It was so quiet in the palace that the stunned people heard water droplets on the outskirts of Kye Lake. Fear consumed them and they didn’t dare speak or move a single muscle. They had to confront their gullibility. They had to confront their misguided blame. They had to confront the real Fox in daylight.

“How dare you enter! I will have your head!” The emperor shouted, breaking the spell fallen over his followers.

Cheng blocked him from reaching a sword. Those experienced in combat should fight but Huli acted too arrogant for his own good. He would die fighting an assassin. Right now, they needed their best weapon to be victorious.

The soldiers – six in total and more coming – formed a border between the emperor and the assassin. They withdrew their swords and a few charged, while other remained by the ruler’s side for final defence. The Fox stepped closer, stretched leisurely and cracked his neck, nonchalant about the oncoming battle.

“Men. There is no need to be aggressive!” He said in a deep voice. “Let us settle this over some tea and a nice, long chat... Or not.”

The Fox disarmed the first two men, fresh recruits, easily; he used both his hands to hit their attacking arm on either side, applying pressure to force them one by one to drop their weapons. Then, with a simple hit to the chest, he left them struggling for breath. The next attacker learnt from their mistakes and kept his weapon close, the sword effectively slicing the air back and forth in short, rigid strokes. Too worried about his grip and stabbing, he failed to shield his body. The Fox slipped through the miserable attacks and punched him on his nose, cheek and stomach. Then, he let a final front kick knock him to the ground.

“Ànshù! Protect your emperor!” Cheng shouted, finding him and the accused maid hiding behind the mass of people.

“The emperor must renounce the order to kill Fa Huian and let her live beside me,” Disung demanded.

“Protect your ruler! That is your order!”

Disung remained plastered to the floor and staring forward, unwilling to yield. It felt overwhelming to deny unleashing his own rage towards the Fox. Vengeance could be his within seconds. Yet, he restrained himself almost as much as Joaolong’s hand on his shoulder. No words were shared between them but he knew what would be said: think strategically, not impulsively. Their original escape plan had many risks and this could be their opportunity to succeed unscathed.

“The emperor must renounce the execution and accept my demands if I am to serve him without hesitation.”

“I will have your head! I do not need you!” Huli screamed, still trying to fight himself.

Cheng looked to the approaching Fox and back to the emperor. He sighed, submitting to the demand. “As the Imperial Advisor, I speak for the emperor and hereby announce Fa Huian innocent of crimes against her and position to be revised to serve Liu Disung since she carries his child. Now protect your emperor!”

After a victorious smirk, Disung obeyed the order and bolted toward the Fox. The momentum added more strength to the first kick at the assassin. The Fox ducked but Disung’s foot clipped the side of his skull. As soon as he stood, Disung blocked his vision with parries and punches. However, the Fox reacted almost instinctively, expecting a sudden attack. He held up his hands to shield his face and manoeuvred around Disung, trying to put distance between them. When Disung finally had the advantage in the fight – the Fox caught on unsteady footing in a crouched position – the assassin fled away from the courtyard. Disung followed.

The chasing game went through the buildings and onto roofs. Whenever Disung caught the Fox off-guard, he blocked and continued to escape. It irritated Disung, who already relied on his rage and revenge to push his limits. Why did the Fox not fight back? What game did he play? Or was he choosing to run away like a coward? Not this time. Not again. Disung refused to be taken lightly.

The Fox swung onto another roof but abruptly stopped in the building’s centre. With perfect balance, he waited patiently for his opponent on the beam. He smiled, his cheekbones moving the mask upwards.

“You are brave to follow the Fox.” The voice sounded familiar.

“I have my reasons,” Disung replied but his attempt to act casual failed. He was too absorbed in his hatred to play cheery.

“Reasons which make you leave loved ones behind in their most vulnerable state. Not a smart decision. I thought you would have grown up smarter.”

“I am smart enough to kill my father’s murderer that stands before me!” Disung shouted and leapt forward.

The men stepped along the wood, which challenged their balance in its curved design. Of course, they could’ve stepped off the slope and onto the tiled roof but both remained stubborn, determined to win at every minor gamble. Disung launched at the Fox but the assassin leaned to the left, then hit Disung in the jaw. The inside of his cheek caught on teeth and ripped the flesh, forcing him to spit blood. This is better, he thought bitterly. Now you fight like a man instead of fleeing like a cowardly fox. As soon as the red liquid hit the ground, Disung blocked an oncoming attack and used his outside arm to swing around to collide with the enemy. Arms and hands sliced through the air, both attacking and defending in swift, flowing motions while the opponents moved back and forth across the roof. The movements were incredibly quick and caused unsuspecting onlookers – such as maids and eunuchs completing daily duties – to gasp while their minds registered the fight.

