickly as he struck the prisoner in front of him, leaving an angry red line across his back. Satisfied with the light trail of blood, he snapped the cane again, leaving another line just below the previous, careful not to let the strokes overlap. 

“They’re not even hiding how awful they are now,” Jia Bo hissed. 

Feng Zemin placed a finger to her lips to silence him out of habit. He didn’t really need it, but it was something that she had done a thousand times. He’d come a long way since he joined their cause from the bounty hunter Duan Cai’s camp. Over the last two years, he had grown from the clumsy young man who stammered to a capable soldier. He was a believer and did everything with determination and enthusiasm. At times, his zeal could be a little too much, but he was a good young man to have at her side. 

Feng Zemin led the fifteen Black Tigers into position across the rooftops of the Xin’feng market square. She signaled for them to lie low and wait for her command. From their vantage point on the third story rooftops, she scanned the square below. 

A gate loomed over the market, a relic from another era of the town. Because of its age, it wasn’t as elaborate as some of the other landmarks of the town. It was a relatively simple gate of wooden pillars and orange roof tiles. Unlike some of the buildings nearby, it was unadorned with carvings and statues of the beasts of the zodiac. Most of the citizens of Xin’feng never paid much attention to it as they went about their business.

Until today. 

A large crowd of men, women, and children stood around the market square, staring in horror and shame at the gate. Some couldn’t tear their eyes away. Some couldn’t look. Four men and one woman bound by their hands hung from the red crossbeam of the gate in varying states of consciousness. What were once clothes were barely strips of cloth, blood-stained and ragged. 

The screams stopped and a pair of soldiers dragged the broken man over to the gate to hang him next to the others. The brute with the cane signaled for another bound prisoner to be dragged forward. 

On the other side of the square, away from the gate, below where they perched on the roof, a collection of assembled dignitaries stood by a contingent of soldiers. They looked healthy for the most part, officials and merchants led by a woman in a green robe who paced in front of another woman in armor. 

“The one pacing, that’s Mayor Long Lijuan—she was the acting mayor, but now she’s the mayor,” Jia Bo explained. “She’s friendly to us.”

Zemin watched as Mayor Long kept her frantic pacing. Being the mayor of a town like Xin’feng must have been a nice job. Xin’feng was a town situated along the rocky slopes of the river’s edge. With karst mountains as a backdrop, the town was a popular destination for the wealthy of Tu’men who wanted a change of scenery but didn’t want to travel too far. The residents were wealthier than most, and the town benefited from its visitors. An idyllic job in an idyllic setting. 

None of that mattered when it came to the wrath of the imperial army. 

“I assure you, General, we have nothing to do with it,” the woman pleaded. She paced in front of the woman in armor, turning her head away from the scene of the torture. Each crack caused the mayor to flinch, and she focused her attention to the commanding soldier in front of her. 

“Nevertheless, Black Tiger supporters have been found in your town. You have not purged them as you should have, Mayor Long.” 

Feng Zemin had never seen the woman in armor Mayor Long had called the General before, but she knew her from her reputation. She was, by any definition of it, a powerful woman. She stood a head taller than Mayor Long and cut an impressive figure in her armor—a reminder of imperial might. By Zemin’s best estimate, she looked to be just barely shorter than the Black Tiger General himself. She carried her helmet tucked under one arm, its long plumes reaching up to brush the side of her face. She wore a suit of lamellar armor that had clearly seen action, the dark scales fringed with fraying red cloth.  

The reports were true then. 

The emperor had enough of the Black Tiger Rebellion and had dispatched his most deadly servant—General Peng Hai Rong, the Marshal of the Seventh Calvary, the White Crane General. 

She Who Pacifies the North. 

Zemin bit back a curse. There was no way this would end well. 

Since the battle after the duel at the Temple of Eastern Light, the Black Tiger Rebellion gained unprecedented support. The martial masters that were most able to counter the raw physical strength of the Black Tiger General were slain or incapacitated from the battle—the sheer crush of numbers overpowering their martial skill—and the remaining representatives of the jianghu in attendance had already allied with the rebellion. The rebels were able to conduct operations in the open and gained followers from towns and villages all over the southern province. Because Shazha Kui defeated the trap the imperial forces had laid for him, it was clear to many that the cause of the Black Tigers was righteous. 

The emperor had indeed lost the Mandate of Heaven. 

