24. One for the price of two

Outside, in the cold alleyway, the hidden watcher remained crouched behind the collapsed cart, breath steady, ears straining to catch any hint of the conversation within the wooden house. They had been careful, never getting too close, never making unnecessary movements. But somehow, they had been noticed.

The silence of the night was suddenly broken by the softest rustle of fabric. The watcher's instincts screamed, but before they could react, a thin wire wrapped around their throat. Strong hands yanked them backward into the darkness, their body convulsing as they struggled against the garrote.

Another shadow emerged, a dagger gleaming in the moonlight before plunging into their chest. Once. Twice. A third time to be sure. The watcher's body twitched, then fell still. The beggars quickly stripped them of anything valuable, including the concealed missives hidden in their robes, before dragging the corpse into a nearby sewer tunnel. By dawn, nothing would remain.

…

Back in the wooden house, Mo Tian sat as if nothing had happened. He had not so much as flinched during the entire exchange. When the beggars returned, one of them wordlessly placed a folded parchment on the table before him, the findings from the dead watcher.

Mo Tian unfolded it, scanning the contents. A slow smile formed on his lips.

"It seems we had another bidder for that elder's head," he mused. "Interesting."

The beggar leader leaned in slightly. "Who?"

Mo Tian didn't answer immediately. He tapped the paper against his palm, deep in thought. This war was becoming more lucrative by the day, and now, there were even more players in the shadows.

His gaze flicked up to the beggar leader, cold and calculating. "Tell me, how much do you think the Zheng family would pay to know the Jian family is hiring assassins against them?"

The beggar leader blinked, then grinned. "More than forty-five thousand taels."

Mo Tian leaned back, fingers steepling. "Then let's make sure we get paid twice."

The game had just become more interesting.

…

(Later that night, at the Edge of the Jian Military Camp in the wilderness)

The wind howled through the dense pines, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and burning torches. The Jian military camp lay nestled in the valley, its watchfires flickering against the dark canvas of night. Banners bearing the Jian sigil swayed lazily in the cold wind, and the rhythmic clang of weapons training echoed faintly from deeper within the encampment.

A lone beggar trudged along the narrow dirt path leading to the outer checkpoint. His ragged cloak draped over his thin frame, the frayed edges fluttering with each step. He held a small wooden box in his hands, bound with crimson silk.

Two armored sentries stepped forward, halberds crossed.

"Halt. State your business."

The beggar coughed into his sleeve, keeping his head bowed. "A delivery for the Jian family. Urgent."

The taller of the guards eyed him suspiciously. "From whom?"

"No name was given," the beggar replied. "Only that it is payment for a service rendered."

The guards exchanged glances before one of them gestured him through. "Move quickly."

The beggar nodded and shuffled forward, each step measured, deliberate.

(a few minutes later, Inside the Command Tent)

The air inside the command tent was thick with the scent of parchment, incense, and aged wine. Jian Shuren, the Jian family's battlefield commander, stood over a large campaign table, reviewing maps with a scrutinizing gaze. His younger brother, Jian Hao, lounged nearby, swirling wine in his cup with lazy indifference.

When the beggar was led inside, neither man looked up at first.

Shuren finally spoke without turning. "What is this?"

The beggar knelt, placing the box before him. But rather than immediately presenting it, he cleared his throat.

"There is one more thing," he rasped. "The price has doubled."

Jian Hao's relaxed demeanor vanished in an instant. He slammed his cup down, wine sloshing over the rim. "What?" His voice was sharp, edged with disbelief. "We already paid!"

The beggar remained motionless. "The task was more complicated than anticipated."

Shuren's brow furrowed. "We paid to have Elder Zheng's head delivered to us, not to negotiate like merchants in a fish market. Why should we pay more?"

The beggar lifted his gaze slightly, though his face remained shrouded in the hood's shadow. "Because the ones you hired decided Elder Zheng was not the problem. The Tail was."

Silence fell over the tent.

Shuren's fingers twitched. He exhaled slowly, as though weighing the words carefully. "Explain."

The beggar, with the patience of a man who had nothing to lose, reached forward and untied the crimson silk. He lifted the lid.

The moment the wooden cover tilted open, the scent of blood, metallic and sharp, filled the tent. Candlelight flickered over the severed head inside. The dead eyes of the Tail stared up at them, half-lidded, his mouth slightly open as if caught in mid-protest.

Jian Hao pushed back from the table, nearly knocking over his chair. "That's not Elder Zheng!"

Shuren's eyes were locked on the lifeless face. He said nothing, only running his fingers along the rough grain of the wooden box.

