Nine Nights Owl Song

The first day of the first month of the eighteenth year of Yong'an.

On the first day of the new year, the city of Luojing had not yet woken up from the revelry of New Year's Eve.

The streets were covered with firecracker debris, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur and gunpowder. Every household had brand-new Spring Festival couplets pasted on their doorframes, with red paper and black characters.

The servants of the Marquis of Dingyuan's mansion were busy until midnight last night, and they all got up a little late this morning. Only the kitchen chimney was already emitting smoke early.

Mrs. Shen is cooking dumplings; it's the first meal of the new year, and the whole family will sit down and eat together.

Su Jiuge woke up before dawn.

It wasn't the sound of firecrackers that woke me up; it was just a habit.

During her years in the Dark Pavilion, she always woke up at this time every day without exception.

She put on the lotus-colored cotton robe, casually tied her hair into a bun, secured it with the jade owl hairpin given to her by Xiao Yan, hung a straight sword at her waist, and pushed open the door to go out.

A crisp, clear air rushed towards me, and a waning moon still hung in the sky.

She walked slowly in the courtyard, without a clear direction, just walking.

She paused as she passed the old drunkard's room; she could hear his even breathing; he was still asleep.

He paused as he passed Ghost Hand's room. There was no sound inside, but a faint light shone through the crack in the door—he was awake too.

As she passed by Su Chengzhi's courtyard, she saw a man standing under the eaves, dressed in a dark blue official robe, with a long sword at his waist, facing east, practicing swordsmanship. The sword light shimmered in the morning light, each move concise and sharp, exactly the same as when she first saw him at the Marquis's residence that morning.

Su Jiuge didn't disturb him and continued walking forward.

Stepping out of the side gate of the Marquis's residence, I walked along the streets of Chongrenfang.

Before dawn, the streets were sparsely populated, with only a few early-rising vendors setting up stalls along the roadside, selling steaming buns, soy milk, and fried dough sticks.

Su Jiuge stopped in front of a wonton stall, bought a bowl of wontons, and sat on a bench by the roadside to eat slowly. The wontons were filled with shepherd's purse and pork, and the soup contained dried shrimp and seaweed, so delicious that she squinted her eyes.

She ate her wontons, watching the increasing number of pedestrians on the street, feeling very peaceful.

This silence was not the emptiness after killing someone, nor the exhaustion after finishing her training; it was a silence she had never experienced before.

Like a stone finally falling to the ground, no longer drifting, no longer hanging in the air, no longer not knowing where I will wake up tomorrow.

After finishing her wontons, Su Jiuge stood up and continued walking along the street of Chongrenfang.

She walked slowly, as if taking a stroll, or perhaps wandering aimlessly.

The city of Los Angeles was unfamiliar to her on the first day of the new year—she had lived in the city for sixteen years and had never walked the streets on the first day of the new year.

She used to spend these days on missions for the Dark Pavilion, killing someone she didn't know in a city she didn't recognize, and then leaving without ever staying.

She walked through the East Market, the West Market, and South Gate Street.

She stopped when she reached the vicinity of the City God Temple.

The alley behind the City God Temple—it was here that she first attacked someone when she was seven years old, slashing a thug's wrist and knee with a sharpened piece of iron, which she then pressed against his throat.

She thought she would be scared, her hands would shake, and she wouldn't be able to sleep, but she wasn't.

Her heart was calmer than ever before; at that moment, she knew she was born to kill.

Su Jiuge stood at the entrance of the alley, without going in.

The alley was much narrower than she remembered, and the walls on both sides were much more dilapidated.

That thug is long gone; maybe he's dead, maybe he's gone somewhere else. Everything has changed, and she has changed too.

Su Jiuge turned around, preparing to leave, when she suddenly stopped.

At the other end of the alley stood a young man, about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, wearing a faded gray cloth long gown, with a cloth belt tied around his waist, and a pair of dusty cloth shoes.

His left arm was bare from the elbow down, the sleeve neatly folded up and secured with a safety pin, revealing half of the stump. His face was stern, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and tightly pursed lips, exuding an austere yet stubborn air.

He carried a bundle in his right hand and a long sword on his back. The sword was wrapped in coarse cloth, obscuring its condition, but judging from the scabbard peeking out from the gaps in the cloth, it was a fine sword.

Su Jiuge knew him.

Number seven.

The seventh member of the Dark Pavilion Training Camp, the boy who lost his left arm, the lone wolf who survived to the end in the training camp with only one hand, the one who came to her with a bowl of medicine after she killed A Yao and told her that "anyone who comes back alone will be targeted."

He is taller and has broader shoulders than he was five years ago, and his face has changed from that of a boy to that of a young man.

That austere yet stubborn spirit has not changed. Like a pine tree growing in a crack in the rock, without soil, without water, without anyone to water or fertilize it, it still survives.

Number Seven also saw Su Jiuge.

He paused, a glint of light flashing in his always slightly narrowed eyes—a light he had finally waited for.

"Number Eight," he called to her.

This is not Su Jiuge, not Night Owl, not Ajiu; it is the training camp number of the Dark Pavilion.

number eight.

She is number eight, and he is number seven.

In that place with no name, no past, and no future, numbers are everything.

Su Jiuge looked at him without saying a word.

Number Seven walked towards her and stopped three steps away from her. He was a full head taller than her. He looked down at her face, his gaze sliding from her eyebrows to the straight sword at her waist, and then to the jade hairpin in her hair.

