Chapter 3: The Impossible Choice

Kyoto’s night rain fell in sheets, hammering the dark tiles of the Yagyu Inn with a fine, oppressive rhythm. The lanterns under the eaves glowed a dim, sickly yellow, their light wavering uneasily across the damp, green stone slabs. Sogi Yagyu stood behind the counter, his fingertips gently rubbing a cold copper coin. His gaze wasn’t on the abacus; instead, he stared through the curtain of rain, locked onto a shadow lurking just outside the door. The figure held a black umbrella, water droplets clinging to the ribs, each step planted with such stability it looked like they were treading on an invisible carpet.

Sogi’s hand tightened slightly. The stranger’s posture was upright, their aura contained and quiet—definitely not some run-of-the-mill wanderer. What really set Sogi’s nerves on edge was the talisman hanging from the man’s waist. It bore the embroidery of a broken claw, the unmistakable mark of the Yasha Guards, the private army under Muso Ono’s command.

“Business isn’t good, innkeeper.” The man’s voice was gravelly, cutting through the rain’s roar. “Some old stock can cause real trouble if it slips into the wrong hands. Like, say, those three blood-stained map fragments.”

Sogi set the coin down, his voice steady. “You’re mistaken, sir. We sell rooms and tea here. We don’t know anything about maps, and we don’t hoard old junk. If you’ve come to the wrong place, head next door to the Drunken Immortal Tower. There’s a peddler selling maps there.”

“Wrong place?” The man let out a cold laugh. He flicked the tip of his umbrella, catching the flame of the oil lamp in front of Sogi, making the fire flare and sputter. “Master Muso says if you hand over those three fragments, he’ll guarantee the safety of the entire Yagyu Family. He might even help you solve the mystery of your father’s disappearance back then. It’s just ‘irrelevant material,’ right? To a martial artist, it’s literally trash paper.”

“And if I don’t hand them over?” Sogi asked, leaning back against the counter. He crossed his fingers, adopting a lazy posture that hid a blade of menace beneath the calm.

“Then tonight, this inn becomes a fire pit. Or that young female cultivator guarding the ancient scrolls down at Saen-ji Temple gets ‘invited’ off her windowsill at dawn, her skull caving in on the pavement.” The man’s voice dropped, thick with a metallic, bloody scent. “Innkeeper Sogi, you’re a smart man. You should know how to pick. Master Muso can’t wait forever. His patience is like the silence before a thunderstorm—it vanishes in a heartbeat.”

The black shadow turned and left. The water dripping from the umbrella tip traced a line on the stone slabs, looking like a curse leading straight to hell.

The rain began to ease, but Sogi didn’t move. His expression remained calm on the surface, but inside, a storm was crashing against the cliffs of his mind. Three fragments. They were the last clues left before his father vanished, and also the pieces of the “Iron Archives” that Muso Ono was chasing like a madman. If he handed them all over, he might buy a moment of peace, but Koyuki Yagyu would be exposed immediately, and the real secrets his father had left behind would fall completely into the enemy’s grasp. If he held out, his strength alone wouldn’t be enough to stop the Yasha Guards from infiltrating, let alone protect Koyuki, who was already on their radar.

“Either way, it’s a dead end,” Sogi muttered to himself.

He glanced quickly at the corner downstairs. A young woman in a teal cloth robe sat there, organizing the ledger by the feeble light. That was Koyuki, the administrator of the ancient temple, and his sister. She must have sensed the tension upstairs because she looked up, her eyes clear but worried. “Brother, is the rain stopping outside? Did that guy leave?”

“He’s gone.” Sogi walked down the stairs, trying to sound casual. “He said some nonsense, probably drunk talk.”

Koyuki eyed him skeptically, her fingers gripping the edge of the ledger. “Brother, your sleeve is wet. That’s rain, sure, but... rain doesn’t smell like blood. That’s the scent of a Yasha Guard talisman. I’ve smelled it in the temple’s old archives. It’s the smell of ‘Blood-Lure.’ They’re probing, not giving an ultimatum.”

