The twenty-second year of the Yongle era, ninth month, Beijing.
The alley was a bit narrow. High walls on both sides, grey bricks, with withered grass growing in the cracks. The ground was stone slabs, polished to a shine, slippery underfoot, like after rain. It hadn't rained. The sky was clear, sunlight shining down from above, but it couldn't reach into the alley. Wind blew in from the alley entrance, cool, carrying a musty smell. Zhu Zhanji walked in front of me, his pace neither fast nor slow, the same as every day. He wasn't wearing that black robe today, changed into a dark cyan daily outfit, cuffs gathered tightly, a leather belt tied around his waist. No armor, no sword—at least I didn't see one. He walked ahead, his back very straight, like walking in the palace. But this was outside the palace. An alley on the north side of Beijing, so narrow only two people could walk abreast.
"Are we almost there?" I asked.
He didn't answer. I asked again. "Does that person live far?"
"Not far," he said. His pace didn't stop, his voice very even. But I felt he was a bit different today. Couldn't say what, just—he walked the same, breathed the same, spoke in the same tone. But I always felt he was listening to something. Not listening to me, but listening to the sounds in the alley. Wind, footsteps, distant barking, his own breathing. He was listening to it all.
The alley grew narrower. Walls grew higher. Sunlight grew less. I stepped on his shadow, step by step. There were water stains on the stone slabs, I slipped when I stepped on them, quickly bracing myself against the wall. The wall was cool, damp, palms sticking to it, clammy.
"Be careful," he said. Didn't turn around.
I hummed in acknowledgment, keeping up with his pace. He didn't walk fast, but I followed closely. Not because of fear, but because the alley was too narrow, so narrow I felt the high walls on both sides might close in at any moment, trapping us together in the middle. I was about to ask how much farther, when he suddenly stopped.
His steps stopped very abruptly, like being pinned by something. I almost bumped into his back, quickly pulling my foot back. The alley was very quiet. Just now there was wind, now it was gone. Sunlight shone down from above, shrinking our shadows into short clumps under our feet.
"What's wrong?" I asked. My voice echoed in the alley, like a stone thrown into a well.
He didn't speak. His hand lifted slightly, signaling me not to move. I closed my mouth. In the alley, there was only my heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, one by one, pounding against my eardrums. Then I heard it—footsteps. Not one person's. Many people's, very light, but very fast. Coming from the front, from the back, from the wall tops on both sides. Like water spreading from all directions, by the time you heard the sound, it was too late to retreat. I didn't have time to be afraid.
A whistling sound came from the side. I didn't see the arrow, only heard the sound—sharp, thin, like something tearing through the air. My mind went blank. No time to think, no time to be afraid, no time to move. His hand had already reached over. Not pulling, but guiding. His palm clasped my wrist, pulling me back, the strength great enough that my whole body was thrown behind him. My back hit the wall with a dull thud, pain making me gasp. He stood in front of me. Blocking the alley from me.
Three more people appeared at the alley entrance. Black robes, masked, the knives in their hands reflecting sunlight. They came from three directions, one in front, one behind, one from the side. Coordinated very well, like they had practiced. The alley was narrow, narrow enough that you couldn't run, couldn't retreat, couldn't dodge. They chose this place. They calculated it well.
Zhu Zhanji stood there, didn't move. His hand still clasped my wrist, hadn't let go. His fingers were very steady, the same as standing on the high ground in the north, the same as cutting apples in the Eastern Palace side room.
"Don't move," he said. His voice was very low. But in this narrow alley, everyone heard it.
I stood behind him, back pressed against the wall, stone slabs ice cold, seeping through my clothes. My fingers were trembling, not from fear, but from adrenaline—I knew this. When I was in Australia, the lab animal anesthesia had a problem, almost bit me, afterwards my hands trembled like this too. But that was afterwards. This was now. His hand still clasped my wrist, hadn't let go.
"Two on the left," he said. His voice was very low, like stating something that didn't need discussion. Two on the left? I hadn't seen clearly. The alley entrance had three people, two on the left, one on the right. He said two on the left. He had already counted. When the arrow flew over, when I hit the wall, when he clasped my wrist, he had already counted. His fingers released my wrist.
"Don't come out," he said.
Then he moved.
