Chapter 9: Tongbei Martial Hall

Shen Xiuhan erupted with joy. Every muscle in his body quaking, he heaved the rod skyward!

This time, there was almost no resistance worth the name.

SPLASH!

Amid a shower of spray, a massive fish — belly turned white — was dragged from the water.

It was as long as a grown man's arm, as wide as two fists pressed side by side.

Its appearance was nothing like the silver-striped fish.

Instead of stripes along its spine, its entire back was a single unbroken sheet of pure silver, gleaming with the cold luster of liquid metal.

And what truly made the blood run cold was the bony spike protruding from its snout — roughly a palm's length, sharp as a dagger!

"Finally got it..."

Shen Xiuhan let out a long, relieved breath and moved to drag the treasure fish onto the ice.

That was when everything went wrong.

The silver-back, seemingly spent, launched itself from the water at an impossible angle!

The razor-sharp spike on its snout hurtled straight at Shen Xiuhan's face like an arrow loosed from the string!

"Holy shit!"

Shen Xiuhan's scalp prickled, and in a flash, a cold sweat broke across his entire body!

Too close!

There was no time to dodge. Pure instinct took over — he swung the bamboo rod in front of him like a shield!

CRACK!

A brittle snap. The bone spike punched clean through the rod, splitting it in two!

The residual force slammed into his chest through the broken halves. Shen Xiuhan's feet slipped out from under him and he crashed flat on his back on the ice.

SCREECH!

The sharp sound of ice splitting rang in his ears.

The palm-length spike drove into the ice less than two inches from the side of his face, buried to the root!

If the bamboo rod hadn't deflected that strike and thrown off its aim, the silver-back's dying counterattack would have punched clean through his skull!

Shen Xiuhan broke out in a drenching cold sweat, his heart pounding like a war drum.

Before he could even catch his breath from the brush with death—

The silver-back, half its body pinned to the ice by its own spike, began thrashing violently. Its thick, powerful tail whipped through the air in wild arcs.

SLAP! SLAP!

Poor Shen Xiuhan couldn't dodge the beast's revenge — two solid tail-slaps cracked across his face, stinging like fire.

"You damn beast!"

Shen Xiuhan flew into a rage!

He rolled and scrambled across the ice to the edge of the hole, and — cold be damned — scooped up a double handful of freezing lake water studded with ice chips and hurled it onto the still-thrashing silver-back.

The bitter cold did its work in an instant.

The water froze on contact.

The cunning, vicious silver-backed fish was encased in a shell of ice before it could blink.

...

When it was done, Shen Xiuhan sat gasping on the ice, legs splayed.

The adrenaline drained away, and the bone-deep cold rushed in like a tide.

In the heat of the life-or-death struggle, he'd noticed nothing. Only now did he realize his hands and feet were numb, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

Shen Xiuhan didn't dare linger. He caught his breath for a few moments, then forced himself to his feet.

He wrenched the silver-back — spike and all — out of the ice, and set it aside.

Then he looked down at the bamboo rod, snapped cleanly in two, and let out a wry laugh.

Unbidden, the image of Shen Sanhuai's honest, plain face drifted through his mind.

This rod had been whittled and sanded by his father's own hands, piece by piece, while he was still alive.

If his spirit knew that the fishing rod he'd made had saved his son's life, he'd surely rest easy.

"Still... it's time for a new one." Shen Xiuhan calculated silently.

The broken rod could still manage ordinary river fish in a pinch.

But if he ran into another savage treasure fish like the silver-back, it wouldn't stand a chance.

Wait!

A thought struck him.

With the silver-back gone, the silver-striped fish below would scatter in a panic. If he didn't move fast and hook a few, they'd disperse beyond any hope of tracking.

He baited up with millet and dropped the line through the ice hole again.

Alas, he was a step too late.

His reaction had been fast enough, but the silver-striped school had already lost its nerve.

After several casts, he only managed three four-striped silver-striped fish before the water went utterly dead — not another bite.

As for the five-striped fish he'd tossed back earlier, it had long since bolted to parts unknown.

"Well, can't be greedy. This treasure fish alone is the haul of a lifetime."

Shen Xiuhan sighed, packed up without hesitation.

He turned to the silver-back on the ice, considered for a moment, and decided not to put it in the creel.

An innocent man's jade invites thieves.

Ma Xianyang had already posted lookouts.

If he waltzed into town with a treasure fish on his back for all to see, it would be a death sentence.

So — the treasure fish could not enter the city!

Shen Xiuhan's mind clicked into gear, and a plan took shape.

He gathered the broken chunks of floating ice around the hole, piled them up, and packed the silver-back tightly inside the shards.

Then he scooped handful after handful of piercing lake water over the whole thing.

The water froze almost instantly.

Within moments, the silver-backed fish was sealed inside a massive block of ice.

Next, Shen Xiuhan carefully hid it deep in the dense reed beds.

He covered it with snow — a perfect blend into the white landscape. No one would ever guess what lay underneath.

With that done, his gaze shifted.

On his retinas, the pale gold marker for the treasure fish still flickered quietly.

"The tracker's still on. Good — no chance of losing it." Shen Xiuhan relaxed.

He stuffed the three freshly caught silver-striped fish into the battered creel, grabbed the broken rod, and set off through the wind and snow toward Changyun County.

...

Changyun County, inner city.

The walls rose tall and imposing, their gray bricks blanketed in a thick layer of snow.

The gates stood open, people flowing in and out.

Peddlers with shoulder poles, women carrying baskets, and the occasional martial artist with a blade at his hip, striding with purpose.

"Candied hawthorns! Come get your candied hawthorns..."

"Fine tea! Come drink some fine tea! Two wen a pot..."

"Steamed buns — fresh from the pot! Piping hot steamed buns..."

Shen Xiuhan passed through the inner-city gate at an unhurried pace. He'd taken only a few steps when his gaze flicked casually toward a teahouse on the left.

By the window, two men in the Golden Dragon Gang's brown robes sat facing each other.

One was lean, with prominent cheekbones.

The other was barrel-chested and broad-backed, his jacket hanging open despite the freezing cold.

They appeared to be chatting idly over tea, but Shen Xiuhan's sharp eyes caught it — their gazes kept drifting toward him, not quite looking, never quite looking away.

Ma Xianyang's men!

'Good thing I thought one step ahead and didn't bring the silver-back into the city. Otherwise...'

Shen Xiuhan kept his eyes forward, his face perfectly composed, and walked on without breaking stride.

Once he'd moved on, the thinner man set down his teacup and wiped his mouth:

"No treasure fish aura."

"Mm. Just common river fish."

"I'll tail him. You stay here — watch if the kid passes the goods to someone else to carry in."

"I know the drill."

Shen Xiuhan strolled to the roadside and approached a man selling frozen pears, cupping his fist in greeting to ask for directions to Tongbei Martial Hall.

Then, creel on his back, he headed straight down South Market Lane — seemingly oblivious to the shadow trailing at a distance behind him.

Before long, an imposing gatehouse rose into view.

Vermilion-lacquered doors. Copper studs gleaming bright.

Above the lintel hung a plaque of black lacquer with gold lettering, bearing four bold characters:

"Tongbei Martial Hall."

The brushwork was vigorous and forceful, radiating a cutting edge.

And after he mounted the stone steps, the prickling sense of being watched from behind faded and vanished before long.

Shen Xiuhan shot a quick glance over his shoulder — just in time to catch a lean silhouette ducking around a side street.