Chapter One of The Commoner’s Destiny

RED CREST SERIES, BOOK 2

Chapter 1

Someone had to die today.

Chen Han trudged along the road, pulling an oversized wheelbarrow behind him with one hand, a large urn filled with hard liquor in another. On the wheelbarrow was a long, wooden coffin with none of the handles or embellishments normally used to honor the dead. It was a coffin made for the common man. A coffin he purchased for himself.

It was late spring. The wide streets were barren except for a few beggars sitting with heads bowed, palms extended. Distant gongs indicated that night had fallen upon the town.

Han stepped onto a narrow path leading up to a banquet hall and stopped in front of a red door with bronze lion doorknobs, pondering the moment when he would pull open the door and a gush of fresh air would force its way inside. Behind the doors were hundreds of people, all warriors of the Martial Society, men and women who had spent their entire lives training in the martial arts and attaining physical abilities that ordinary people could not fathom. They were his friends, people whose lives he had once saved, people he called “brothers.”

They’ve gathered inside to decide how to kill him.

This day, preparing to face hundreds of powerful warriors eager for him to die, he could not help but wonder why it was so difficult to be a commoner.

With a long, weary sigh, Han pushed the doors open. Inside was a magnificent banquet hall, illuminated by over a hundred lanterns, where large round tables seating ten at a time dotted the space. At the far end of the room was an open balcony overlooking a rushing waterfall.

At the front of the room hung a red tapestry embroidered with a gold phoenix, and beneath it stood the man speaking to the gathering. He froze when Han entered and swallowed hard. Han ignored him and strolled in, dragging the coffin. There was complete silence in the banquet hall. All eyes were on him.

“My friends,” Han said, his powerful voice carrying across the room. “I’m saving you the trouble of having to find me.”

No one responded. Everyone stared, some already with their hands on their weapons, others inching away from him, as if the extra distance between them would increase their chances of survival.

“I’ve brought my coffin so you won’t have to worry about where to dump my body,” Han said. “I also brought good liquor so I can toast those of you I still consider my friends. We’ll have one last drink together.”

Still no one said anything. The person speaking in the front of the hall had already disappeared. Han observed the familiar faces and the hostile expressions around him. “Tell me. What did I do wrong?”

Han shoved the coffin against a nearby table. He sat down, motioned for the server, and pointed to the plates in front of him. “Clear these and bring me some empty bowls. I’m drinking with many old friends tonight.”

The server hustled to gather the plates. Han turned to the warriors around him.

“How can we talk like friends if you’re all afraid of me?” Han asked.

No one approached. Han waited, scanning each face.

“Don’t think anyone here is afraid of you because you’re the Commoner,” someone said at last. “You can’t fight all of us at the same time.”

“That’s right!” someone else shouted from the back of the room. “You’re not getting out of here alive.”

Han gestured toward the coffin. “I never planned to. But before I die, I want to know why. Why all my friends have turned against me? Why even the people whose lives I’ve saved are in this room?”

“You know full well what your crimes are,” an old man with a long white beard stood up to say.

“I don’t know, Master Kwan,” Han said, addressing the old man. “I’ve heard different accusations from different people. That’s why today is the perfect day. Everyone is here.”

“Oh, there is a story,” a tall, lanky man said. The pugilists in the room have become bolder all of a sudden. “Let me invite someone to tell you. You know who she is.”

He extended his hand to escort a young woman to the front of the room, her thin, willowy figure dressed completely in black, her face covered by a dark veil. Han did not recognize her but he could only guess.

“For anyone who doesn’t know,” Master Kwan said, “this is Lady Li. She is Magistrate Li’s wife, but she lost her husband far too soon.” Kwan turned to glare at Han. “Because of him.”

Han gazed through the veil and studied the expression on her face. It was blank, absent of any fear or hate. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lady Li,” Han said. “Maybe if you tell us how he died, I can one day find the real culprit for you.”

“Stop the hypocrisy,” another warrior said. “There’s more evidence against you than we’ll ever need. Justice will be delivered today.”

“Let the lady speak,” someone from the left side of the room shouted. Others voiced their approval. Han noticed the server had left a stack of empty bowls next to him. He picked the top one off the pile, poured himself a drink, and leaned forward to listen.

