The Death of Little Wu

More than twenty arrows swept forward in a volley, flying straight at Luan Yi. He knew that the Sacred Cross Armor he wore, though sturdy, could only protect his vital organs; the joints remained exposed. To be struck by such a dense barrage was to be injured—inevitable, and on the battlefield, a grievous wound often meant death. For the first time, he realized how close the specter of death truly was. He was unwilling to die here; there were still so many things he wished to do. He had yet to revive the Holy Mother Church, to change the bleak course of China’s history. He had never, in either his past or current life, truly experienced the joys of love. Now, two beautiful maidens waited for him not far away, at home beneath Mount Li. They were his fiancées; the wedding was set for next year...

In the blink of an eye, Luan Yi’s mind raced. He imagined countless ways to survive, but all were smothered by the shadow of death... He could not escape.

At this very brink of life and death, Xiao Wu suddenly appeared from behind, placing his not-so-sturdy body in front of Luan Yi. “Master, be careful,” he cried.

The rain of arrows pierced him, riddling his body with wounds. He collapsed into Luan Yi’s arms.

Luan Yi held Xiao Wu tightly, and in that instant, memories of their first meeting flooded his mind. Back then, Xiao Wu had only been a young servant in the Rising Phoenix Pavilion of Yingchuan. After hearing Xi Zhicai tell stories from Strange Tales, he had become enamored with storytelling, often hiding in corners to mimic Xi Zhicai’s performances. Luan Yi would never forget the excitement on Xiao Wu’s face when he told him he could become an excellent storyteller himself. From then on, Luan Yi introduced him as Xi Zhicai’s first apprentice, and Xiao Wu began to learn storytelling and comic dialogue.

His best routine was Ma Sanli’s “Teasing You.” At first, he was clumsy, stumbling over punchlines and rambling through transitions, draining much of the humor from the piece and failing to achieve the desired effect.

Xi Zhicai approached Luan Yi, suggesting that Xiao Wu was not suited for performing arts and should return to his duties as a servant. Luan Yi shook his head and persuaded Xi Zhicai to give Xiao Wu another chance. He knew Xiao Wu had talent—he had once secretly listened to Xiao Wu’s private storytelling, which was lively and engaging. The stammering only appeared before his teacher out of nervousness and a deep respect for the art.

Luan Yi later spoke with Xiao Wu at length, advising him that when on stage, he should not fear the audience below. Instead, he should make the audience fear him. As an artist, on the stage, he was sovereign. If he said the sun rose in the west, then so it did, and everyone must listen. With that, what was there to fear?

Luan Yi counseled Xiao Wu for three hours, and Xiao Wu was enlightened. Coupled with his diligence—morning exercises, afternoon classes, evening script memorization—he was never idle. Within half a month, he could perform solo, and his rendition of “Teasing You” became an instant hit.

To this day, Luan Yi remembered Xiao Wu’s every gesture and tone during “Teasing You.” He was a good person—one who understood humor and life. More importantly, he was only thirteen—a blooming age in the twenty-first century.

Yet this boy, in the season of blossoming flowers and the rebirth of all things, was now pierced by arrows and departed this world.

“Xiao Wu...” Luan Yi’s veins stood out as he screamed in anguish. He dropped his war hammer, desperately trying to staunch Xiao Wu’s bleeding wounds. There were too many; as soon as he blocked one, another bled profusely. Luan Yi was frantic, tears streaming down his face. “What do I do? What do I do? The blood... won’t stop!”

At the edge of death, Xiao Wu gritted his teeth and gasped, “Master, don’t worry about me... Xiao Wu... is going to heaven to see the Holy Mother... You mustn’t die... the brothers mustn’t die... Quickly, quickly, open the city gate!” With that, he died.

“Xiao Wu...” Luan Yi wailed again, clutching Xiao Wu, and through his shoulder glimpsed Sun Ru fifty feet away. Without hesitation, he drew one of the iron disks from his belt, spun half a turn, and hurled it. “Sun Ru, you dog! You dared kill my brother—prepare to die!”

Seeing Luan Yi fling a round, dark object, Sun Ru realized it was a hidden weapon and was startled, instinctively crouching behind the parapet.

He was at the edge of the city wall; Luan Yi stood at the end of the stairs, separated by a low wall. That reflexive crouch saved his life, for he hid behind the battlement. Even so, he did not escape unscathed. Luan Yi’s throw carried the force of a thousand pounds, slicing off the protruding part of the battlement and passing through. It grazed Sun Ru’s scalp, shaving off a large patch of skin and hair, leaving him with a “Mediterranean” hairstyle.