The men’s capabilities appeared equal, Disung returning severe blows to his body with just as much force as his enemy. When a tile slid under the Fox’s foot, Disung found the opportunity to hit him with a right heel kicked to knock him off his feet. The Fox rolled downwards off the roof but while in mid-air, he adjusted his body to roll painlessly on the ground and into Lady Gaze. As soon as his feet found the ground again, he bounced up the garden’s trees for coverage.

“Come out, bloody scum!” Disung called.

“You are very good at the rare, traditional Ma!” The Fox mused from his hiding spot.

It had been awhile since Disung heard mention of the secret fighting. Chunhua told him great stories about his heritage in the mountain clan and related secrets, including the combat style known as ‘Ma’. The meaning derived from the concept of first instinct, like most infants muttering ‘ma’ for their first word. It was believed the learnt martial art technique engrained in generations to the point of becoming instinctive in children of the mountain clan. The aim was not to be able to battle but protect oneself in peril, similar to animals; birds had an instinct to fly away from danger or snakes hissed to hide their fear.

The primary stance had to be strong and unwavering, with legs slightly bent side-on to the opponent. The technique basics consisted of strong strikes, light steps and rapid movements to reflect the unyielding and fluid changes in the mountains they resided in. From this, ‘Ma’ branched off into specific styles which focused on weapons, fists, defence or other unique aspects of fighting. This was how the Mountain Masked Masters formed; each man or woman represented the proficiency in a specific style of ‘Ma’.

“We are not children playing games! Show yourself! Fight like a man!” Disung yelled out in the empty air. He wandered around Lady Gaze with cautious steps and flinched at every slight rustle of leaves.

“You loved this game as a child. It took me hours to find you,” The Fox stated but when Disung looked in the voice’s direction, he knew the man climbed another tree.

“You speak of nonsense! The only game we played together, Fox, was you hiding from me all these years!”

A twig snapped. The Fox dived towards Disung. His hand reached towards him. Sharp, stone blades covered all his fingers. Only the Wolf wears claws, Disung thought subconsciously. You haven’t changed since then…

The day had been hot yet Disung felt nothing but chills. His mother pushed him forward and the desperate expression on her face made him shudder; Chunhua never showed weakness. They ran into the forest, chasing the small footsteps of Duckling. Why did his sister run this way? In the distance, Disung saw a small, blurry figure. He screamed her name but it was not Duckling. Instead, Mingzhu turned around. She looked traumatised, with blotchy, red skin and endless streams of tears. The arm he fixed hung limply by her side while the other held onto Juan’s hand tightly. In front of them, a tall shadow emerged. He grinned and Disung yelled as the twins screamed.

Without thinking, Disung threw a rock. “Don’t hurt them!”

The man looked up and his cold eyes met Disung. Fear spiked his heartbeat. This intense terror blurred the man’s features into an unrecognisable face as he came forward. Just before he launched into a sprint, Disung’s father leapt into view like a hero from a story. His father blocked the man’s clawing hands, revealing stones protruding from each fingernail.

The pain from the fresh, four scratches on his cheek awoke Disung from unpermitted reminiscing. He fell to the side, out of the Fox’s reach, and felt blood smear across his face. Tuffs of grass and leaves stuck to it. The sting from the wound faded as adrenaline pumped harder throughout Disung’s body. The Fox continued to claw, stab or seize in rapid succession as they wrestled on the ground. Despite finding his feet and keeping his defence strong, Disung didn’t stop five sudden, shallow punctures. Warm blood dribbled from the wounds on his open skin.

Remember what you fight for. Avenge your father, he reminded himself and forced his mind to analyse movements instead of pain. The pattern of attack played repetitively in his head, the basics of ‘Ma’ incorporated into a new fierce style, and suddenly, he could follow it better. It felt like a second breath of life went through him. He backed up a few paces then charged forward, bouncing on the balls of his feet and catching the Fox in surprise. He experimented in grappling, the Panda’s style, somehow remembering the Panda always conquered the Wolf in his mother’s bedtime stories.

At first, the technique looked sloppy but as they continued to spar, Disung became stronger and faster. He re-enacted what he recalled about the Panda from childhood and reflected the fierceness of his opponent. But something was wrong. It wasn’t until he noticed the Fox retreat from several opportunities to plunge his nails into Disung, that he became enraged. The assassin still held back his true strength and ability.