For a moment, Lady Li couldn’t begin. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, face lowered. Eventually, she took a deep, shuddering breath and began to speak in a low voice barely audible across the room.

“My husband was the magistrate of this city and the twenty-two villages around it. He was loved by everyone.”

“That’s true,” someone murmured in the back.

“He was,” she said. “How many magistrates can you name who never accepted a bribe? He was one of them.” Her voice was tight and hoarse. “And that night… I will never forget that night. It was late, well past my husband’s bedtime. He received a mysterious man in his study, someone I had never seen before. I was curious, so I stood outside the doors and tried to hear what they were saying. They were speaking in low voices, but I heard the man mention something about a secret letter they intercepted at the border and something about the Commoner. There was another name that they mentioned more than once. I didn’t know either of the names, but I remember them.”

A pugilist with a long sword, wearing Taoist garbs, pointed to Han. “That’s the Commoner. What was the other name?”

“The Silencer.”

A wave of murmurs swept across the room. The grumbles escalated. A few hotheaded warriors stood up to shout.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s kill him!”

“Kill this traitor!”

Han leaned back in his chair, raised the bowl to his lips and gulped the remaining liquor. The angry faces, the droning voices that spewed unbelievable hatred left him wondering what else she would say.

Someone shouted over the crowd. “Let her finish! Let the lady finish!”

With a long, dying murmur, the pugilists stopped talking. They turned back to Lady Li.

“I didn’t know what any of this meant at the time. That night, my husband looked worried. He didn’t speak much, and the next day, he gathered his officials for a very long meeting. For the rest of the day, my husband paced back and forth in his study. Sometimes he would stare at the floor and sigh over and over again.

“He never came to bed that night. I thought he was in another meeting, so I fell asleep and didn’t think of looking for him. At the third watch, I woke up and he wasn’t next to me. I went to his study and found books and shelves overturned. And there was a man inside. His face was covered, but I saw his eyes. I can never forget them.”

Han poured himself more liquor and lifted the bowl so it would cover most of his face, leaving his eyes. She did not meet his gaze. “It’s him,” she said, pointing to Han. “I recognize those eyes.”

Han lowered the bowl. “So, what was missing from the magistrate’s study?”

Lady Li bit her lip. “Nothing was missing. You didn’t find whatever you came for.” She turned back to the hundreds of angry men. “And then last week… Last week…” Her voice broke and she turned away, covering her mouth.

“Last week,” an old man in a coarse brown robe said. “They found Magistrate Li. I was the coroner. I examined the body.”

“What did you find?” someone asked.

“All twelve ribs intact, without a single bruise,” the coroner said. “But the lungs and liver were destroyed. He was killed by the Infinity Palm with such speed that all his organs were shattered at the same time. There’s only one person with that kind of speed.”

Again, a ripple of angry murmurs swept across the banquet hall. The coroner had a controlled rage on his face. He was telling the truth.

Then someone else out there knew how to use the Infinity Palm, Han thought. Someone who could use it with enough skill to damage the internal organs without breaking the ribs.

“Quiet!” Master Kwan said. He turned to the man in Taoist Garbs. “Master Zhou, do you have the letter?”

“Of course I do,” Master Zhou said, pushing his long sword aside to reach his inner pockets.

“Lady Li found this letter under her pillow last night,” Master Kwan said.

“My husband hid it there,” she said in a low voice. “It’s the secret letter intercepted at the border.”

Another murmur passed through the room. Master Zhou handed a rolled piece of sheepskin to Lady Li. “Your husband’s letter, Lady Li.”

Every warrior held his breath. Lady Li wiped the tears from her cheeks and took the sheepskin, unrolled it, then covered her face again.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice trembling. “This letter killed my husband. I can’t look at it again.”

Master Zhou took the letter from her. “If the heroes in this room would allow me to read on the lady’s behalf, I would be more than honored to incriminate the traitor with this piece of evidence.”

The room blazed into an uproar of voices demanding that he read it. Han continued to sip his liquor, leaning back in his chair.

Master Zhou held up his hand and the room muted. “This letter is from the Silencer!”

