Han scowled at the snide remark. His newfound fame was an ill-fitted garment he was forced to wear.
Longxu earned his nickname from the dragon-beard hook that he roped around his quarry with stunning accuracy. They had worked together in the past, splitting the reward for apprehending dangerous criminals whom the local magistrates and constables were ill-equipped to handle. Han wouldn’t say that they were partners in this venture. Longxu had the nose of a scavenger, eager to feed off someone else’s catch. He had encountered Han on the road and immediately chained himself to his side.
They weren’t the only thief-catchers in the crowd. The amount of money offered for this case had lured many fortune-seeking mercenaries. All of them had followed the same lead to this remote village within the rugged hills of Fujian province.
A shipment of jade and gold had been stolen from a security warehouse a few counties over. The magistrate had issued an arrest warrant that singled out a band of travelling performers as the culprits, unlikely as that seemed. Han scanned the musicians and dancers at the centre of the market square. Longxu was right about one thing. These weren’t the sort of bandits he usually dealt with.
An explosion of drums shook the street and the audience leaned in close, clamouring for a better view, as the dancer leapt into motion. This was no soft seduction of willowy arms and flowing silk. Her technique was sharp, precise and powerful as she executed sword forms one might see in a fighting drill. She extended her limbs through each movement, exaggerating and accentuating the beauty of the underlying structure.
‘She’s good,’ Han remarked.
‘It’s all show,’ Longxu said dismissively. ‘I’ve yet to meet a woman with any true sword skill.’
Han chose not to answer. He would rather concentrate on the sword dancer than bicker with small-minded vagabonds. There was no doubt that what they were seeing was a performance, yet there was something in the dancer’s stance and her grip on the sword that triggered some instinct within him.
With each thrust of the sword, his pulse rose. With each lunge and leap, his heart beat faster. It was the essence of the sword dance, the balance of contrasting elements. The hardness of the warrior techniques served to highlight the sensuality of the dance. He was enchanted by the suppleness of an exposed wrist. Enthralled by the hint of rounded calves and gently curved thighs beneath the flowing costume.
The dancer’s eyes met his at the end of a turn and his heart forgot to beat. Han kept his expression blank as he returned her gaze. Her skin was glistening, her cheeks flushed. After the brief pause, she moved on and Han swallowed past a sudden dryness in his throat.
The rival thief-catcher had also stopped talking to stare, the same as every other man in the audience. Han needed to focus, maintain a critical eye. He was here to complete a job, not to be charmed by a dancing girl.
The drummers transitioned to a quicker tempo, beating out a driving rhythm as the dancer took to the air. The sword flowed with her, the flash of the blade highlighting each turn while the audience murmured with excitement.
To everyone else, the sword dancer’s movements were nothing more than a performance, but the underlying technique caught Han’s attention. There was training there. Years and years of training. Not something one usually found at a dusty street fair in some back-road town.
At last the penetrating rhythm fell away to the soft refrain of the flute. The melody floated through like clouds parting to calm the storm. The sword dance took on a peaceful, almost languid quality before dropping back into stillness.
The crowd erupted into applause and the dancer took a graceful bow, sword tucked carefully along one arm, as the troupe sent their minions through the crowd to collect coins. A commotion erupted among the musicians. A few of the thief-catchers had become over-eager and were moving in, shouting and attempting to make arrests.
‘Novices,’ Longxu snorted.
Han shook his head in exasperation. A few of the entertainers started shoving through the crowd in an attempt to break free. A sword was drawn from somewhere within the chaos and suddenly everyone was in full motion like ants on a hill.
His first inclination was to back away. There was too much confusion and he wasn’t even clear who the suspects were, but a flutter of rose streaked with gold and green caught his eye. The sword dancer.
Her, his thief-catching instinct shouted.
Instinct was all it took to set him into motion.
She wove through the crowd and ducked into the tavern across the street, slicing through the beaded curtain. Han followed, but the strings of beads swung and tangled around him. By the time he shoved through, the dancer was flying up the stairs. He pushed past startled customers to bound up the steps after her.
He crashed into a server at the top, sending a tea tray and a stack of cups flying. Before he could recover, a sword came at him. Han side-stepped and tried to lock on to her wrist as the blade slid by, but the sword dancer evaded his grasp, her movements as fluid now as they were during the performance.
A cry came from the customers as they stood and skirted to the edges of the room. The sword was aimed at him again. The dancer wielded a jian, its long, thin blade suited for the precision cuts and jabs of the more artful duellists. The weapon itself was fake, the edges dulled, but the skill behind it was very real. Han unsheathed his dao and blocked in a single motion. His blade was heavier by comparison, suited for the swift, decisive attack of a battlefield.
The sword dancer avoided the swing of his blade, attacking into the opening it created. Strategy, controlled breathing, eyes sharply focused without a hint of fear. Han struck at the sword rather than the fighter, using force and momentum to twist the blade out of her hands. There was no time to celebrate as the dancer grabbed a plate and flung it at his head. Followed by a wine jug which shattered overhead as he ducked. Followed by a wooden bench.
Heaven and Earth, she fought like a demon.
The dancer ran over the tables rather than weaving around them. By the time he shoved the bench away, she had dived out the window. Han raced out on to the exterior balcony to find it empty. He peered down below into a similarly deserted street. She’d somehow landed and disappeared into an alleyway.
A furtive shuffle overhead told him differently. He stilled, head tilted to listen. There it was, the faint pad of footsteps. She’d gone up, not down.
Han shoved the dao back into its scabbard and climbed on top of the rail. From there, he grabbed on to the looped carvings that ran along the eaves and used them to hoist himself up on to the roof. The dancer was already at the far end of the rooftop. With a running leap, she sailed across the alley on to the adjacent rooftop, the ribbons of her costume floating behind her like the long feathers of an exotic bird.
The heat of the chase was upon him. He followed her trail, running hard and jumping just before the edge. Grey tile cracked beneath his feet as he landed. He had some experience chasing criminals through winding streets, but this was entirely different. The city below disappeared and the rooftops became a new, uncharted landscape.
The dancer leapt again and again he followed. The rooftop sloped upwards and she disappeared over the rise. The sun was high overhead and as Han began the upward climb, he was momentarily blinded by the glare of it. Suddenly a pink blur whirled towards him, followed by the snap of a well-placed kick at his mid-section. The impact knocked him back. He landed with a thud and started to slide. His hands clawed futilely over the slate tiles.
He hit the edge and his stomach plummeted just as something closed over his wrist, stopping his fall. Han looked up, stunned.
It was the sword dancer. Her feet were braced against the raised edge and the muscles of her arms strained against his weight as he dangled partially over the street below. Their gazes locked. It was only a moment, a blink, a breath. Her eyes were black and luminous beneath the dark lining of make-up. They narrowed on him in challenge.
She