Beheading

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Jingle!

The wind chimes rang out with a chill.

Creak.

The old glass door was pushed open from the inside. Swept in with the howling night wind was a gaunt young man clad in a black overcoat.

He surveyed the little shop.

An old-fashioned, bulbous lamp cast a dim yellow glow. Under its light, all sorts of odd and curious goods crowded both sides of the narrow corridor, extending into the shop’s shadowy depths behind the counter.

A DVD player was spinning a kung fu movie that had been released two years earlier.

Cramped, yet orderly.

“We’re closed for the night, sir,”

A young man in a shirt emerged from behind the counter, a half-worn martial arts novel still pinched between his fingers.

“Are you Mr. Lu, the shopkeeper?”

The youth’s gaze dropped to the shopkeeper’s feet; noticing his limp, he visibly relaxed.

Lu Xun, as he was called, now scrutinized the visitor, nodding. “That’s me.”

The youth’s face was pale, blood yet to be wiped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes flickered swiftly, but never lost track of the door behind him and the depths behind the counter. “My brother told me I had to come here.”

He strode quickly to the murky glass counter.

Thud.

Like a magician, the youth produced a box, a foot square, placing it on the counter. It was hard to imagine how a man with empty hands and only an overcoat could produce a box nearly thirty centimeters on each side from—who knew where.

Lu Xun was unsurprised. He glanced at the box—a creation of unknown technology, alloyed and mysterious—and nodded slightly. “This is the item he mentioned.”

The youth’s hand withdrew slowly from the box. “Tomorrow, at five o’clock in the evening, someone will come for it. He’ll pay the balance.”

Five o’clock, evening.

A strange combination of hours.

Lu Xun did not correct him.

Jingle.

He watched as the youth’s silhouette vanished down the alley.

Lu Xun hurried to pull down the alloy shutter above the heavy glass door, meticulously locking each bolt along the row.

He pressed his arms firmly against the doors, ensuring that no ordinary strength could force open his double barriers.

Though he knew it might not keep out more-than-human intruders.

He fetched a cloth bundle and wrapped the mysterious, technological alloy box, tucking it into a hidden compartment before settling back into his recliner. Instead of his half-worn martial arts novel, he drew a rectangular case from beneath the counter. With utmost care, he lifted the lid and gazed at the weapon within.

Beretta 686, a double-barreled firearm.

A weapon powerful enough to pierce his alloy shutters.

He was never curious about what customers left behind. Curiosity often meant unreliability, and in business, nothing was more important than trust. This was how Lu Xun had established himself so quickly, becoming a renowned middleman and taking on commissions from all sides—such as tonight’s box.

“To keep it safe for a day and a night, a five-hundred deposit, fifteen hundred on delivery—quite the profit!”

Lu Xun carefully polished the weapon, murmuring quietly to himself.

Yet behind the joy in his eyes, there was only gravity.

Big profits meant big trouble.

The bulbous lamp cast a warm, dim glow, while the cold steel soothed the unease in his heart.

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He gripped the wooden stock of the firearm.

His hand trembled slightly.

A rush of adrenaline from the anticipation of battle.

Click.

He loaded two shells.

Set the firearm on the counter, within instant reach.

Lu Xun glanced at the old clock on the wall.

Seven p.m.

By old reckoning, the hour of the Dog.

He switched to the Flower City news channel.

Listening to the evening news, he cooked a bundle of noodles.

He took two eggs, hesitated, and put one back.

He cracked an egg against the pot, letting it slide in.

“We interrupt with breaking news: a major rift has appeared in the Chongyang District of Flower City. The Ministry of Security has sealed the area and advises residents…”

Blowing on his noodles, Lu Xun looked at the screen, his brows knotting. “That’s so close?”

Recalling the wounds and bloodstains on the black-clad youth, Lu Xun’s heart skipped. “Could that box have come out of the rift?”

He quickly finished the noodles in a few gulps, swallowed the egg, and sprang to his feet to peer out the window—indeed, distant commotion drifted in.

He didn’t linger, but locked the window and pulled down its shutter.

The shop was small, with only a tiny partitioned space—enough for a cot and a desk.

Lying on his cot, Lu Xun massaged his crippled leg. He didn’t ask Heaven for talent, only for a pair of whole legs.