“How do you know it’s from the Silencer?” Han asked.

“His stamp is on it. It was intercepted at the border and taken from a Mongolian messenger.”

“Where’s the Mongolian messenger?” Han asked.

“They killed him of course,” someone said. “The Silencer can’t know that his secret letter was taken. Don’t try these rhetorical tricks, Commoner. We all know what’s going on.”

Han turned back to Master Zhou. “Please. Read the letter.”

Zhou glared at him once. Everyone was leaning forward, eager to hear the contents of the sheepskin. “To the great hero known as the Commoner. I am happy that you’ve expressed interest in working together. I accept your counteroffer of fifty thousand pieces of gold in exchange for opening the gates to the City of Eternal Peace. Your money is available right away. Once you confirm that you accept this arrangement, my messengers will be in touch regarding when and where you will receive payment.”

Master Kwan slammed a table with his fist, sending the dishes leaping into the air. He stood up and pointed his finger at Han, his red face twisted into a snarl. “You! You were a true hero of your time. What you did in Ding Yi is the stuff we tell our grandchildren. How could you turn like that? For money?”

Every warrior in the room was enraged. Would reasoning with them work? Most Mongols were illiterate, and the few who could write did not know the Chinese language. Wasn’t this too well written for a Mongol? Yet, the Silencer single-handedly conquered most of the steppe without ever losing a battle. He certainly would have capable men.

“I’m sorry I haven’t earned your trust,” Han said. “I’m sorry that, after all these years, my word means nothing to any of you. But I’ve lived my life with honor and I have no regret.”

“With all this evidence, are you still saying you’ve been framed?” someone asked.

Han turned to Lady Li. “Are you sure it was me that day in the magistrate’s study?”

Lady Li was trembling.

“I promise you,” Han said. “I will find your husband’s real murderer.”

“Who would frame you?” Master Kwan asked. “Did you do something horrible and someone is out there seeking revenge? Or do you have something others want?”

“I have nothing,” Han said. “I’m just a common wanderer.”

“We have a witness,” Master Zhou said. “The magistrate’s widow saw you. We have evidence that the magistrate died from the Infinity Palm. It’s your signature move. We also have a letter from the Silencer explaining your motive. In return, you couldn’t name a single reason why someone would frame you.” He turned to the crowd, lifting his hands to address them. “My friends, isn’t that enough?”

“It’s more than enough!” someone shouted. Others followed suit. “Kill the criminal!”

“Kill the traitor!”

Within a moment, the room was roaring with angry shouts, each one more damning than the last. Many of them jumped to their feet, rattling the tables, shoving chairs aside, lifting their fists and screaming at the top of their lungs. Some drew their weapons.

Han released a deep, longing sigh. He reached for an empty bowl on the table, tipped the urn and filled the bowl to the brim. “Who will drink with me first?” he asked. “One last drink together.”

The room fell silent then. Some clutched their weapons, while others fell back to their seats. No one moved.

Han turned to a well-dressed, middle-aged man carrying a pair of short sabers. “Brother Lin. We’ve been friends for a long time. How about a toast? It would be an honor for me.”

Lin frowned and slammed his palm into the arm of his chair. “Fine!” he said, jumping to his feet. He walked to Han, grabbed the bowl and swallowed the liquor with one gulp. He threw the bowl back onto the table. “I’ve drunk your toast. We’re no longer friends,” he said before he spun around and walked away.

Han pulled another bowl closer to himself and poured out the liquor. He turned to Master Kwan. “Do you remember the time when we were trapped by robbers from Emei? There were six of us and almost eighty of them.”

Master Kwan lowered his face. “I remember,” he said in a whisper. “They weren’t real robbers.”

“I know,” Han said. “They came for revenge.”

Master Kwan looked up. “You saved my life that day, plus the lives of four of my best students, and I’m forever grateful for that. But today is different. You’re a threat to the entire country. I can’t watch the world burn just because I owe you my life.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Han said. “I’m just asking you to have a drink and remember the good times.” He pushed the bowl toward Kwan, then poured another. Master Kwan flung his sleeve with a sigh, stepped forward and grabbed the bowl. Forming a knot between his brows, he swallowed the liquor, then threw aside the bowl and walked back to his seat.

