Flying Eagle in September
aka: Jiu Yue Ying Fei [九月鹰飞], Gau Yut Ying Fei [九月鷹飛], Cửu Nguyệt Ưng Phi, Cuu Nguyet Ung Phi, Gadis Boneka.
This novel was written in 1974.
Dawn.
The first clear morning after a long period of snow, yet the cold was bitter enough to turn the snow that had gathered on the long streets into ice. Icicles hung in staggered lengths under the eaves, as if they were the teeth of wolves that waited for the opportunity to sink themselves into their chosen victims.
But there was nobody on the street. All the windows and doors of the homes were tightly closed. A dense fog hung close to the ground, filling the space between Heaven and Earth with an aura that froze everything to death.
There was no wind, for even the wind seemed to have been frozen dead.
Tong Tongshan sat wrapped in a marten coat on a tiger-skin armchair at the head of the long street. Looking out into the deathly stillness of the street, he felt immensely satisfied in his heart.
Because his order had already been executed to the very last detail.
He had had the street sealed off so that he could use it as a battle-ground. Within an hour, he would use the blood of Old Du Huotang from Xicheng (literally, the Western City) to clean away the cold snow that had piled up on the street.
If anyone dared to step on to the long street before that moment arrived, he would have that person's legs chopped off.
This was his city. Regardless of who it was, everyone should give up on the idea of setting foot on his domain.
Including Xicheng's Du Huotang.
With the exception of Wei Ba-Taiye (the Eighth Elderly Gentleman Wei), he would never ever allow anyone to be in front of him, blocking his path.
Dozens of men in simple blue clothing stood quietly behind him, their arms folded.
Next to him were two tiger-skin armchairs that were similar to his. A young man -- pale-faced, arrogant-looking and wearing a purple sable coat worth a thousand pieces of gold -- leaned lazily on the armchair on the left. He used his little finger to hook the gem-decorated hilt of a long black-sheathed sword, swinging it back and forth ceaselessly.
To him, the matter was very meaningless and utterly uninteresting.
Because those whom he wanted to kill were not people like Xicheng's Old Du. Such people were unworthy of his action.
The man on the right, who was even younger, was in the midst of using a shiny goose-feather sabre to trim his fingernails.
He was obviously trying to portray a calm appearance, but his pimple-filled face was already red with excitement.
Tong Tongshan understood the young man's mind very well.
When he received his first assignment from Wei Ba-Taiye, he had been equally excited.
But he knew: As the twelfth among the Thirteen Protectors in Wei Ba-Taiye's organisation, the young man and the goose-feather sabre in his hand would certainly not disappoint anyone.
Inside a tightly-shut home, the sudden crying of a child broke the silence in this space between Heaven and Earth.
The crying stopped as soon as it began, for the child's mouth had obviously been clamped shut by an adult.