Sogi shuddered inwardly. Koyuki was sharper than he’d given her credit for. He took a deep breath and skipped the finer details, mentioning only that the man was demanding “maps.” Koyuki’s brows knotted, and she suddenly lowered her voice. “Brother, Muso is a lunatic. He believes treasures choose their masters. Once he starts ‘screening,’ he leaves no one a way out. We have to hide the things before he gets here, or... destroy them completely.”

“Destroy?” Sogi gave a bitter smile. “That’s something Father traded his life for.”

“Father’s life matters, but yours matters more.” Koyuki stood up, her tone resolute. “Besides, what Muso wants is the ‘complete’ version. Incomplete archives are junk to him. We need to make him believe we don’t have the full leads.”

A spark of light flashed in Sogi’s eyes. The moment to lay the trap was now.

Since the enemy wanted “irrelevant material,” he had to craft a bigger lie. Or, push an unsolvable mystery out into the open. He needed three bait threads, pointing in three directions that looked safe but were actually deadly traps. He’d dilute Muso’s suspicion and drag the Yasha Guards into a quagmire of blind searching.

The first thread pointed to Muneyoshi Fujiwara.

Sogi turned and walked to the desk, picking up a brush. It was one of the few hard-currency items left in the house, destined for writing this crucial secret letter. He wrote a few lines of calligraphy practice that looked harmless, but they were packed with hidden codes. Using the avoidance rules of classical Chinese, he broke down the key coordinates for the “Canal Transport” secret tunnels from one of the fragments into obscure poetic metaphors.

“Koyuki, look at this character for ‘water.’ The final stroke is pressed extremely hard, as if weighing something down,” Sogi pointed at the line. “To anyone who knows the game, you’d realize it’s actually a hint at the ‘underground channel.’ But Muso doesn’t understand calligraphy. He only looks for ‘iron’ and ‘gold.’ I’ll send this letter to Lord Fujiwara, telling him I ‘accidentally found’ this ‘forgery’ and requesting an authentication. He’s an upright man with a stickler’s obsession for site preservation. Once he spots the geographical info, he’ll inevitably step in. When Muso’s spies hear Fujiwara is involved, they’ll think the leads are in the scholar’s hands. They’ll shift their forces to hassle the academics instead of attacking us directly.”

Koyuki nodded thoughtfully. “Lord Fujiwara has been investigating the mural restoration under the ancient temple recently. If you send him a ‘forgery,’ he will definitely come to verify it. But this is too risky. What if Lord Fujiwara doesn’t see through your disguise and goes chasing the actual geographical info in the forgery? Isn’t that inviting the wolf into the house?”

“No,” Sogi shook his head. “Fujiwara is a scholar; he chases ‘evidence.’ I’ll intentionally leave a blatant flaw in the letter, a contradiction only someone fluent in classical Chinese would catch. For example, writing ‘East’ as an archaic variant of ‘West.’ He’ll spot the error and suspect the letter is forged or unreliable. He’ll start investigating ‘who forged it,’ not ‘where the location is.’ If Muso’s spies tail him, they’ll just see a confused scholar and a bunch of misled martial artists. The time we buy is enough to move the core evidence.”

Koyuki understood the game. Move one: use the gray-area scholar inside the system as a “buffer zone,” using academic rigor to counter the brutal bluntness of the jianghu.

The second thread pointed to Sawa Ono.

This was the hardest part. Sawa was Muso’s “outsider” enforcer, cold and pragmatic. He represented a different kind of power: profit.

“We can’t hand the items to him directly,” Koyuki whispered. “Sawa works for Muso, but he cares more about the ‘efficiency’ and ‘reward’ of the job. If we hide it, he’ll hunt with full force. If we hand it over, he’ll report to Muso immediately, and Muso will strike. We need to make him doubt ‘Muso.’”

Sogi picked up the second sheet of paper. This time, he drew a seemingly chaotic sketch, cleverly hiding the frequency patterns of the “Station Courier” system from another fragment.

“I’ll release a rumor through the merchant guild’s channels: Muso Ono privately kept the ‘cut’ that was supposed to go to Sawa in a recent transaction. And that batch of goods was smuggled with contraband ‘Blood Talismans.’” Sogi analyzed calmly. “Sawa is loyal to money, sure, but he’s even more loyal to his status and dignity. If he hears Muso is stabbing him in the back, using his men for dirty work, and even stealing his credit, his first instinct won’t be to report Muso. It will be to strike first to secure the ‘evidence’ in his hands. He’ll start suspecting that Muso sent him to search this inn just to get him out of the way so Muso could hoard the Iron Archives for himself.”

