As days slip by and still no word from the temple, Bian continues to focus on her training at night, but Ha Linh grows restless. More so than usual…
“That’s it! Grab your things. We’re storming the temple!” Ha Linh snaps, her voice crackling with frustration.
Bian, trying to temper Ha Linh’s fiery impatience with her usual calm, says, “Easy now. No need to storm anything. Let’s be smart about this—we’ll ambush the monks, take them out one by one.”
They spend the rest of the day in silence, carefully plotting how to get back at the monks and ascend the temple steps.
As the evening settles in, Bian spots Elder Loung, a regular—at least since she started working here–who always comes in with a stack of scrolls, orders the same barley tea, and doesn’t leave until closing. His long gray beard and wrinkled complexion are softened by a kind smile. Their conversations are always brief, but a nice break in her day.
Today, as she has done in the past, Bian brings Elder Loung his usual cup of tea, he nods in thanks, his eyes meeting hers with a flicker of recognition.
“Looks like rain,” he rasps, glancing at the gray sky. “Quieter than usual today, isn’t it?”
Bian chuckles softly. “Yeah, I don’t mind though. I like the rain. The quiet makes it easier for you to read, right?”
He smiles gently. “I don’t mind the noise. Sometimes, it’s nice to feel the energy of a crowded inn. Lively, you could say. But I can tune it out whenever I need to—just focus on my thoughts. A skill I think you’ve mastered.”
“What do you mean?” Bian asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t mean anything by it. I’ve just noticed that you seem deep in thought sometimes. As if you’re talking to yourself.”
Bian laughs it off. “Yeah, I’m just trying to keep the orders straight in my head.”
“You remind me of my granddaughter. She was always thinking more than speaking. You both make excellent listeners.”
“She sounds nice…”
“She was,” he replies softly, his voice trailing off. “Too kind for this world.”
Bian nods, understanding the weight of his words. She pours him another cup of tea and leaves him to his reading. “Let me know if you want another refill.”
He nodded warmly. Something in the way Elder Loung spoke about his granddaughter reminded Bian of her time at Orchid Academy. Teacher Tian was strict, but never cruel. Passionate in her lessons, but never too demanding. Even when she lectured them, her words held warmth, a care that Bian could still feel. The conversations with Elder Loung stirred an yearning in her heart, a longing for peaceful days...
As the day winds down, the Elder Loung is the last to leave. Bian begins clearing the tables just as a monk enters the inn. She recognizes him—one of the two she’d first encountered, though she can’t quite remember which one.
“Our teacher will see you now,” the monk says, his tone formal. “But only if you can reach the summit before the hour of the black sun.”
“That’s in an hour! How am I supposed to climb 10,000 steps in that time?”
The monk lets out a devious smile, but quickly reins it in. “This will be your first test.”
***
Bian barely has time to pack before she's on the move again. Together, she and Ha Linh begin the long journey up the 10,000 steps, another obstacle on her path to revenge.
The climb grows steeper, more treacherous, and the air thinner as they ascend. Bian presses on, her legs burning, sweat trickling down her forehead.
Ha Linh pushes her forward, even as her body begs for rest. “You don’t have the luxury of being tired. Channel my energy with yours and let it fuel your strength.”
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Bian takes a deep breath and surges on.
As they near the final stretch, something catches her eye—a familiar figure sitting on a large stone bench by the path’s edge. It’s Elder Loung, seated as calmly as if he were still sipping tea. Even before speaking, she felt a heaviness in her heart. An all too familiar feeling.
“You,” Bian says, surprise and confusion mixing in her voice. “What are you doing here?”
Elder Loung doesn’t answer immediately. He stands, dusting off his clothes, his expression more serious than she’s ever seen.
“They sent me,” he says quietly, as if regretful. “I’m an assassin. Sent by very dangerous and powerful people.”
Bian takes a step back. “Sent to kill me?”
He nods, slowly drawing a curved blade from his side. “Yes.”
“You said I reminded you of your granddaughter…”
“That’s why I’d rather it be me than the Tigers—” he pauses, grimacing at the mention of their name. “I’m only here to kill you. What they’ll do is far worse.”