Master Zhou stepped forward. “I’ll toast you next. We were never close friends, but I had respect for you. I know what you did in Ding Yi.”

Han poured liquor into his own bowl. “The respect is mutual. If I don’t die here, maybe we can become friends one day.”

Master Zhou scowled. “Why the Silencer? The most brutal Mongol King the world has ever seen in centuries. He forced his captives to watch while his men raped their wives and daughters. How can you let someone like that invade our country?”

Han lifted the bowl to drink, and a warm tingle coursed through his body. Master Zhou drank and turned away.

“Master Yue,” Han said to a tall, bony man. “Shall we have a toast?”

“I will not drink with an arrogant criminal,” Yue said.

“Why do you believe I’m arrogant?”

Yue stood up. “Last year, I was at the town near Mount Oleander, and I heard that the great Commoner was in the area. I stopped by your inn three times, and all three times you refused to meet me. I may not be famous or powerful like you, but I don’t deserve to be slighted.”

“I remember,” Han said, rising to his feet. “I remember the innkeeper knocking on my door several times that day. He told me someone wanted to see me. But I had just found out who poisoned my mother and I was going to Mount Oleander for revenge. I was still grieving then. Drink with me. Let me apologize.”

“I don’t want your apology,” Master Yue said, his voice cold. “I think the world should be rid of people like you.” He shot forward and struck Han in the chest.

Han took a step back and choked out a cough, grimacing in pain. He dropped back into his seat.

The banquet hall fell silent. Master Yue took a step back. “You didn’t block.”

“I slighted you,” Han said. “I deserved it.”

Lin grunted. “Are you going to accept punishment for your mistakes? If every one of us struck you once for the crimes you’ve committed, you’d be dead in minutes.”

“If I did something wrong, I would accept my punishment,” Han said. “But for something I did not do…”

“You still dare to deny…”

“None of you bothered to investigate the facts before blaming me for this so you can’t take my life without a good fight. But first, come have a drink.”

“Do you really think we’re afraid of you?” someone shouted from the back of the room. The banquet hall broke into another uproar. Han tilted his head back to swallow his liquor, and then turned to them with a calm smile.

“Of course not,” Han said. “So why shout from the back of the room? Why not come forward?”

There was silence. The entire banquet hall was so quiet that the hundreds of seasoned warriors could hear each other breathing. Han threw his head back to laugh. “If you don’t want to fight, then let’s finish our drink and go home.”

“There are hundreds of us here,” Zhou said. “Even the Commoner can’t beat so many.”

“Of course I can’t,” Han said. “Who wants to go first? One at a time or all at once?”

The pugilists eyed each other. No one moved. A tall man with bulging muscles stepped to the forefront, a big hammer in his hands. “Come, my brothers,” he said in a coarse voice. “We can’t let this scum open the gates for the Silencer. We have to stop him today!”

With a roar, he lifted the hammer above his head and charged. Several other warriors responded to his call, drew their swords and leaped in.

Han lifted the bowl to his lips and tilted his head back to drink. A tear emerged that he made no effort to wipe.

Then, in a flash, he fled from the swinging hammer and appeared in front of a warrior who barely drew his weapon. Han swept by him, taking his sword, and shot straight into the middle of the banquet hall.

The entire room broke into a mad clamor. Very few had time to even draw their weapons before Han managed to stab over fifteen men in their wrists, rendering their sword arms useless.

Utter chaos ensued. The warriors collected themselves while Han tore through them again and again, slashing and jabbing, never striking hard enough to sever their tendons but causing enough damage that weapons struck the floor like raindrops.

More than forty members of the martial society lost their weapons, retreating to the back of the room before organizing themselves to fight back. Han recognized their formations, which they had clearly rehearsed. He grimaced at the thought. His friends wanted him dead and wanted it enough to train for it.

Han shot left and right, his body a shimmer and his sword a blur. The sheer force behind each stroke caused the pugilists to stumble back in alarm. Yet, they were better organized. They advanced and retreated as one, their weapons jabbing forward like a wall of spikes.