"I heard you've become the head of the Dark Pavilion," he said.

Su Jiuge nodded.

"I heard you returned to the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence and became the legitimate daughter."

Su Jiuge nodded again.

"I heard you killed Chen Beixuan of the Blood Hall and destroyed the Blood Hall."

Su Jiuge nodded again.

Number Seven remained silent for a moment.

"You did it."

His voice was calm, but his gaze seemed to pierce through the past few years—seeing that lonely figure standing on the edge of a crack in the ground in the mine, looking down into the abyss.

"You said you didn't regret giving her a chance. Now I believe you."

Su Jiuge did not ask him how he knew these things.

The assassins of the Dark Pavilion have their own intelligence channels. Number Seven must have some skill to have survived until now after the Dark Pavilion split.

"And you?" she asked.

Number Seven looked at her and suddenly smiled.

That smile appeared briefly on his cold face, like a shooting star, gone in an instant.

"After I left the Dark Pavilion, I went to the Northern Border. I served as a soldier in the Yan Yun Iron Cavalry for a year, killed quite a few people, saved up some silver, bought a sword, and started living as a lone wolf. I killed corrupt officials, bullies, and those who deserved to die. No organization, no rules, just me. Just like you used to be."

He paused, then tightened the sword belt on his shoulder with his right hand.

"But being alone for a long time can be tiring."

Su Jiuge looked at him and remained silent for a while.

"Dark Pavilion is hiring."

Number Seven looked at her.

"The new rules are: do not kill the innocent, do not harm the loyal and good, and do not do anything unjust." Number Seven looked at her.

"The deputy pavilion master is Ghost Hand, you know him." Number Seven looked at her.

"Are you coming or not?" Su Jiuge's voice wasn't loud, but every word was firm and resolute.

Number Seven stared at her for a long time. Then he reached out his hand.

He took the longsword off his shoulder, hilt facing forward, and handed it to her as part of the ceremony of acknowledging her as his master.

"Number Seven, real name Shen Qing. From Bingzhou, an orphan, with no family."

Su Jiuge took the longsword, looked at the sword wrapped in coarse cloth, and then looked at Shen Qing's face.

"Su Jiuge, a member of the Marquis of Dingyuan's mansion, is the head of the Dark Pavilion."

She handed the longsword back to him.

"From today onwards, you are a member of the Dark Pavilion."

Shen Qing took the longsword and slung it over his shoulder.

His cold, stern face appeared unchanged, but his hand holding the sword was trembling slightly.

Su Jiuge turned around and walked towards the Dingyuan Marquis's residence.

"Let's go back to the Marquis's residence. It's the first day of the New Year, let's eat dumplings." Shen Qing followed behind her, walking silently.

The streets of Chongrenfang were bustling with people.

Su Jiuge walked ahead, her pace neither fast nor slow.

Shen Qing followed behind, always keeping a distance of three steps.

The city gates were wide open, and sunlight streamed in from outside, casting long, long shadows of the two people.

Their shadows walked side by side. Su Jiuge walked in front, and her shadow walked behind.

Su Jiuge turned around and glanced at him.

He's taller, thinner, and colder than he was five years ago. But his eyes are still the same as they were five years ago—cool but not indifferent, as if saying, "I know there's a lot of darkness in this world, but I still want to keep going."

Su Jiuge turned around and continued walking. The shadow followed behind her.

The first day of the first month of the eighteenth year of Yong'an.

Su Jiuge encountered someone at the alleyway behind the City God Temple.

He was the only person who didn't betray her during her eight years in the Dark Pavilion.

It was the person who stood in front of her with a bowl of medicine when she was at her loneliest and said, "You shouldn't have come back."

She finally knew his name.

Shen Qing. He said he was from Bingzhou, an orphan, and had no family.

From this day forward, he is no longer alone.

From now on, the Dark Pavilion will be his home, and she will be his family.

She didn't tell Shen Qing these things; she couldn't bring herself to say them, but she would do them.

She is the head of the Dark Pavilion, and the people in the Dark Pavilion are her people.

She will take action against anyone who makes a move against the people in the Dark Pavilion.

That's her rule.

The New Year's sunshine shone on the streets of Los Angeles, making the snow left over from last night sparkle.

Su Jiuge walked in the sunlight, feeling very happy.

On the first day of the new year, she ate a bowl of wontons, found someone, and immediately returned to the Marquis's residence to eat dumplings.

The dumplings were made by Ms. Shen, with a filling of pickled cabbage and pork. She tried one yesterday and said it was delicious.

Today she can eat the whole plate without sharing with anyone.

The two walked side by side in a narrow alley outside the city. Su Jiuge suddenly spoke up: "Number Seven."

"Um."

"From now on, call me Pavilion Master." Shen Qing paused for a moment.

Then the corners of his mouth curved slightly, a curve so subtle it was more fleeting than the light reflected off a blade.

"Yes, Master."

Su Jiuge quickened her pace and walked towards the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence. Shen Qing followed behind her, keeping a distance of three steps, not too far, not too close, just enough for him to shield her in a moment of crisis.

Actually, he didn't need to block her. She was the leader of the Dark Pavilion, her martial arts were better than his, and she had killed more people than him. She didn't need anyone's protection.

But he still maintained this distance, which was his rule.

The first day of the first month of the eighteenth year of Yong'an.

The Dark Pavilion has gained another top-tier assassin.