Sun Ru felt a sudden chill on his head. He touched it—his hand was covered in blood. Terrified out of his wits, he soiled his clothes. Seeing the damaged battlement, his face turned green. He thought, if such a hard wall couldn’t stop that weapon, a shield would be useless. Not daring to stand upright, he hunched behind the wall, fleeing along the stone path toward the west gate. As he ran, he shouted to the city guards, “Hold the line, hold it for me!” But his own pace only quickened.

Luan Yi shouted, “Sun Ru, don’t run! Return my brother’s life!” He grabbed his hammer and charged up the wall, joining the dozen grieving Holy Mother guards in a furious assault.

The passage atop the wall was narrow, ill-suited for large-scale battle. Thus, the number of soldiers became irrelevant, providing the ferocious Luan Yi a perfect stage for slaughter.

The more Luan Yi fought, the stronger he became, unstoppable. Though wounded, his injuries did not hinder him. The surviving guards formed a line, their spirits soaring. When one fell, another took his place, fearless and relentless. “Kill... kill... kill! Fight for the Holy Mother! The Master’s might is boundless!”

Their roars pierced the soldiers’ hearts. In an instant, the official troops felt their courage drain, and looking back, saw their commander Sun Ru already ten yards away.

With the general gone, the soldiers lost all will to fight, swung their weapons half-heartedly, and ran.

Luan Yi kept his eyes on Sun Ru, hammer raised, cutting down ten with a single sweep, looking like a demon from hell.

“Master, don’t pursue a desperate foe!” As he was immersed in battle, a shout rose from below. Glancing down, he saw that official troops had somehow managed to engage the Holy Mother guards. This meant that the dozens of Holy Mother followers among the official troops who had defected had perished in combat.

Below the wall, the fight was fierce. The guards, driven by a spirit of fearless sacrifice, defended the tiny territory with flesh and blood. One after another fell, each replaced by another, the cruel face of war laid bare.

Yet the soldiers’ numbers were overwhelming. However brave, the guards could not withstand so many—they were pressed back to the wall.

In desperation, Luan Yi stopped chasing Sun Ru. He charged into the gatehouse and smashed the bolts of the drawbridge with his hammer. With a sharp mechanical crack, the drawbridge fell, opening an escape route for the Holy Mother guards.

At this perilous moment, a touching scene unfolded. Every guard knew that each extra second inside the city meant a greater chance of death. But none rushed to flee. Instead, they maintained their combat stance, waiting—for their leader, the Master of the Holy Mother Church, Luan Yi, to leave first.

Luan Yi quickly descended the stairs. When he entered, sixteen guards had followed him, including Xiao Wu. Now, only six remained.

He stepped onto his white-maned steed and called out, “Brothers, leave the city quickly—I’ll cover the rear!”

“Master, you mustn’t! You risked your life to open the gate earlier—this time, it’s my turn. If anyone should cover the retreat, let it be me!” Dian Wei grabbed Luan Yi’s reins, anxious.

“Master, Dian Knight, don’t argue. Let me cover the rear.” Xiao Bai’s face was streaked with blood—his own and his enemies’. A savage wound pierced his left cheek, bleeding profusely. His riding posture was strange; a closer look revealed an arrow in his left hip and a freshly bandaged wound on his right calf. He glanced at Luan Yi, saying, “Master, your duties are vital. The Church cannot be without you; the people of Han who await the gospel cannot be without you.” He turned to Dian Wei, “Brother Dian, you have elders above and wife and children below; you are the pillar of your family—they need you. As for me... wounded as I am, I couldn’t get far anyway.”

Xiao Bai paused, sobbing, “I’m alone. Xiao Wu was my best friend. Now... he’s gone ahead to heaven. That fool was always forgetful, hopeless with directions. I worry he won’t find the way to heaven, so I’ll go with him—to look after him.”

Xiao Bai’s words shattered Luan Yi’s heart. He knew better than anyone: covering the retreat meant death. Tears flowed unchecked, yet he forced himself to look severe. “Don’t talk nonsense! Tonight, none of you must die. Listen to me—I’ll cover the rear. You and Brother Dian, leave now!”

“At a time like this, don’t fight me. Go, go...” While Luan Yi was distracted, Xiao Wu raised his spear and jabbed it at the hindquarters of Luan Yi’s horse.

Unable to bear the pain, the warhorse neighed, reared, and galloped out of the city.

Dian Wei wanted to protest, but Xiao Bai shook his head resolutely. Knowing he could not out-argue Xiao Bai, Dian Wei swung his whip and rode off. “Brothers, follow me out!” As he exited, he choked back tears, calling out in a big brother’s voice, “Come back alive—or else!”

Xiao Bai watched the armor engraved with crosses recede into the distance. Amid tears, a faint smile appeared. He called to his dozen subordinates, “Brothers, hold the gate and protect the Master—fight for the Holy Mother!”

“Fight for the Holy Mother!”