One step forward. Not charging, but walking. Pace neither fast nor slow, the same as every day. The first person charged over, knife held high, the blade reflecting sunlight. Zhu Zhanji didn't dodge, didn't retreat, didn't draw a sword—he didn't bring one. He turned sideways, shoulder line pressing down, hand lifting up. I heard a dull thud, like something hitting flesh. That person bent over, knife slipping from his hand, falling to the ground, clinking and bouncing twice. Zhu Zhanji didn't look at him. He had already turned to the second person.
The second person hesitated. Just for an instant. That instant was enough. Zhu Zhanji stepped forward, hand lifting up, the movement very short, so short I hadn't seen clearly what happened, that person had already fallen. Not dead, but unable to get up. His leg bent, knee hitting the ground with a dull thud, same as the first sound.
The third person turned and ran. Zhu Zhanji didn't chase. He stood there, watching that person's back disappear at the alley entrance. The alley became quiet. Wind blew over, carrying the smell of blood and dust. Three people, two lying down, one ran. From start to finish, very short. So short I was still leaning against the wall, hands still clutching my sleeve, hadn't decided whether to be afraid.
He turned around, looking at me. "Alright?" His tone was very even, same as asking "How is the Great General?"
I opened my mouth, couldn't speak. Throat was dry, lips were dry, tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. I swallowed, only then could I make a sound. "Alright." My voice was louder than I expected, echoing in the narrow alley, then disappearing.
He nodded. Looked down at his own hands. There was blood on his fingers, not his. He wiped it on his robe hem, the movement very casual, like wiping juice from cutting fruit.
"Let's go," he said. Turning to walk toward the front of the alley. Pace neither fast nor slow, same as before.
I stood in place, watching his back. Dark cyan clothes, cuffs gathered tightly, leather belt around his waist. Same as before. But I knew it was different. Just now he stood there, counted three people, said "two on the left," then moved. Every step calculated. Where the first person came from, how high the knife was held, where the shoulder line pressed when turning sideways, where the hand landed when lifting. He calculated it all. The second person would hesitate, how long, from which direction to retreat, which foot the weight was on when retreating. He calculated that too. The third person would run, he didn't chase. Didn't need to. He knew that person would run back, to the person who sent him, then say: he knows. He calculated everything. He wasn't fighting. He was calculating.
I followed him forward. Stepping on his shadow, step by step. The alley was still that narrow, walls still that high, stone slabs still that slippery. But I wasn't afraid anymore. Not because he defeated those people, but because when he clasped my wrist, his fingers were very steady. From when the arrow flew over to when he turned and asked "Alright?", his fingers had been steady. In the north, he stood on the high ground waiting, was also that steady. In the Eastern Palace, he sat before the table drinking tea, was also that steady. In the alley, he faced three people alone, was also that steady.
"Zhu Zhanji."
"Mm."
"You just now—you knew people would come?"
He didn't answer. Walked a few steps, then said: "Didn't know."
"Then you—"
"But people might come," he paused. "People might not want that person to speak."
I was stunned. That person—the person we were going to see. Someone didn't want him to speak, so they waited here. Not waiting for him, but waiting for us. He knew. He knew before bringing me here. So he walked in front of me. So when he heard footsteps, his hand had already lifted. He didn't know people would come. But he was prepared.
"Aren't you afraid?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Walked a few steps, then said: "Afraid."
"Then you—"
"When afraid, you must see more clearly." His voice was very light, scattered by the wind. "My grandfather taught me."
He said this in the north. In the military tent, he said: when afraid, you must see more clearly. His grandfather taught him. In the north, he stood on the high ground waiting, waiting for cavalry to charge, waiting for formations to break, waiting for that gap to appear. In Beijing, he stood in the alley waiting, waiting for arrows to fly over, waiting for people to charge up, waiting for them to reveal their flaws. He was always waiting. Always calculating. Always afraid. But he wasn't afraid to let me know. When he clasped my wrist, his fingers were steady. When he blocked in front of me, his back was straight. When he turned and asked "Alright?", his tone was even. He was afraid. But his hands didn't tremble.
The alley was almost at its end. Ahead was the street, with light, voices, the smell of smoke and fire. A wonton seller walked by carrying his pole, his hawking cry coming from the alley entrance, trailing off like singing. Two children ran past chasing each other, their laughter bright, bouncing around in the alley a few times, then scattering.
When he walked in, his steps were still that steady. Sunlight fell on him, dark cyan clothes, cuffs gathered tightly, leather belt around his waist. Same as before. But I knew, inside his cuffs was white.
(End of Chapter 29)