Bian tightens her grip on the kiemloung, her eyes fixed on Elder Loung. “I won’t let you kill me,” she says firmly.
He sighs, a trace of sadness in his voice. “Then we’ll do this the hard way.”
The battle unfolds in a whirlwind of chaos—blades clashing, bamboo creaking and splintering under the force of their strikes. Black tendrils twist and whip from Elder Loung’s blade, as if he was controlling the shadows themselves.
Bian’s strikes are swift, each charged by the raw power of Ha Linh coursing through her veins. Her practice showing their result with every swing. Yet, for all her strength, Loung’s speed is overwhelming. His sword seemingly disappears into the darkness, making them near impossible to block. The tendrils leap towards her, trying to restrain her movements.
She leaps back, feet skidding on the slick bamboo leaves carpeting the forest floor, but Loung is already there. A series of slashes forces her to parry desperately, her arms burning with effort. His precision is inhuman—every movement calculated, every strike unyielding. One of his blows slips past her defenses, the blade grazing her ribs with a searing sting. Warm blood trickles down her side, but she braces, refusing to show weakness.
Gritting her teeth, she pushes forward with a flurry of strikes. Her blade howling through the air, and for a moment, she drives him back. But Loung merely smirks, as if amused by her effort, and shifts his stance. A tentacle whips from below her, knocking Bian off balance. More tendrils lash out from the blackness, each one like fingers clawing towards Bian. She narrowly evades their grasp, her body twisting and rolling frantically across the ground.
The bamboo forest seems to close in around her. Elder Loung circles her like a predator, the shadows under his control shifting towards her. Bian’s heart pounds, the weight of the moment pressing against her as she struggles to find an opening.
Another strike. She sidesteps, barely dodging, but the force of the shadows knock her into the rocky wall of the cliff. The sharp edge of stone digs into her back, and she stumbles, gasping for breath. Loung doesn’t relent. In a single, fluid motion, he raises his blade high, the blackness of the metal screaming before striking down.
For an instant, time seems to stop. The world narrows to the darkness of Loung’s blade descending toward her.
Ha Linh’s voice cuts through the pain. “I know you don’t want me to take over, but you also don’t want to die.”
Bian’s voice remains firm. “This is my duel. I need to do this.”
Ha Linh understands. She doesn’t push the subject any further. “Then let it be decided with this next strike.”
Their eyes meet, knowing the next exchange will be their last. Bian slowly closes her eyes. He hesitates, watching her cautiously, almost curious to see what she’s able to do.
After a beat, an aura—faint but distinct—of cold air and warm heat begins to radiate around her. The opposing elements swirl and dance around Bian until finally merging.
Bian’s eyes immediately snap open. She tightens her grip on the hilt of her kiemloung, and they dash toward each other. An energy swells within her. Not fire or water, but something else. For a moment–although brief–she feels stronger than ever before.
With a final, decisive blow, Bian disarms him, sending his blade clattering to the ground. Elder Loung stumbles and collapses onto the nearby bench, his breath ragged as blood seeps from a wound in his chest. Yet, there’s a strange peace in his eyes.
“You... are stronger than I thought,” he whispers. “Good. You’ll need to be.”
Bian rushes to him. “It’ll be okay. I can get help.”
He smiles, blood dripping from his mouth. “It’s my time. Thank you.”
“Who sent you? I need to know,” Bian pleads.
“She knows…” With those final words, he passes in her arms. Bian takes a moment to mourn, but she knows there isn’t much time.
Despite the ache in her muscles and the sting of her wounds, Bian presses on. She staggers up the last steps, her vision blurring, every part of her body screaming for rest. But she can’t stop—not now.
***
At the summit, a figure stands shrouded in shadow, large and looming. His voice cuts through the fog of her pain.
“This is the disciple of the great Ha Linh? How are you supposed to kill me when you can barely stand?”
Bian collapses to the ground, darkness creeping at the edges of her vision, but she can still hear the low chuckle of the man above her, waiting for her final moment to come.
