The Central Plains had been left behind.  Over mountains, across rivers and valleys, and now here.  A rocky plain at the foot of an unfamiliar mountain, the final destination of a journey more than six months long.

The Kunlun sect.

It was out there somewhere.

Somewhere on the western slopes of the nearest mountain hides an enclave of Taoist masters.  Alone and isolated from the rest of the world for decades. 

Four riders made their way there now, wondering if they would be welcomed by the secluded ascetics.

--If any of them are still alive.--  Pengfei thought to himself, staring at the landscape ahead, undulating with the steady steps of his horse. 

--They took in new disciples five years ago… But did anyone confirm that?--

Rumors and speculation.  Pengfei had been reviewing what little he knew of Kunlun ever since the mountains had come into view on the northern horizon. 

“You’re not just going to send me up the mountain alone and leave, right?  You’re going to wait until we’re sure there’s someone there?” Pengfei broke a long silence

“You really need to relax.”  Zeng Zihao didn’t bother to answer the question he had heard so many times before.

“Right, right.”  Pengfei looked back to the northwest again.

For the others, the sect was just a waypoint.  The escorts from Qingcheng would head home along the Desert Road through Xinjiang, and Pema, their guide, would reunite with her nomadic clan somewhere nearby.  But in a day or two, the Kunlun sect would become Pengfei’s new home.

--Shaolin, Kongtong, Zhongnan, Nangong, Emei--

Pengfei recited the list for the thousandth, no, the ten thousandth time.  Never aloud.  It was a secret even from the travelling companions who had become friends. A message from the elders of Qingcheng to those of Kunlun.

--Shaolin, Kongtong, Zhongnan, Nangong, Emei--

Saying the mantra eased Pengfei’s nervous mind.  His gaze drifted from the distant hills and back to Pema.  She was at her customary place at the head of the party, guiding them through the desolate landscape.  Her braids mixed in haphazardly with loose hair and bounced on her back in rhythm with her mount’s gait.  She hummed an unknown tune.

“Will you miss me Pema?” 

“No.”

Pengfei’s joking question was answered in the same tone.  Ma Feng laughed aloud.  The boys glanced at each other and then both looked ahead.  Feng picked up the tune where Pema had left off and soon she was humming along with him.

--I’ll miss you both.--  Pengfei thought.

A bit of a love triangle had developed when Pema had joined them in Nagqu.  Pengfei, 14, and the slightly older Ma Feng both seemed infatuated with the Tibetan girl who rode so splendidly. She was effortlessly kind to both but if she preferred one over the other she hid it marvelously well.

Zeng Zihao shook his head, seemingly amused whenever he noticed the boys’ sidelong glances, perhaps remembering his own teenage infatuations.  They weren’t all that long ago, after all. 

The four of them had endured a long and difficult journey, though relatively free of genuine danger.  Pengfei had the vague impression some intrigue had taken place before they had departed the Central Plains, that more travelers should have accompanied them.  A new generation of disciples to learn at the feet of the Taoist elders and carry on the proud lineage of a once powerful sect.

Instead, only Pengfei would enter the gates, delivered by a small party to avoid attention.  And the trip had indeed passed without incident so far. 

So, Pengfei did not immediately feel worried when he noticed three black specks descending the southern face of the nearest mountain.  He was surprised but calm, even when he recognized them for what they were, riders on horseback. 

He noticed Zihao following their movements as well, and asked the man, “Who are they?  Kunlun?”

“Could be.  We’re close enough to their territory.” 

But Pema disagreed.  “They’re wearing black.  Kunlun wears grey.”

Pengfei couldn’t distinguish between man and mount but Pema’s eyesight had consistently proven to be the best in the group.  Her statement went unchallenged. 

The high elevation of the plateau and sparse rainfall prevented the growth of most vegetation, so there was an unobstructed view in every direction.  They were able to monitor the strangers as they slowly descended the mountain, growing more alert as it became clear that the distant group had set a course that would intercept the party. 

“Let’s pick up the pace.”  Zihao commanded.