In the days and weeks that followed, word of the imperial defeat spread quickly throughout the region. Everyone talked about it—from the storytellers in the restaurants and teahouses, to the merchants and coolies on the roads between towns, and to the nobles in their manors. Dissensions rocked the imperial ranks, and thousands flocked to the banner of the Black Tiger. The season turned from fall to winter and winter to spring, their successes mounting as a wave of fervor for the rebellion swept through the land. 

Until the arrival of the White Crane General. 

Almost immediately, the Black Tigers began retreating. The Northern Army that accompanied her were not bored soldiers stationed in a backwater, but battle tested warriors who had all spilled the blood in the northern steppes. 

And they were more than willing to spill southern blood. 

They captured towns and villages, putting to death any who supported the rebellion, even executing those that did not with ruthless cruelty. Just as quickly as the Black Tiger ranks swelled, they thinned as many worried about their families and the reprisal of the Emperor’s most dangerous warrior. 

But such disloyalty was not welcomed by the White Crane General. Towns and villages burned in her wake. And fear of She Who Pacifies the North gripped the land. 

“We arrested those that showed loyalty to the Black Tigers, General. These men and women are innocent,” Mayor Long pleaded.  

“Have a care, Mayor Long, or you will join your people up there,” the general warned. 

At her side, a young soldier knocked an arrow to his bow and dipped his arrow in a nearby brazier. At a nod from the general, he took aim and fired. The arrow buried itself into one of the hanging people, and the flames spread across the body. The young man repeated this until all the prisoners hanging from the gate burned. 

Zemin ducked down, unable to watch the cruelty. Beside her, Jia Bo retched. A murmur of curses and gags came from the Black Tigers around her. She hushed them with a hand gesture. It would not do for the sounds of their disgust to alert the soldiers below. The truth was, she didn’t blame them. The reports of the atrocities the Northern Army committed as they marched into the Southern Province were horrifying enough, but to see it in person… 

“Zheng Kejie!” Mayor Long cried out, pointing a finger at the young man who shot the fire arrows. “How could you do this to us? We took you and your father in when you had nowhere else to go.” 

“You harbored Black Tigers. That’s unforgivable, Mayor Long.” Kejie shook his head. 

“The son of the Protector of the East understands his duty. Unfortunately, you don’t, Mayor Long. And for that, we have to teach you a lesson.”

Soldiers dragged out ten men and women bound together with rope. They looked in bad shape, beaten, bruised, and bloody. Some looked like they had been blinded. Others only had stumps for limbs. 

There they are! Zemin’s breath shuddered. Lao Tian, what did they do to our people?

Zemin signaled for the Black Tigers to ready themselves. The first group knocked arrows to their bows, keeping low. They would pick their targets and take out as many guards as possible. The second group would rush down and engage the survivors, rescuing their people. 

“Lian Dong,” Zemin whispered. At her side, the Black Tiger’s resident sniper leaned his head slightly towards her. “Take out the General. Don’t miss.”

“I never miss, Captain,” he replied. She was glad he was here as well. He was a good soldier, loyal to the cause.  

The White Crane General turned to face the Mayor again. Her gaze flicked to the rooftops. 

Now! 

She signaled for the attack. At once, the archers rained chaos down from the rooftops. Soldiers of the Northern Army fell, clutching at the arrows piercing their armor. Zemin’s Black Tigers dropped down onto the market square below, some breaking to free the prisoners, others to get the civilians to safety. 

“Mayor Long, please get to safety!” Jia Bo shouted, pushing the woman down a side street. 

Zemin watched the battle unfold. So far, everything was going according to plan. But for all the arrows loosed on the soldiers, one soldier in particular stood unmoved. While others ran for cover, General Peng merely turned her face towards the oncoming barrage and swatted the arrows out of the air with her mailed hand. 

“Not again,” Lian Dong complained, firing repeatedly at the General. “These stupid gaoshous and their wugong.”  

General Peng sprang up to the balcony of a nearby restaurant, and then, using her qinggong, leaped to the roof of the building Lian Dong and Zemin used as their post. She held a pudao glaive aloft and advanced towards them. At a glance, Zemin knew the woman would be strong and incredibly skilled to use such a heavy and deadly weapon—they were capable of cutting the legs out from under a horse. 

“Captain Feng!” Lian Dong shouted a warning. 

Zemin unsheathed her dao. “Get to the other roof and keep firing! I’ll draw her off!” 

General Peng gave Zemin an icy smile as she advanced, sword in hand. “Feng Zemin—the right hand of my brother. I’m so thrilled you came to see me.” 