“Fight, dammit! Fight me properly!”

“I am,” the Fox replied.

Disung got hold of the assassin’s neck in a grappling grip and added pressure. Nails dug into the tender skin until red incisions marked the Fox. “Selfish bastard. You killed my father and then try kill my pride as a warrior! You are scum between the emperor’s toes!”

“I did not come here to kill anybody.”

“A killer cannot change! You left me to suffer all those years ago!”

“Do not blame me for that day. I had no choice,” the Fox puffed out.

He landed a solid heel kick on Disung’s shin, making him flinch. This proved just enough for the assassin to wiggle free. He brought his back to Disung’s chest and kicked backwards, using the power to flip over in a handstand. Disung flew across and into gardens. While recovering from this blow, the Fox grabbed slave punishers – bamboo sticks – laying at the edge of the garden and ran. Once again, he returned to the rooftops for the battle.

“Fool,” Disung laughed humourlessly. “I am Ànshù, the emperor’s secret tool for death. I am a master of blades.”

No one used weapons against him; he defeated all Shanhe generals and officers in weapon play. Wearing a dark smirk, he withdrew the sword by his side and ran down pathways, predicting the Fox’s route. Each step added more determination to the feral hatred in his soul.

At a dead end, Disung climbed onto the roof of the nearest building and successfully blocked the assassin. The mask looked brighter in the direct sunlight. Each orange thread seemed to represent the dead bodies the Fox left in his wake. Disung glared, feeling the tingle of adrenaline heighten. It was time to kill.

“You had a choice, Fox. You could have let my father live but instead you killed him! I have vowed to avenge him for as long as I remember. Do not expect to live after today.”

The Fox leaned on his bamboo stick. “Oh dear. I fear we have a grave misunderstanding.”

“Bastard!”

Disung dummied hitting high and used the butt handle of his sword to bruise the Fox on his legs. The man buckled and when the blade came near again, he grabbed hold of the bamboo tighter. He swung the plant widely and filled the open spaces with front kicks. This forced Disung backpedal but he didn’t give up. He tried attacking at varying distances, while using a mix of combinations which defeated countless recruits in the past. A few worked and a hum of satisfaction went through Disung at the sight of his enemy’s blood. Unfortunately, the wounds were only shallow.

Without warning, the Fox abandoned the bamboo stick and changed fighting style again from a stoic stance to fluid movements. He used balance and posture to guide his attacks, which consisted of quick, sharp steps and smalls blows from a trio of daggers protruding from between his fingers. The jabs came in rounds of three and maintained a steady rhythm. Unlike the other styles, Disung mimicked the basic steps with ease, his muscles remembering before his mind did. The pattern was eerily familiar. Like the first, unexpected bolt of lightning in a thunderstorm, it stuck him why he knew the style: Mingzhu fought this way during the hunt and training camp destruction.

“How did you learn this?” He asked, dumbfounded.

He assumed Mingzhu made it up, varying ‘Ma’ to suit herself. What if it originated from the mountain clan? But how did Mingzhu perfect it so well if she left? Did it hold a reason why she never answered his questions?

Palace soldiers interrupted the fight. They rapidly approached the rooftops and prepared to bombard the Fox. A few attempted to climb onto the roof while others readied their bows with clumsy, inexperienced hands. It proved Disung’s argument that all recruits, no matter their nobility, should be trained in the mountains. At least he could give them a show to remember and aspire them to train harder; Ànshù’s true ability became a rarity to witness due to his role as Joaolong’s guard.

“What a shame. Our time has run out. I shall only leave you with this: protect Bai Mingzhu. Do this and I will explain everything next time.”

“There will never be next time! I will kill you!” Disung roared, as fierce as a lion, blinded by loathing.

Before Disung could stab him, the Fox jumped back to edge of the border wall – which had never done before – and smiled. His balance on the curved surface astonished everyone. Yet, Disung found distraction in something far greater; the Fox removed his intricate mask. It revealed aged skin, a poorly-fitted wig and kind, dark eyes. The most recognisable features, from his large nose to the huge smile, were hauntingly similar to Disung’s own face.

The Fox ran a hand over his head; the habit turned into a family trait. Disung’s breath caught in his throat. It was not possible. “Father?”

The Fox dived backwards and plummeted into the murky depths of the lake, narrowly missing collision into the border wall. The bubbles from his breath gradually depleted and the man never resurfaced. Guards spent ages searching but the Fox wasn’t seen again. This left Disung to wallow in all his unanswered questions about his father and the Fox. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Who was the real killer and who was the real Fox?