The four of them dug their heels into their horses’ sides and urged them forward at a canter, still not quite sure how to feel about the situation but with increasingly nervous glances over their shoulders.  When the distant figures reached the bottom of their mountain, they became obscured by the small dips and hills of the plain.  

Pengfei and his companions only became more tense when the strangers disappeared from view.  Still, he had faith in his escorts.  Every day when they made camp Zeng Zihao would spend at least an hour teaching his junior, Ma Feng, the finer points of the Qingcheng sword.  They both displayed incredible technique.  Blade, bare hands, the movement skills that defied gravity and logic.  Their proficiency was evident in everything Pengfei had seen. 

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Two hours passed.  They had been keeping a moderate pace, alternating between a brisk canter and a quick walk to conserve their horses’ energy.  The strangers had opted for speed over stamina.  They appeared on the crest of a hill behind the party.  Closer, but still several li away. 

“Zihao…”. Pengfei began. 

“I see them.” 

Ma Feng squinted at the pursuers.  “Could they be from the Demonic Cult?” 

“Maybe.  Their land is not too far to the north… Either way, I don’t want to meet them out in the open.”

--The Demonic Cult!?--

Pengfei was taken aback at that.  He knew little about the great sects and clans that were the sturdy trees of the Wulin, the Martial Forest.  But any fool knew that the Demonic Cult was to be avoided. 

A trickle of sweat ran down his neck.

“Come on!”  Zihao spurred his horse to a gallop and the others followed suit.

The pursuers dropped in and out of sight with each crest and valley.  The black specks bobbed along on the landscape like motes of pollen on a rippling pond as the party sped through the hills. 

The horses kicked up rocks and tough earth and all other sounds were obscured by the pounding of their hooves.  The animals were sweating profusely now despite the cool bite in the air as afternoon became evening. 

A large lake came into view on their left.  The mounts were undoubtedly thirsty, but the party did not veer off course.  Still, the breathing of the animals was too labored to be ignored.  Pengfei glanced behind but could not see any sign of the black-clad strangers.  He looked to Pema and motioned to the horses.  She nodded.

Pengfei shouted to the others.  Shouted over the sound of wind and hoof.  The party slowed.

“What is it?!” Zihao demanded. 

“The horses can’t keep the pace!”  Pengfei struggled to say.  The animals were doing most of the work but staying in the jostling saddle was still taxing in the thin air. 

Zihao looked back, considered.   He and Ma Feng had spent most of their lives on Mount Qingcheng and were only middling riders.  They had come to rely on the advice of first Pengfei, and later Pema, when it came to riding.

Zihao nodded in concession.

“Five minutes walk.”

The four of them drew close together as the horses continued at the slower gait. 

“Do you know where we are?  How far to the sect?”  Ma Feng asked of Pema. 

“That is Kotra Tso.”  She nodded toward the south and the lake in the distance.  “From here, maybe 12 hours hard ride.”

They collectively looked at the sky where the sun hung low in the west.   They would lose all light within two hours and there would be no moon that evening.

“Can you find the way in the dark?”  Zihao asked.

Pema hesitated a moment.

“I think so.  Yes.”

“Will the horses make it?”  Pengfei was still concerned about their breathing.  They were of Tibetan stock and he deferred to Pema’s knowledge on the breed.

“Hard to say.  It’ll help to drop some weight.” 

With a deftness coming from a life on horseback Pema threw her legs over her mount, turning backwards in her saddle.  She took a knife from her waistband and cut free the small saddle bags hanging from her horse’s back.  Pengfei completed the same maneuver but without the same grace.  Pema kept only a quiver of arrows and a bow, still strung from an attempted hunt earlier in the day and, as her usual hunting partner, Pengfei was similarly equipped. 

The Qingcheng swordsmen kept their swords and nothing else.  Ma Feng switched his scabbard from his left to right and back again, nervously.

“So, we just race them to Kunlun?”

“If we make it to nightfall, we might lose them in the dark.”  Zihao suggested.

“I don’t think we have that long.”  Pengfei pointed back behind them.  The strangers in black were coming out of the hills into the basin around the lake.  The gap had narrowed considerably.  Just a few li away now. 

