Object after object of strange and wondrous shape, some familiar and some not, did Han Li turn out of the doctor's person, setting them down in two heaps according to how suspect each seemed.
By degrees he could not but marvel: the things that Doctor Mo carried about with him were many and various indeed, and a great number of them were plainly the very emblems of death.
A tube of sleeve-darts, whose least touch spelled death.
A pouch of sand steeped in snake-venom.
Dozen upon dozen of razor-sharp returning blades.
...
The more the articles mounted, the quicker grew Han Li's breath, and the more closely he turned each one over, the more a chill crept into his heart.
Only now did he understand how narrowly he had escaped when he had grappled with Doctor Mo. Had the other desired naught but to take him alive, he might long since have gone the way of all flesh.
Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, Han Li poked a little fun at himself: "Here is a living man, yet I have been put in no small fright by the possessions of a dead one."
When at last the searching was done, Han Li began to examine, one by one, that heap of articles he had deemed the more suspect.
"This little bottle holds something that stinks to high heaven. It seems to be some sort of antidote. There should be no harm in it."
"This curious weapon is shaped somewhat like a wheel. I cannot tell what it is for, but it can hardly have aught to do with the giant; I shall set it aside for the present."
"As for this sachet..."
So saying, Han Li went on turning the things over while he talked to himself, in excellent spirits. In his hand at that moment he held an ordinary sachet worked with a pattern of plain white silk flowers.
In the natural way of things, so common a sachet should have roused nobody's suspicion. But Han Li reasoned that such an everyday object, though it sat well enough upon a common man, was a strange thing to find upon a consummate rogue like Doctor Mo.
First he weighed it in the hollow of his hand; it was very light, and held nothing heavy, it seemed. Then he pinched it; there came a papery feel to it, as though it hid leaves like those of a book within.
His spirits plucked up, Han Li unsewed the sachet and, as he had expected, drew out several sheets of paper from within.
Reading over them lightly at first, he saw they were in Doctor Mo's own hand, and knew a little what to expect. Then, looking closer and with care, Han Li was astonished: it was a letter of dying wishes that Doctor Mo had written to himself.
Somewhat puzzled, his curiosity thoroughly awakened, Han Li took up the sheets and read through them at his leisure.
When he had done, Han Li gave a long sigh up to the sky, knit his brows, and grew heavy-hearted.
He clasped his hands behind his back, paced about like a little old man, and fell to walking without knowing what he did. At every second step he stopped, and fell to thinking; not yet resolved, he took a few paces more, then stopped again and fell to thinking anew.
Thus, unknowing, Han Li trod round and round the corpse of Doctor Mo like a donkey hauling a millstone; and his face went dark and bright by turns, one moment flushing red, the next turning white, plainly stirred and shaken at heart beyond all self-command.
That such a restless humour should come over Han Li — had Li Feiyu known of it, he would have broken into loud laughter at once.
The cause of all this was that the letter left him a very ill piece of news and a dilemma past resolving: the antidote to the "Corpse Worm Pill" was itself poisoned — a venom of an uncommon, baleful sort. According to the letter, this poison could be driven out by none other than the "Warm-Sun Jade" passed down in Doctor Mo's own family; there was no other way, not even by the fabled cleansing saints of antidotes.
And so, in these few sheets, Doctor Mo told Han Li very plainly: this letter, and the poison laid within his body beforehand, were his devices against the worst event. Should his soul-possession fail, and some mishap befall, then he who was most like to live would be no other than Han Li himself. And so, for the ordering of the affairs he would leave behind him, he proposed in the letter a simple transaction with Han Li, that both parties might part well pleased — one that would not only rid the doctor himself of all his lingering cares behind him, but would also bring Han Li a vast fortune and benefits beyond all telling.
As for the chance that it might be Yu Zitong who at the last lived on — Doctor Mo had not considered that in the least. Of Yu Zitong he spoke with the greatest contempt in the letter, holding that this man, cold of nature and a coward at heart, had no more than a little petty cleverness. Even though he were a cultivator, he would never come to any great account; he who laughed last would by no means be such a one.
At this point in the reading, a wry smile stole over Han Li's face. Doctor Mo, so deep in his craft, had never imagined that he himself would in the end fall into the very trap laid by the man he had so looked down upon. Had Han Li not hidden the true progress of his Art of Eternal Youth, it was ten to one that he and Doctor Mo would have destroyed each other, and left Yu Zitong to pick up the profit with no pains at all. To be sure, this was in part because Doctor Mo had been so bemused by his dream of attaining immortality that his wits were clouded; and thus, let no man think lightly of any cultivator, of whatever sort.
In the letter, Doctor Mo's proposed transaction was simple enough: he required that Han Li, at the latest in a year, and at the latest in two, must go once to his household. First, because the poison laid upon Han Li would erupt after two years; and second, because his household held a wife, concubines, a daughter, and no small inheritance. Before he left, Doctor Mo had made much provision and cast out much mist to cloud men's eyes; but did he stay away overlong, it was to be feared his unruly followers and his enemies would grow suspicious, and work ill upon his kin. And so Han Li must, before matters took a turn for the worse, go to guard his wife and children, and see them settled; best of all, to make them quit the feuds and slaughters of the jianghu, and live out quiet lives of common folk with no worry of food or clothing.
And as the price of making amends for his ambush of Han Li, and the wages of asking Han Li to set aside old grudges and come to the rescue, he was willing to give one of his daughters to Han Li in marriage, with a dowry of half his entire fortune and that "Warm-Sun Jade."
Before he left, Doctor Mo had already entrusted the jade to his first wife, making clear it was set aside specially as the dowry for his daughter's wedding; and so, for the sake of his own life, Han Li would have to wed her whether he would or no.
He also made it clear that his enemies and adversaries were mighty, and his band of followers none too easy to control; with his skill as it now stood, Han Li could not hope to face them head-on. For that reason, he had arranged, in a hidden niche of his dwelling, two false identities for Han Li, and left beforehand a token of recognition and letters of proof in his own hand, that Han Li might choose whichever suited him. In the same letter he set out a full list of his trusted men, of the suspicious, and of his enemies, along with such details as needed special heed.
And, in the end, to attest the sincerity of this letter of dying wishes, he appended the methods for controlling and calling both the "Iron Slave" and the "Cloud-Wing Bird."
Somewhat to Han Li's bafflement, the other hinted darkly that Iron Slave was a corpse-beast without soul or shadow of spirit, no more than a walking shell of a dead man, whose true soul had long since gone to be reborn; and that Han Li, when he saw him, need not be grieved. This left Han Li somewhat at a loss — did the man think him such a tender-hearted creature, that he should grieve over a corpse?
Yet even leaving aside the matter of the poison, to say that such a vast fortune did not stir Han Li's desire would be a barefaced lie. A man ever quick to the value of money, he was in truth greatly taken with the transaction Doctor Mo had proposed in his lifetime. As for taking his daughter to wife — this set a strange stir in the heart of Han Li, who was now at the tender age when the passions first awaken; for to judge by Doctor Mo's own true countenance, his daughter could scarce be aught but beautiful.
But the perils it involved were none too small; a single misstep might cost him his very life. Enemies that Doctor Mo counted worthy of his notice — how could they be lightly dealt with!
And so Doctor Mo, who had ordered all the affairs he would leave behind to the last thread, had bound Han Li's safety and that of his wife and daughter fast together with the linked snares of life, beauty, and a great fortune; and it was plain that Han Li must gnash his teeth and swallow this honeyed poison whether he would or no.