High in the jagged, snow-dusted mountains of western Sichuan, the world was a study in silence and brutal beauty. The wind howled through the narrow passes, a lonely, ancient sound. It was here, in this unforgiving wilderness, that Meng Tian waged his own, solitary war. He had become a creature of the mountains, his senses, already superhuman, sharpened to a razor's edge by the solitude and the hunt. He could smell a snow leopard on the wind a mile away and track a mountain goat over bare rock. He was a patient tiger, and he was waiting for his prey.
After weeks of careful reconnaissance and patient waiting, the moment had arrived. The spring caravan, the one that carried not herbs, but children, had entered his domain. He watched from a high, pine-studded ridge as the sad procession made its way up the winding trail below. It was a heart-wrenching sight. A dozen small children, some no older than five or six, their faces smudged with dirt and confusion, trudged wearily through the snow. They were being led by a team of eight formidable figures, men and women cloaked in dark, heavy wool, their faces hard and emotionless. They were the handlers, graduates of the School of the Silent Orchid, shepherds leading their new flock to a life of servitude and death.
Meng Tian felt a cold, clean rage settle over him. This was the true face of Cixi's evil. Not the political maneuvering of the court, but this quiet, monstrous theft of innocent lives. His Emperor had ordered him to neutralize them, and it was an order he would carry out with grim satisfaction.
He did not attack them directly at first. A frontal assault against eight elite assassins, even for him, was risky, especially with the children so close. He had to separate them, to create chaos. He used his deep understanding of the terrain, a knowledge he had spent weeks acquiring, and his own impossible strength to become an instrument of the mountain itself.
From his position high above the trail, he found what he was looking for: a large, precariously balanced scree field, a slope of loose rocks and stones held in place by little more than packed snow and gravity. He moved to a spot above it and, with a powerful shove from his legs, dislodged a key boulder.
The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic. With a low, grinding roar, the entire scree field gave way. An avalanche of rock and snow thundered down the mountainside, crashing onto the trail ahead of the caravan with the force of a cannonade. The path was completely obliterated, blocked by a massive, impassable wall of rubble.
The caravan was thrown into chaos. The mules screamed and bucked in terror. The children cried out, huddling together. The handlers, though startled, reacted with professional discipline, their hands immediately going to the swords hidden beneath their cloaks as they scanned the surrounding cliffs for an attacker.
As they tried to calm the children and assess the blockage, Meng Tian made his second move. He had already prepared it. On the slope above the trail behind them, a massive, dead pine tree, its roots loosened by the winter frosts, stood waiting. Meng Tian, who had positioned himself there moments before, simply placed his hands on the thick trunk and pushed.
With a sound like a giant's sigh, the ancient tree toppled over, its immense weight carrying it down the slope. It crashed onto the narrow path with a ground-shaking thud, its branches interlocking with the rocks, creating a second, impassable barrier.
The caravan was trapped. They were caught in a narrow, hundred-yard stretch of trail with an avalanche before them and a fallen tree behind them. The handlers knew this was no accident. This was a deliberate, perfectly executed trap.
"Show yourself!" their leader, a tall, scarred man, roared, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.
Meng Tian obliged him. He dropped down from the slope above, landing lightly on the path in the center of the trapped caravan. He stood there, a single, imposing figure, his face grim, his hands empty. He was an executioner who had come to pass judgment.
The eight "Shadow" agents, recognizing an enemy of impossible skill, did not hesitate. They were the elite of their school. They drew their weapons—swords, daggers, and weighted chains—and attacked as one, a whirlwind of deadly, coordinated motion.
The battle that followed was not a duel; it was a reckoning. It was eight of the empire's most highly trained assassins against a single, two-thousand-year-old demigod of war.
Meng Tian moved through them like a force of nature. His superhuman speed allowed him to perceive their attacks as if they were moving through thick water. A sword thrust was a slow-motion lunge he could easily sidestep. A thrown dagger was a lazy arc he could pluck from the air. He did not need a weapon of his own. His fists were hammers, his kicks were battering rams.
He met their lethal precision with overwhelming, brutal efficiency. He broke the sword arm of the leader with a single, sharp blow. He dislocated the shoulder of a woman who lunged at him with two daggers. He shattered the knee of a man who tried to sweep his legs with a chain. He moved with a cold, focused fury, his every blow calculated to incapacitate without killing. He was not just defeating them; he was systematically and terrifyingly dismantling them, breaking their bodies and their spirits.
The fight was over in less than a minute. The eight elite assassins, the pride of the Silent Orchid, were left groaning and broken on the cold ground, their weapons scattered, their bodies a testament to a power they could not comprehend.
The children, who had huddled together in terror during the brief, violent explosion of action, now stared in wide-eyed awe at the tall, silent man who stood victorious amongst the fallen.
Meng Tian's fury subsided, replaced by a deep, aching pity as he looked at the small, frightened faces of the children. These were the lives he was here to save. He walked towards them, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands held open to show he meant no harm.
"It is over," he said, his voice, though deep and resonant, was surprisingly gentle. "You are safe now." He knelt down to be at their level. "You are not being taken to a school in the mountains. You are being taken somewhere warm, somewhere you will be cared for and taught to read and write. You are free."
He had completed the most critical part of his mission. He had severed Cixi's supply of new recruits. He had stolen her future. Now, he just had to get these children to safety.