Hong Xin sprang into action. She summoned twin fans just in time to catch a dagger that appeared right behind her. As she moved, she noticed figures materializing in the red dust.
Spectral Assassins, she thought. A dozen ghostly figures, creatures of the night no one dared belittle, had somehow surrounded her. She’d followed the plan perfectly, and there had been no spirits in the room when she’d stored the urns. Yet somehow, they’d found her. Not only that—they could see her clearly despite the shadows obscuring her. Even a medium would have trouble spotting her in this situation.
Is it a transcendent? Hong Xin thought. She immediately dismissed the idea. Transcendents were lofty beings, but more to the point, they kept each other in check. It was difficult for one to move without alerting the others.
As she thought this, the assassins pounced on her once more. This time, they fought together. She dodged them with fiery steps while slowing others with a burst of cold. A dagger nicked her arm as she blasted one of them with a plume of flame. Then, sensing danger, she ducked and summoned a forest of icy spikes that stabbed into three nearby specters. Two of them phased out of the material world and avoided the stab, but one of them howled as an ice spike pierced his heart. He might seem like a ghost, but his flesh was as real as any.
Hong Xin’s small victory brought her no comfort. She was surrounded, and a noncombatant like her didn’t stand a chance against these strange assassins. They renewed their attacks once more, and this time, they summoned crimson awls affixed to long black chains. She knocked three out of the air as they hurled toward her, but six more snuck through her defenses. She closed her eyes and prepared for the inevitable. Then she blinked when the inevitable didn’t happen.
Shadows writhed before her as another figure appeared. A familiar man with blond hair carrying a familiar black longsword in his hands.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Wang Jun said.
Hong Xin panicked for a moment before remembering that she was still wearing a glamour, albeit a different one. Her heart fluttered, but she cooled her emotions and spoke different words than what had originally come to mind. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I thought you’d be happy to see a friendly face,” Wang Jun said. “Why the cold shoulder?”
She continued glaring at him, and he coughed uncomfortably. The Spectral Assassins looked at them cautiously as they reevaluated the situation. “I happened to be in the area when I saw you getting attacked by a bunch of ugly ghosts. Then I remembered that you owe me a favor. A wise man never discards a worthwhile investment.”
Hong Xin smiled lightly. “I see. I seem to recall owing you a dance, is that correct?”
“Yes, you promised a dance,” Wang Jun said. “That’s negotiable, of course. We never ironed out the details.”
“A dance is convenient,” Hong Xin said. She urged her qi and activated the glamour runes on her face and within her clothes. They transformed into regal red-and-gold robes that flowed while hugging her curves. The fans she carried also took on a red-and-golden hue. Flames appeared around them as she cracked the fans open. “Let’s dance.”
Shadows oozed around Wang Jun as he charged at the specters. They disappeared and appeared at random as they sought vulnerabilities in his armor. Unfortunately for them, he didn’t wear any. What he had was a cloak—a cloak of shadows. And it was shadows they struck instead of flesh, and each time they struck, it slowed them down. One of them, a ghostly figure with a large blade, grinned as he finally found flesh.
Wang Jun grinned back. They were surrounded by shadows, so he naturally surrounded them. He slashed in the air, and a black blade of shadow qi cut through space. It reappeared behind the attacking specter before his blade caused much damage, extinguishing the strange being’s half-life in the process.
Though he was busy fighting, Wang Jun took careful note of the headmistress. Her every step contained a charm that wooed man and spirit alike. The specters faltered when they tried attacking her, and her lithe movements easily evaded their jaunting steps. The headmistress was obviously not a trained fighter, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t effective. As she danced, she swept out with her fans, covering the specters in tiny red lights that resembled dust.
The Red Dust Pavilion had earned its name from these red flames, a little-known fact since the headmistress before her had initiated a coup on the previous headmistress, Hong Yinyue. But the records remembered, and now the specters did as well. Every flap of her fans thickened the layer of red dust that ate away at their spectral cloaks. Meanwhile, Wang Jun bound them to the material world, where there was nowhere to hide.
The headmistress shot him a smile that could stop hearts and topple nations, but surprisingly, he only felt warmth and comfort. They danced together, and for a brief moment, everything seemed well in the world.
Suddenly, a chill ran down Wang Jun’s spine. Danger. Wang Jun’s fate qi resonated with his surroundings, and he shouted a warning to the headmistress, who retreated beside him. They turned their backs to each other as another flood of two dozen specters emerged.
“They must have tracked something you carry through karma,” Wang Jun said. “Give me the urns.”
The headmistress looked at him for a moment, then tossed him a small ring. He looked inside and found not only the urns but many other personal items. Mirrors, makeup, brushes, clothes. Hairclips, jewelry, shoes, and scarves.
“I need thirty seconds,” he said, before sitting cross-legged.
His eyes darted to a mauve hairclip buried in a mountain of other accessories. It was