“Pengfei, you and Pema go, we’ll stay here and – ” Ma Feng began, but Zihao interrupted.

“No, we stay together.” 

The older escort set his horse to trot, and the others did the same.  It seemed inevitable that the others would catch up before nightfall but the party kept moving.  They monitored the strangers’ progress and set to a gallop when the gap had shrunk to less than a li.

The stamina of the horses gave out before dusk. When Zihao’s mare slowed noticeably, the swordsman pulled back on the reins and turned to face the strangers.  Ma Feng pulled up next to him while Pengfei and Pema kept to the rear.

--Shit, shit, shit!--

Pengfei kept his fearful cursing to himself.

The Qingcheng swordsman moved their swords to their laps but made no move to draw them. 

Pengfei was unsure how much help he and Pema would be if the encounter turned violent.  They were both good archers.  Pengfei’s skill came from an aristocratic upbringing hunting in the Central Plains.  Pema’s from the necessity of a life on the Tibetan steppe.  However, Zihao had spoken of masters who could swat arrows away like insects. 

They nocked arrows anyway. 

--A person… will it be the same as aiming at a hare?--

The strangers stopped their horses twenty paces away.

Silence. 

The two groups appraised each other.  Two young men and one middle-aged, swords on their hips.  They gave the impression of soldiers.  Cold eyes, and when the leader spoke, it was without any pleasantries.

“No one may approach Kunlun.”

The words hung in the air.   Several awkward moments passed before Zihao finally spoke, disregarding the man’s statement. 

“Who are you three?  The Demonic Cult?”

The leader’s long, thin, face betrayed no emotion before he spoke again.

“Kunlun has closed its gates.  No one may enter.”   

“No outsiders may enter.  But this boy will become a disciple of Kunlun.”  Zihao corrected the man, gesturing toward Pengfei. 

“They received disciples five years ago.  They don’t need anymore.”

“But they will have him anyway.”

The verbal exchange came to an end and the strangers looked at each other.  No more words were spoken but they drew their swords in a seamless unison. 

“Turn around.”  It was said with the same cool voice as the rest of his words but there was an unambiguous threat in the man’s words.

Zihao examined the opponents closely. 

“Pema, Pengfei, the man on the right”

Pengfei didn’t understand what Zihao meant at first, but when Pema lifted her bow and took aim, he realized he was meant to target the stranger.  He raised his own bow and looked down the arrow’s shaft at the man. 

--That’s not a hare.--  Pengfei tried not to see the human face in front of him.  He focused on the black fabric of clothes instead.  The arrowhead danced wildly in front of his hand.

“Don’t do this.”  Zihao’s last attempt to avoid conflict. 

The dark-clad men jumped from their horses’ backs and high into the air.  Pengfei tried to track his target as the man soared upwards.  He loosed his arrow but it went wide.  Pema’s shot was more accurate but the man flicked the arrow away with his sword.

Just like in the stories.

The three strangers all converged on Zeng Zihao and Ma Feng.  The two Qingcheng swordsmen jumped back off their horses and landed on the earth in front of Pema and Pengfei.  

The leader with the thin face and one of his subordinates went for Zihao, the remaining man for Ma Feng. 

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Eerie metallic sounds could be heard in quick succession as attacks were blocked and parried.  The unattended horses startled at the sound and ran a short distance away.

Pema and Pengfei retreated a bit, looking for clear shots at the assailants but they were moving too quickly and too closely to Zihao and Feng. 

The thin-faced leader hung back and let his fellows do most of the work.  Zihao’s opponent seemed to be holding his own while Ma Feng was being pushed backward with almost every attack.  Whenever Zihao tried to move and assist him, the enemy leader stepped in to block his path with a slash of his blade.

“We have to get out of here.”  Pema appraised the situation quickly.  “I’ll get Feng and Zihao’s horses.  Kill the other ones so these bastards can’t follow us.”

Pema spurred her horse, lariat already in hand, and headed for Zihao and Ma’s horses while Pengfei made for the others.  He looped wide around the melee, glancing nervously to see if his friends were still alive.

Pengfei looked over just in time to see one of the strangers run Ma Feng through with his sword.