The Crimson Tollgate

The Grand Southern Turnpike narrowed as it approached the Iron Gorge—a natural bottleneck where two sheer cliff faces pinched the stone highway into a pass barely wide enough for two wagons abreast.

Rain had turned into a thick, low-hanging mist that clung to the wet granite rocks like grease.

Inside the dark cargo hold of the Vanguard Transport wagon, Ming Xian opened his eyes. His hand was already on the hilt of his stolen steel sword before the wagon even came to a complete halt.

Outside, the shouting of the ox driver stopped abruptly, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic clatter of iron-shod boots on wet cobblestone.

'We're stopping,' Baihua's mental voice cut through the silence, sharp and clear. She was hovering near the canvas overhang, peering through a thin tear in the fabric. 'An imperial checkpoint... or what passes for one.'

Ming Xian crawled silently toward the rear gap, keeping his breathing shallow.

Fifty paces ahead, a heavy wooden barrier blocked the gorge road. But the soldiers standing around the torchlit gate didn't wear the silver-and-blue uniforms of the Imperial Guard. They wore dark leather armor covered by crimson waist-cloths, their hands resting on heavy, single-edged executioner sabers.

"The Blood-Saber Guards," Ming Xian whispered under his breath. "Mercenaries hired by the local magistrate... but their contract is owned by the Righteous Sword Sect."

"They're searching every wagon," Baihua observed, her green eyes scanning the six guards who were methodically thrusting long iron pikes into the straw and cargo of a covered cart ahead of them. "Thorough. And loud."

A harsh voice boomed from the checkpoint.

"All drivers step down! Show your transit permits and open your cargo bays for inspection! By order of the Regional Overseer, no one passes the Iron Gorge without a Qi-resonance check!"

Ming Xian's eyes narrowed. Qi-resonance check.

The silver dust he had applied to Deacon Zhao's jade token would mask its locator signal from a distance, but if an inspector brought a resonance mirror directly next to his pouch, the suppressed Qi would instantly flare.

"We can't let them inspect this wagon," Ming Xian said, turning to Baihua.

"I can freeze all seven of them before they draw their sabers," Baihua offered smoothly, frost flaring around her fingertips.

"No," Ming Xian said, stopping her with a gesture. "If six guards freeze to death at an imperial tollgate, the local garrison will seal the entire gorge within an hour. We need a distraction—something that looks like a dispute between mercenaries."

Ming Xian looked around the dark cargo hold. Stacked beside him were four heavy wooden crates bound with thick hemp ropes, stamped with the mark of high-grade spirit tea. He pulled his notch-bladed knife, severed the top rope of the nearest crate, and pried open the wooden lid.

Inside, nestled in dry straw, were not tea leaves, but thirty small, red clay jars sealed with black wax—Fiery Spirit Oil, highly volatile fuel used by local blacksmiths.

A cold, calculating smile touched Ming Xian's lips.

"Hold your breath," Ming Xian muttered.

He took three clay jars from the crate, uncorked them with his thumb, and tipped the dark, viscous oil onto the straw flooring near the rear canvas. He then reached into his pouch, pulled out a low-grade fire talisman he had taken from Deacon Zhao's supplies, and stuck it directly under the oiled straw.

Outside, heavy footsteps approached their wagon.

"Hey! Driver!" a guard barked, slamming the butt of his spear against the wooden wheel. "What's in the back?"

"J-Just tea leaves, sir!" the driver stammered nervously. "Official shipment for the merchant guild in Tianzhou!"

"Open the canvas," the guard ordered coldly. "And step back."

Leather straps creaked as the guard pulled back the heavy rear canvas flap. He raised a glowing brass lantern, peering into the dim cargo hold, his hand reaching for his saber.

The guard's eyes locked onto Ming Xian, who was sitting calmly on a crate ten feet away, his straw hat casting a deep shadow over his face.

"Who the hell are—"

"Fire!" Ming Xian shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing loudly down the narrow gorge.

He tapped the fire talisman with his index finger.

BOOM!

A bright flash of orange flame erupted from the oiled straw, instantly engulfing the rear canvas of the wagon. The sudden heat ignited the remaining jars of Fiery Spirit Oil inside the open crate.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The clay jars exploded in rapid succession, sending a fountain of roaring fire and thick black smoke pouring out of the wagon and into the misty air of the gorge.

The four spirit-bred oxen pulling the wagon went wild with terror. They let out deafening roars, rearing back on their hind legs, and bolted forward through the checkpoint barrier, dragging the burning wagon behind them!

"Contain the oxen! Contain the fire!" the guard captain screamed, as chaos erupted across the tollgate.

Guards scattered in all directions, trying to avoid the roaring flames and the frantic, stomping hooves of the four-ton beasts. Panic spread instantly to the other merchant wagons stuck in the bottleneck, drivers shouting and horses rearing as smoke filled the narrow canyon.

In the middle of the blinding smoke and roaring flames, two figures slipped out from the side of the burning wagon.

Ming Xian hit the ground in a low roll, his black cloak absorbing the soot as he darted into the shadows of the sheer granite cliff. Right beside him, Baihua glided through the hot smoke without a single cinder touching her snow-white robes.

Two Blood-Saber guards ran past their alleyway, swords drawn, heading blindly toward the burning wreck of the wagon.

Ming Xian didn't give them a chance to turn around.

He stepped out from the shadow of the rock face, his stolen steel sword executing a silent, horizontal arc.

SCHWING!

The blade cut cleanly through the leather armor seam of the first guard's neck. Before the second guard could even register the sound of falling steel, Ming Xian slammed his left elbow into the man's temple, knocking him unconscious against the stone wall, and caught the guard's falling saber mid-air.

He dragged both bodies into the dark crevice of the cliff face within four seconds.

"Messy," Baihua remarked, floating down beside him as she watched the flames rage at the ruined checkpoint. "But effective."

"The tollgate is broken," Ming Xian said, wiping his steel blade on a dead guard's cloak. He checked the skies—dawn was breaking through the thick mist, painting the valley ahead in shades of pale gold and grey. "The road to the river is wide open now."

He looked toward the south, where the Great South River snaked across the horizon, leading straight toward the sprawling, distant outline of the capital city.

"Let's move," Ming Xian said, sheathing his blade. "Before the smoke clears."