Koyuki frowned. “That’s creating a rift within the enemy ranks. What if Sawa decides to prove his loyalty to Muso by launching a surprise attack on us?”

“Which is why,” Sogi pointed to the third sheet of paper, “we make him believe that attacking us ‘has no value’ and carries ‘huge risk.’ We’ll forge a copy of a ‘Wanted List.’ It will read: The Yagyu Inn has colluded with the Imperial Guard, there are ambush troops inside, and they possess a protective talisman granted personally by the Emperor. The moment they act, it’s a crime of treason.”

Koyuki gasped. “That’s insane. Colluding with the Imperial Guard? That’s a death sentence. If Muso actually believes that, he’ll be too scared to act casually. He’ll have to go through official channels, and that back-and-forth gives us precious breathing room.”

“It’s more than just breathing room.” Sogi placed the three notes into three separate oil-paper packets. “First packet: tomorrow morning, I’ll have someone deliver it to Lord Fujiwara’s study as ‘academic discourse.’ Second packet: I’ll mix it into the guild’s intel network so Sawa ‘happens’ to hear it. Third packet...”

He paused, his gaze drifting to the pitch-black night sky outside.

“Third packet, we sew it into the lining of my robe and keep it against my skin. Because that’s where the true ‘Entrance’ is recorded. The first two are bait; this one is the lifeline.”

Koyuki looked at the three oil-paper packets, a complex emotion flickering in her eyes. “Brother, you’re using your own life as the stake. If the first two moves fail and Muso sees through the disguise and comes for you directly, this ‘Life Talisman’ becomes a death warrant. He won’t care if you have a protective talisman; he’ll just kill you and search for it.”

“I know,” Sogi laughed softly, the smile not reaching his eyes. “But Muso has a weakness: his ‘obsession.’ He believes treasures choose him; he believes in fate. If, during his search, he finds that the leads always point him toward ‘accidents,’ he’ll start doubting himself, even questioning if his perception is off. That kind of mental erosion is scarier than swords.”

Outside, thunder rolled again, closer this time, as if overhead.

Sogi stood up, carefully storing the three notes, then walked to the counter and picked up a copper coin. He flicked it into the air and caught it.

“Koyuki, you don’t need to stay the night. I’ll tell them that guest room is full. Bring a change of clothes and go to the Anwa Hall old house in the south of the city. There’s a dry well there; at the bottom, there’s a secret compartment. Remember: don’t bring any metal keys. Use that fish-bone pick I gave you to pry it open. You must leave before dawn.”

Koyuki took the fish-bone pick, her fingertips trembling. “Brother, what about you?”

“Me?” Sogi blew out the oil lamp on the desk. The room plunged into dead-silent darkness, broken only by the occasional stark white flash of lightning outside. “I’m staying here to play the part of an ordinary man dominated by fear. The more cowardly I appear, the more credible that ‘fake talisman’ becomes. Because a man who truly holds power doesn’t fear the Yasha Guards. But a man who thinks he has connections but is actually alone will show that ‘bluffing fear.’”

“Bluffing...” Koyuki murmured, tears forming in her eyes. “You’re using your ‘incompetence’ to mask your ‘omnipotence.’ Brother, this is too risky.”

“That’s how the jianghu works,” Sogi’s voice rose from the darkness, calm as still water. “In a dilemma, there’s often no right answer. But as long as your choice makes the opponent waver between ‘belief’ and ‘doubt,’ you’ve won the first step.”

He turned and pushed open the wooden door; rain immediately drifted in, soaking the hem of his clothes.

Outside, deep in the curtain of rain, it felt like countless eyes were watching. Maybe it was the lights of the Fujiwara estate. Maybe it was the alley where Sawa was hiding. Maybe it was the red lines on the maps in Muso’s pitch-black mansion.

Sogi didn’t look back. He knew Koyuki had already pushed the door open and left, her footsteps light as a falling leaf.

He stood alone at the doorway, rain sliding down his cheeks, indistinguishable from tears.

The dilemma had been set. And the real trouble had only just begun.