Han snatched someone else’s sword and withdrew to the outside balcony, standing motionless to break their rhythm, enticing them to advance.

With a roar, the pugilists rushed him. Han slipped away as the big warrior with the hammer swung for the top of his head, and instead, the man’s weapon pounded into the floorboards. Wood pieces exploded around him.

Han lurched forward to engage his assailants, leaving the balcony behind him, pushing into the center of the room. There were hundreds of them and they had reorganized, moving forward like military, their lines four layers deep and fanning out to the far ends of the room, folding in to surround a single man. However, the Commoner was destroying their lines, pressing deep into their positions and stabbing their knees to break through. In a moment, he re-emerged behind them. Some of them turned around in time but he was already out of their enclosure.

Han knew then that if he didn’t start killing some of them, there was no way he could survive this. But they were duped into believing he committed those crimes. He could not kill them for being fools.

The Commoner rushed behind a cluster of men and slammed into them into the balcony, where they collapsed against the damaged banisters. Another beam of wood broke apart and Master Zhou flipped over. Han dropped his left-hand sword, shot forward and grabbed Zhou by the belt, enduring a cut to his shoulder before pulling Zhou back.

A fish net appeared to encircle him, with one man running toward him from either side of it. Han leaped into the right end of the fishnet, struck his assailant on the shoulder, passed them and charged into another line of attackers.

Han spun around at the sound of a scream. Both men holding the fishnet had lost their balance and fallen over the balcony. Han darted toward them and grabbed the middle of the fishnet just in time. He planted himself and held on. Both men, still screaming, were dangling over the waterfall, clutching their end of the fishnet with both hands.

“Hold on!” Han shouted.

Someone charged him from the side. Both his hands were occupied. Both feet were planted against the floor of the balcony or he would not have the strength to hold their weight. He turned to glare at his attacker, and with a scream, absorbed a sword wound in his side. The pugilist shuddered, extracting his sword from Han’s body. The wound was not deep but the blood flowed in earnest.

Han ignored him and yanked the two men dangling over the waterfalls to safety. The big warrior with the hammer appeared and swung at Han’s head. Han glared before slipping away as the hammer slammed into the floor.

All around him, the men continued to charge the balcony. What had he ever done to these people if not save their lives and treat them like brothers?

Han threw his head back to laugh, a resounding, haunting roar of a laugh, his thundering voice sending a wave of shock to his attackers.

Then, out of desperation for survival and fury for what was happening to him, Han slammed into the oncoming crowd, his Infinity Palm pounding every pugilist indiscriminately. He may have maimed someone, but it no longer mattered. The attackers fell like crumbling stacks of mud. He never knew he had it in him, numbed by disappointment in the men he called brothers, stunned by the blindness of injustice. In a moment, he had crossed the entire banquet hall and was standing by the entrance. Behind him, the devastation was falling into place, the floor littered with injured men, some still struggling to stand, others coughing blood.

What have I done?

The tapestry on the front wall had collapsed, perhaps shredded by someone’s sword. Tables were overturned, chairs smashed, plates and bowls crushed and scattered across the floor. Some of his victims were no longer moving. Maybe he had killed them.

There was blood everywhere. He had struck so many upper torsos that many were vomiting blood.

Han shook his head and continued to walk.

One man spat at him from behind. Han sensed it coming but made no effort to evade it. A glob of thick blood struck his back with the resonance of a dull hammer.

“I hope you rot in hell, Commoner,” the man croaked.

Someone else climbed to his feet. “The day you open the doors for the Silencer, millions of innocent civilians will face rape and torture and humiliation.” It was Master Kwan. He coughed once, then spat at Han’s back. But he was too weak, and the stream of fresh blood trickled onto the floor.

Han frowned. More insults were hurled at him but he could no longer hear them. He passed by the coffin that he arrived with, intent on dying to clear his name, only to become ensnared in a melee that ended with many of his friends heavily injured.

Lady Li stood by herself in the corner of the room, her head lowered. Perhaps, she also had doubts about her own words after all. Maybe, if she told him who delivered the letter to her husband, he could help her find the assassin.

Han drew open the doors and stepped outside. The sun had set and the air was cooler than before. He headed down the stone road leading away from the banquet hall.