Shazha Kui, the Black Tiger General, had warned Zemin that General Peng was not to be engaged at all costs. He had said that her strength in the days past rivaled his own—which, after the display she witnessed at Eastern Light, was saying something. Knowing she could not hold her for long, Zemin ran. When she reached the end of the roof, she slid down the rope they had used to climb up.

Then the rope fell in coils around her, and she landed hard on a stack of crates that shattered under her fall. The White Crane General stood at the edge of the roof, smirking. 

She cut the rope, Zemin realized, then chided herself for wasting time. No time to think. Just run and draw her away. As she ran, she cursed the fact she never learned any qinggong like the martial heroes and villains of the wulin. But she was never meant to be a hero. She ran down the streets. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that the General pursued her. 

The streets twisted into alleys, curving up and down the uphill slope of the town. She ran as quickly as she could, adrenaline giving her legs speed as she wound a serpentine path. Her heartbeat pounded in her ear, her breath turned ragged as she ran faster and faster. Fear was a breath away, and she refused to acknowledge that the White Crane General could likely split her in half with a single strike. 

“Captain!” Jia Bo called out. “I’m here to help!” The young man joined her as she ran. 

“We need to draw her off. Keep running!” she ordered, grateful that he was there. 

“Yes, Captain.” 

Occasionally, she heard the clink of armor behind her, and it gave her extra speed. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder. General Peng Hai Rong didn’t move quickly—not really. Her movements were smooth and methodic, even in pursuit.   

But Zemin could feel the woman’s shaqi, her killing intent. She was prey, and she felt the oppressive weight of the general’s presence as though at any moment she’d be snatched up like a fish in the talons of a predator. She hurried again, navigating the maze of alleys, searching for an escape route to buy her soldiers enough time to free the prisoners. 

At length, their winding course through the alleys led to a sheltered ting that extended over the edge of the cliff. Below it the river roared, full of the mountain snow melt. 

“Dead end!” Jia Bo said. 

“Quick, back the other way!” 

A fist struck out from nowhere and caught Zemin in the side of the head. Blossoms of stars and pain erupted in her vision, and she fell hard against the side of a building. Before she could right herself, another hand grabbed her and hauled her off her feet like an adult lifting a child, and she flew through the air again, crashing against the stone floor of the ting. 

“Captain!” Jia Bo shouted. He hurried to her side and helped her to her feet. 

“I’m fine,” she groaned. She was not fine. Everything hurt and her head spun. She shook it, trying to clear the dizziness.  

“Captain Feng Zemin. You are a traitor to the emperor and a dissident. It’s pointless to run.” General Peng grinned at them but didn’t approach.  

“Stay behind me, Captain!” Jia Bo said. 

“You’re no match for her, idiot.” 

“Stay behind me, Captain!” Jia Bo repeated. 

She’s toying with us. 

The General stepped forward, and they backed away, closer to the edge of the ting. The river roared below them. 

“We need a way out of here,” Zemin said. 

“You’re right,” Jia Bo said. He turned to face her, his eyes apologetic. 

“Jia Bo, what are you thinking?”

“You need to report back to the General,” he said sadly. 

“Jia Bo—”  

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said. He shoved her hard. 

Caught off guard by the push, Zemin stumbled and fell over the edge of the ting and off the cliff. The air whipped around her as she fell. The hard impact of plunging into the river knocked the breath out of her, and it was all she could to do to keep from drowning as she flailed in white water. 

Air! I need air! she panicked. She surfaced, only to be pulled down again by the river sweeping her along its course. 

When she finally reached the river’s edge, she lay on the bank for a few moments, catching her breath. Her chest heaved. She was never a good swimmer, and she came close to drowning more times than she would like to admit. She shuddered, then the reality of what happened sunk into her. Jia Bo, the idiot, thought he could save her by pushing her off a cliff and into the river. She slammed her hand on the rocky shore, feeling pain blossom in her palm. She should have called off the mission when she saw the White Crane General. There was no way a plan against her would have worked, especially if she were on the field.

No, she wanted to save her people, but in the process, lost even more of them now. Her Black Tigers were likely prisoners. She trembled, and not from the cold river water. If what she saw today was any indication, a terrible fate awaited them. 

She groaned as she picked herself up from the shore and made her way to the tree line. Soldiers would be here soon. She was too valuable a prize for the Northern Army to simply give up. She’d meet the survivors at the rendezvous and then she’d report back to General Shazha Kui. He needed to know about the White Crane. 

She gave the river one last look and clenched her fist. 

Jia Bo, Lian Dong—stay alive. I’ll be back for you.