The man was very old, and seemed to welcome the death that Zitao delivered to him. His eyes closed when Zitao’s blade cut open his throat, and as he choked on his own blood Zitao could’ve sworn his mouth curved into a half-smile.

Zitao wasn’t really sure why Cao Cao wanted the man dead, but years of blood on his hands had hardened him to stop asking--he had killed too many people for the simple crime of having the potential to challenge Cao Cao. He suspected it was something to do with the man’s claim to a territorial seat near the heart of Cao Cao’s territory, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Wufan walking out of another room in the man’s villa. He was wiping his blade on the cloth he kept in his clothing near his chest, the cloth he used to clean the sin of killing children just because they were born to a powerful family.

“Are we done here?” Zitao asked as he watched the other man sheathe his sword.

Wufan nodded, ever silent.

“Let’s get out of here then. Before the scavengers come.”

As they disappeared out of the house and mounted up on their horses, Zitao thought about how he had reached that moment in time.

After swearing his allegiance to Cao Cao, Zitao was given new clothing and a horse to ride. Cao Cao returned his sword after Zitao proved his loyalty, stealing into the home of a wealthy merchant to smother him in his sleep. What followed was years of service under the close supervision of Cao Cao himself, before being deemed trustworthy enough to operate by himself. Zitao suspected, however, that those years were not spent gaining Cao Cao’s trust, but rather reassuring the older man that Zitao was too dependent on Cao Cao’s patronage to ever think of betraying him.

It was true, though. Despite the pains Zitao took to hide his face, the peasants throughout Cao Cao’s realm recognized him as the shadow in the night, the one that caused death wherever he went. He was unloved, and Cao Cao’s fury at having one of his men killed was the only thing that prevented him from receiving an arrow to his unsuspecting back. If Cao Cao were to release Zitao from his service, Zitao would be dead within days.

And that was how his life came to be run by Cao Cao’s only guiding moral: betray, before you are betrayed. Zitao killed before Cao Cao could be killed. He anticipated treachery dozens of moves in advance, eliminated threats before they themselves knew they were threats. He did it all to stay alive, because the rich rewards Cao Cao promised him turned out to be nothing but a modest house in a conquered city that still reeked of blood and rusting metal. And even that he shared with Wufan, who appeared not long after Zitao did. They plotted their hits together, but where Zitao didn’t think it was so bad to execute the kill and not plan it, Wufan didn’t think it was so bad to plan the kill and not execute it. So they worked well together, though they tried not to talk too much, in fear that they would remind each other of the blood on their hands.

That night they slept under the cover of some trees. Wufan took the first watch, and for the first time in years Zitao dreamt of a dusty marketplace and the cheers of a faceless crowd.

…

The next morning they were on the road again, something about the pollen in the air making Zitao’s stallion prance nervously as they trotted down the road.

“You drool,” he was informed matter-of-factly by Wufan as they took the western road. “I hadn’t noticed until now.”

“I know,” Zitao replied with a sigh and half a smile. “I’ve been told that before.”

Wufan nodded and, suddenly, he spurred his horse into a gallop, slapping the rump of Zitao’s horse as he rode by with a smirk. The stallion whinnied shrilly before breaking into a gallop too, its long legs eating up the distance as it tried to catch up with Wufan’s horse.

The dirt of the road was still hard-packed and the hooves of their horses flew over it, barely skimming the earth as they flew over the ground side by side. Zitao was pressed low against his stallion’s neck, the wind whipping through his hair, and when he looked to his left Wufan was pressed just as close to his own horse. Their mouths opened against their wills and they screamed into the wind, racing each other through the sunshine. It was good to be alive in that moment, with spring all around them and the smell of new growth in the air.

Galloping through so quickly, they didn’t notice the barefoot peasants dragging themselves along the roadside, but far in the distance they saw the gradual signs of rebuilding, new farmsteads going up amidst freshly plowed fields. And they forgot everything else, until the only thing that mattered was the next breath of air and the next second of cutting through the air around them.

But the moment soon came to an end, as their horses grew tired and eventually slowed to a sluggish canter, and then an exhausted walk. Their riders were panting heavily too, letting the reins in their hands drop as they grinned at each other.

“Let’s just leave now,” Zitao suggested. “Let’s just ride and never look back. We could do it.”

“We could,” Wufan agreed.

They were just too scared to.

…

Wufan distracted the innkeeper’s daughter with kisses and soft caresses while Zitao slit the throat of the man she was serving, letting him fall face forward into his plate of rice and chicken. Zitao strangled a eunuch as Wufan kept watch outside, sending away anyone who approached him. Wufan interrogated a gatekeeper for the floor plan of a manor house while Zitao sharpened his sword in a corner, filling the room with the soft shicks of metal on steel. They didn’t think about the fleeting moment of freedom that one morning, galloping headlong into the unknown without a care in the world. But they remembered.