With legs like these, he’d never enter the rift—only scavenge as a middleman.

He earned barely enough to survive, let alone heal.

The night passed without incident.

Morning.

Up at half past five, Lu Xun rolled up the shutter, opened the heavy glass door, and took several calls—mostly for pipe replacements, drain clearing, lock changes, bulb replacements, and appliance repairs—the sort of jobs the elderly struggled with.

Lu Xun preferred working for young people.

They didn’t haggle or waste time.

Most of all, he liked jobs for those who ventured in and out of the rifts—their prices were flexible, but more importantly, every secret transaction let him brush up against the extraordinary.

That exhilarating closeness to supernatural power never left him.

After noon, business slowed.

Lu Xun sank into his recliner, ignoring Seven Types of Weapons, and picked up the remote instead.

He rarely turned on the TV except for the news, but at this hour, the military drama Soldiers’ Assault was airing.

…

The bell at the door rang again.

Lu Xun looked up at the clock.

Dusk.

Five o’clock.

He sprang to his feet, eyes fixed on the entrance.

The man who pushed open the heavy, frosted glass door was immense. A wide hat brim concealed his face entirely; his brown leather trench coat fit tightly, the texture resembling sewn scales, and his iron boots thudded heavily on the floor. As he walked, a long sword flashed at his hip.

He advanced to the murky counter and spoke bluntly: “Mr. Lu, yesterday someone left an item here in your care.”

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From behind the counter, Lu Xun asked, “The balance?”

The man slowly raised his head.

His massive, tower-like presence was oppressive.

A mask of silver-white concealed his features, revealing only a pair of striking black-and-white eyes. “Fifteen hundred.”

Lu Xun relaxed a little, smiling. “That’s right.”

Since he’d answered the code and arrived at the appointed hour, Lu Xun saw no reason not to hand over the goods.

He turned, retrieved the bundle from the hidden compartment, and placed it on the counter.

The gloved man unwrapped it at once. Inside was the enigmatic alloy box, a foot square, its surface black as ink, occasionally pulsing with purplish-red lines. The man nodded in satisfaction. “They say Mr. Lu in Chongyang District is the most reliable shopkeeper. Your reputation is well-deserved.”

Lu Xun rubbed his hands. “You flatter me, sir. Well…”

The armored man took a thick wad of bills from his pocket and placed them on the counter.

“Please count it, Mr. Lu.”

“All right.” Lu Xun gathered the money and began to count.

“Mr. Lu, you like martial arts novels?”

“Uh, yes.”

Lu Xun glanced at him, noticing the man’s gaze lingering on the bookshelf and the pile of books by the recliner.

“That one—Seven Types of Weapons?”

“Yes.”

The man’s eyes slowly returned. “There’s a weapon in Seven Types of Weapons called the ‘Peacock Plume.’ Gao Li borrowed it from Qiu Fengwu, but lost it. When he went back to confess, he accidentally discovered a great secret, and in the end, to prevent that secret from spreading, he drank poisoned wine.”

Lu Xun’s face changed dramatically. He snatched up the firearm, pressing it squarely against the brim of the man’s hat.

The cold trigger sent a chill down his spine, quelling his excitement.

Suppressing the tremor of adrenaline, Lu Xun forced his voice steady. “The balance is paid in full. Sir, you may leave.”

The masked man shook his head slightly. “Mr. Lu is a clever man. You know I can’t leave.”

Lu Xun snarled through clenched teeth, “You won’t go? I’ll kill you with one shot!”

To intimidate him, Lu Xun explained, “Beretta 686, double-barreled shotgun—it’ll drop an elephant. It came out of the rift. You know it’s real.”

“You’ve seen me and this item. The secret must be kept.”

“I’ll keep it!” Lu Xun almost screamed.

“Only the dead can keep secrets forever.”

The man’s gloved hand was already on his sword.

“Damn you—”

Seeing him about to draw, the desperate Lu Xun pulled the trigger.

Swish!

There was no gunshot.

Lu Xun felt the world spin.

Wide-eyed, he saw his own body standing rigidly, weapon still raised.

His body remained poised to fire.

Thud.

His head rolled to the floor.