"The ones you hired said Elder Zheng's death would change nothing," the beggar continued. His voice remained eerily calm, as though the scene before him was nothing more than a routine exchange. "The Tail was the one whispering in Zheng's ear, his enforcer in the dark. If you wish to see your true enemy fall, look beyond the obvious."

He reached into his tattered robe and withdrew a folded parchment. "This was left for you."

Shuren took it, his eyes still cold and unreadable. He unfolded the note, scanning the inked words.

'Your blade was aimed at the wrong neck. Consider this a correction. If you still desire Zheng's head, the price has doubled.'

Jian Hao's face twisted in rage. "Those arrogant bastards! They think they can dictate terms to us?" He turned to Shuren. "We should send someone after them. Make an example of them."

Shuren remained silent for a long moment before placing the note down beside the box. His fingers tapped lightly against the wood.

"If they're right," he said finally, "then we would have wasted our money on a meaningless kill." He exhaled, his lips pressing into a thin line. "But if they're playing us…"

He looked up at the beggar. "Where is their messenger waiting for our response?"

The beggar smiled slightly. "He isn't."

Jian Hao's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"They will return for your answer in three days," the beggar said simply. "You can pay the new price… or deal with Elder Zheng on your own."

For the first time that night, Shuren's grip on the edge of the table tightened. The weight of the decision loomed over him.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, carrying whispers of unseen figures lurking just beyond the firelight.

…

(3 Days later, at the Edge of the Jian Military Camp in the wilderness)

The Jian military camp sat cloaked in darkness, its torches burning low against the frigid night air. The towering pines swayed, their rustling leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The air carried the scent of damp wood, steel, and lingering blood. The remnants of an execution carried out earlier that evening.

Inside the command tent, Jian Shuren sat motionless, staring at the severed head of the Tail, now preserved in a salted box in the corner. The flickering candlelight cast jagged shadows along the tent walls, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the lacquered table. Across from him, Jian Hao paced impatiently.

"They made us wait long enough," he muttered, agitation in his voice. "Are they coming or not?"

"They will," Shuren said simply. "They wanted us to sit with their decision. To let the doubt fester."

A low whistle pierced the stillness outside. The guards at the entrance stiffened, hands tightening around their weapons, but Shuren raised a hand. "Let him in."

The tent flap stirred, and a figure entered with deliberate slowness.

Unlike the ragged beggar who had come before, this man carried himself with the air of someone accustomed to power. His patchwork robes were layered, their filth carefully arranged, his wiry frame half-hidden beneath folds of tattered cloth. Despite his hunched posture, his sharp eyes gleamed with intelligence.

The Beggar leader had arrived.

With measured steps, he approached the table and inclined his head slightly, his amusement barely concealed. "Three nights," he said, his voice like gravel on stone. "Plenty of time to reconsider."

Jian Hao scoffed. "You assume too much. We had already decided."

The beggar leader chuckled, unbothered. "Of course. That is why you had your men stationed on the ridge, bows trained on my arrival." His gaze flicked toward Shuren. "A reasonable precaution, though unnecessary."

Shuren met his stare, unflinching. "You doubled the price at the last moment. Precaution is expected."

The Beggar leader tilted his head. "And yet, you have not refused."

Shuren was silent for a moment. Then, with a slow nod, he spoke. "We'll pay."

Jian Hao clenched his jaw but said nothing.

The beggar leader smiled, revealing crooked teeth. "A wise choice."

He reached into his sleeve and retrieved a small bamboo slip, rolling it across the table. "Within two weeks, Elder Zheng Xuan's head will be in your hands. The place and time of delivery are written inside."

Shuren picked up the slip but didn't open it. His eyes remained on the man before him. "And this time, it will be the right head?"

The beggar leader laughed softly, the sound low and knowing. "You hired us for results. You paid. You will have them."

He turned to leave but paused at the tent's entrance. Without looking back, he spoke again.

"One more thing, General Jian."

Shuren raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Next time, make sure there are no tails" the Beggar leader said, his voice light yet deliberate, "or it will not end with merely paying double."

Then, like a shadow slipping into the night, he was gone.

A heavy silence filled the tent. Jian Hao exhaled sharply. "Damn rats always talking in riddles." He turned to Shuren. "You think he means this group has powerful backers?"

Shuren studied the bamboo slip in his hand before setting it down. His mind worked through the implications, the weight of their decision settling onto his shoulders.

"It doesn't matter," he said at last. "Zheng Xuan must die."

Outside, the watchfires burned low, and the night stretched on, filled with unseen eyes and whispered promises of blood.