That summer was one of the hottest in memory, so the rice paddies and hemp fields exploded into color. Zitao started covering his dark hair with a gauzy layer of cloth that reflected some of the heat off of his head, while Wufan took the other route and bleached his hair a sandy blonde with dyes from an old woman in town. Their hits became less and less as the lethargic heat stoppered the roads and prevented correspondence from flowing between themselves and Cao Cao. Eventually they received no more orders, and didn’t know what to do with themselves.

They spent most of their time fanning themselves in dark corners of the house, splashing around in the murky pond out back, and sweating through all of their clothes. Zitao was faintly reminded of another time, a time when he also had no energy and when he lay around the house in a state of half sleep.

“We could go now, you know,” Wufan said one day while they sat flapping their sweat soaked clothes against their bodies to create a breeze. “We’d be halfway to Korea before he figured out that we were gone.”

Zitao shook his head, grimacing at the feeling of his neck ungluing itself from the sticky surface of his shoulder. “You don’t know Cao Cao like I do. He’d never let something like that go unpunished. He’d find us.”

“So let’s find him first! I’m sick of doing his dirty work for no reason other than to stay alive!”

“What other reason is there?” Zitao asked. “I know you don’t have a family to go back to, just like me.”

“Are you kidding me?” Wufan sounded genuinely surprised as he looked at Zitao. “Haven’t you ever dreamt about becoming a hero? Wasn’t your family the only thing holding you back?”

Zitao thought of Fahong. “Well it’s too late now.”

Wufan snorted. “You certainly are pessimistic. If you can’t think of any reason to escape Cao Cao then why are you even still alive? You should’ve kicked the bucket a long time ago.”

“Well, this is the first time I’m hearing this from you too!” Zitao defended. “When have you ever wanted to escape?”

Wufan didn’t have a response to that. A bird in the trees nearby twittered half-heartedly in the sudden silence, and Zitao felt a bead of sweat snake its way in between his shoulderblades where he couldn’t reach it. Then after a long period of not speaking he opened his mouth again.

“So let’s go,” he said.

…

It was easy to avoid being seen when most people were either sleeping away the heat inside their homes or traveling towards the coast for the cool breeze that rolled off the ocean there. They kept the jet black horses they usually rode at home, instead bartering for more generic ones at the nearest town. After Wufan counted the coins into the man’s hand, Zitao gave him a taste of his steel through the chest. They left him dying on the floor of the stable, the coins clutched in a death grip in his fist.

“You know the plan?” Zitao asked as they swung up onto their horses.

“Better than you,” the older man quipped, and Zitao laughed, giddy on the prospect of escape.

They pushed the horses to a hard gallop despite the heat, and the breeze through their clothes kept them cool despite the earth baking underneath them. For the summer Cao Cao was staying at his villa, which was a hard day’s ride away. His men would still be away trying to order the realm, and any guards remaining would be sweltering under their suits of mail. There was no better time.

As night fell they reached Cao Cao’s villa, which seemed almost dead from the outside with the lack of activity inside. They knew that Cao Cao liked to have complete silence in the evening, the better to concentrate on his plans for conquest. The moon was shining that night, through a thin veil of mist that obscured the sight past ten feet.

They made quick work of the guard at the gate and entered through the front garden, where all the plants were shriveled from the heat. It was deserted, but they entered with caution nonetheless, Wufan taking the corners while Zitao watched the building for signs of movement. Then they secured the guardhouse where the only guard was snoring loudly, a bottle of wine falling from one hand.

Cao Cao’s household guard proved to be more difficult in their quarters behind the main house. The room in which they slept, about twenty of them, was very cramped and left little room for maneuvering. Their sheer number would have overwhelmed them, but Wufan slammed the door of the room opposite their sleeping quarters.

“Go see what that was,” one of the men inside grumbled, turning over in his bed.

Another man groaned and crawled out of his own bed, dragging himself into the hallway. As he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes he walked straight into the tip of Zitao’s blade, and he made a surprised squeaking noise as he fell to the ground with a thud.

“What was that?” another voice demanded from inside the room. “Someone go look.”

Two more men were sent outside, similar to the first, and, similar to the first, they met their deaths without any protest. After the third man managed to give out a startled shout as he died, the rest of the guards realized that something was wrong. There was shouting and stumbling inside the room, but none of them noticed the shadow that was Wufan stepping in between them with a dagger in his hand. Any guards not killed by Wufan inside the room or Zitao while trying to escape it, killed each other in their panic to find the intruder. It was almost too easy, Zitao thought as he cleaned his blade on the scratchy fabric of the bedsheets.

And after they had eliminated any threats, they moved onto Cao Cao’s own bedchambers, where the worst threat awaited them.

…

Cao Cao’s study was dimly lit, with the brightest area being a circle of light cast by a single lantern hanging from the rafters. The walls of the room had bookshelves pushed up against them, and the bookshelves were stacked with scrolls and books and little bottles containing rare herbs and spices. When Zitao breathed in deeply, he could smell the acidic scent of ink on the air, as well as taste the burning wax and the sourness of metal well used.

He should’ve allowed Wufan to cast his throwing knife straight into Cao Cao’s back as he was bent over his desk, but he knew if that happened he would never forgive himself. He had to have closure, so he carefully checked every crevice of the room for potential weapons, made note of the exits, and reminded himself of areas to avoid--the hot wax puddling onto the floor and the rickety shelves of books.

“Guard the window,” he breathed into Wufan’s ear as he placed one hand on the hilt of his sword.

He gave Wufan five minutes to navigate around the villa to the window outside Cao Cao’s study before sprinting into the room, knocking the lantern from the rafters so the burning oil scorched Cao Cao’s writing arm, and pressing his blade into Cao Cao’s neck so hard it drew blood.

“I never did trust you completely,” Cao Cao said when he saw who it was, his voice strangely choked because of the blade cutting off his air supply. “Don’t tell me reliable Wufan has joined your cause as well?”

“He was the one who suggested it,” Zitao said, glancing at the angry red spots on Cao Cao’s arm where the oil had splashed it.

“I see.” Cao Cao paused. “You two were always especially thorough. I expect you’ve killed all the guards and my family?”

“The guards are dead for ever swearing service to a scoundrel like you. Your family has been spared; they have done nothing wrong.”

“A noble sentiment, but a bad decision. My sons will grow up with your name always in their minds. They will remember you as the man that killed their father and stripped them of much of their power and influence. They will hunt you and kill you once they are old enough.”

“I’m not afraid. If they kill me, so be it. I will die defending myself.”

“Have it your way, then.” Cao Cao his lips and glanced nervously at the doorway of the room. “Kill me now and be done with it.”

“No. I’ll have some answers from you first.” Zitao followed his gaze but saw only the shadows in the hallway shifting from the flickering candles inside.

“That’s unreasonably cruel, isn’t it?”

“I’ll have a finger off until you answer me. It’s what you deserve for killing all that you have.”

Cao Cao sighed, his breath whistling out of his mouth and nose from the constricted condition of his windpipe. “Fine.”

“You say that you create no boundaries for yourself, yet you take advantage of the boundaries other people have made.”

“I do not force them to do anything. It’s their decision and if they will not oppose me I will kill them.”

Zitao chewed his lip in frustration. “Fine. Then what if people want to have boundaries around them?”

“What?”

Zitao swallowed dryly and said it again. “What if people want to have boundaries around them? What if they like it? What if being told what to do and how to do it makes them feel more comfortable, happier? Boundaries aren’t just ways of keeping you enclosed within a space. It’s also a way of keeping people out.”

Zitao studied Cao Cao’s expression as he spoke, but the man’s expression never wavered. Strangely, it only made Zitao more determined as he continued, the grip on his sword never wavering.

“When I was training in the temple I never knew what the world was like, and even though it’s wrong, I was happy there. Now that I’m out in the world, with all of this war, I wish I could go back to that. But now that I’ve gotten rid of the boundaries that protected me, I can never go back.”

Something flickered, a lot like doubt, in Cao Cao’s eyes, and with each passing second Zitao’s conviction grew.

“It’s true that the only boundaries are created by people. But those boundaries are there because we need them. Without honor or duty, what would life mean?”

Cao Cao’s eyes darkened and Zitao watched his fists clench on the desk.

“You’re a fool!” he declared. “You don’t know the meaning of honor!”

At that very second the shadow in the hallway leapt into the room. It was a boy wielding a warhammer too big for his scrawny frame, yelling as he ran straight for Zitao. It was too easy to simply sidestep and slip his blade in between the boy’s ribs, Cao Cao’s last hope for escape.

“You’re dead!” Cao Cao snarled from his desk as he charged too.

It was a good effort, Zitao had to admit, but he was armed while Cao Cao only had his fists, with the disadvantage of age as well. He ducked all of the older man’s blows while waiting for him to tire himself out. Then he lunged forward and landed the tip of his blade in the hollow of Cao Cao’s throat, where sweat was beading.

Zitao shook his head. “No, you’re the one who’s dead.”

He jerked his wrist ever so slightly and the steel cut into Cao Cao’s neck so the blood trickled down the blade and spattered on the ground as he died.

…

“How did it go?” Wufan asked four hours later as they switched horses at a sleepy market town.

“It was strange,” Zitao replied, shaking his hair from his eyes as he mounted up. “He almost looked scared when I killed him. Like he was just another person.”

“He was,” Wufan pointed out.

Zitao shrugged and took a drink from the canteen at his hip, waiting for Wufan’s horse to be brought outside.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I always did think of him as a better man than he really was.”

“Well, none of that matters now.” Wufan was mounted on his horse too, and a rare summer breeze ruffled his hair and sent shivers down Zitao’s sweat-soaked back.

“We’re free,” they said at the same instant.