Author's Preface
Pai-Bridge was born in 1926 when a tight-knit community of artisans and craftsmen settled along the riverbanks near Milford. To cross the rapid waters, they built a white timber bridge that combined classic American covered-bridge construction with traditional East Asian bracketwork. Recorded by local census takers as "Pai-Bridge," the town grew slowly over the next hundred years, preserving its unique dual heritage through stone-lined river walks, family-owned tea houses, and the steady ring of its 1926 brass centennial bell.
Richard pulled the Dodge to a slow crawl as they approached the threshold of the town, his eyes widening in appreciation. Spanning the river was the iconic White Bridge its timber frame, though crafted with modern wood, held the exact traditional lines of its 1926 origins. The structure was impeccably maintained; the recent wood polish gleamed richly beneath the afternoon light, catching the grain of the spruce and oak with a warm, deep luster.
Hanging proudly across the entrance beam, a freshly printed banner swayed gently in the breeze:
PAI BRIDGE EST. 1926
Celebrating Our 100-Year Centennial.
Richard marvelled at the sheer craftsmanship of the woodwork, taking in how seamlessly the heavy timber joints fit together. Beside him, Penny leaned forward against the dashboard, taking in her first glimpse of the town.
"Christ," she murmured. "This place looks like something out of a postcard."
He eased the Dodge onto the bridge. The tyres hummed over the timber decking, the sound echoing beneath the high, pitched roof. Sunlight filtered through the open sides, casting alternating bands of light and shadow across the dashboard.
Penny turned towards the river. Below them, white water rushed around the dark rocks, breaking into frothy ribbons beneath the bridge's supporting piers. Beyond it, the town climbed gently along the opposite bank, its buildings a mixture of old stonework, timber-framed shops, and newer structures designed to blend into the original architecture.
Red lanterns hung outside the tea houses. Baskets of flowers decorated the stone-lined walkways, and a group of children hurried past a small brass bell mounted on a wooden post near the river's edge.
He pulled out the scraggy little piece of paper Jarhead had written on.
"1134 Pai Town Road," he recited, glancing down at the scribbled address.
"Got it," Penny said, holding up her phone with the route locked in.
It had been a peaceful drive, aside from getting turned around twice, and now, surrounded by empty takeout boxes and crumpled chip bags, they had finally made it.
---
They pulled up outside a single-story suburban home that looked ordinary enough at first glance. Its wood siding showed its age, but it was pristine and well kept, framed by a crisp white picket fence and a sprawling, perfectly edged lawn. The only bizarre detail was the army of gnomes lined up along the brick path like miniature sentinels.
Pushing open the gate, they started up the walk.
"Does that feel like an honor guard to you?" Penny asked, her voice tight with tension.
Richard didn't answer. He kept his stride steady, the faint, metallic clink of his sword against his leg lost beneath the crunch of gravel under their boots.
Richard stepped onto the porch and brought three heavy, measured knocks against the timber doorframe. For a few seconds, the house sat motionless beneath the quiet shadows of the yard. Then came the faint, rhythmic tap of unhurried footsteps gliding across hardwood floors.
The door unlatched and swung open, revealing a woman in her early thirties whose presence instantly dominated the doorway. She was remarkably, captivatingly beautiful, a classic Chinese beauty with razor-sharp cheekbones and a mane of vibrant, electric-blue hair cascading over her shoulders. Yet behind her striking looks lay an intense, fierce energy that made the air on the porch turn suddenly cold.
"If you've forgotten your key again, Chan, I'm... gonna..."
Her voice trailed off as her eyes shifted to Richard's face. The moment her gaze settled on him, recognition hit like an electric shock. Her jaw set, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and without giving him a fraction of a second to speak, Ling Qing seized the edge of the door and slammed it shut, throwing the deadbolt home with a heavy, final click.
---
"Well, that was rude," Penny said, stepping up next to Richard, who had retreated a few paces. He reached down and drew his sword in one fluid, practiced motion, the steel gleaming softly in the afternoon light.
"Penny."
"Yes?"
"Do me a favor."
"What's that?"
"Duck."
Penny looked at Richard oddly. His sword hung loosely in his hand at his side, his posture relaxed despite the drawn blade. He glanced once at her before harshly shoving her backward. Penny sprawled onto the wooden deck of the porch just as another silver blade sliced through the air right where her head had been a second before, whistling sharply through the quiet space.
Richard twisted toward the attacker, bringing his sword up just in time to catch the descending strike. Steel crashed against steel, the sharp metallic ring reverberating off the porch and out across the quiet yard.
Ling stood before him, her electric-blue hair spilling over her shoulders, a silver blade gripped firmly in each hand.
"Still compensating for your age, Richard?" she snarled.
"Still greeting guests with attempted murder, Ling?"
She lunged before he could finish the thought.
Richard parried the first strike, turned his wrist to deflect the second, and stepped sideways as her blade swept violently toward his ribs. The movement was tight and economical every block calculated, every counter balance designed to keep her at a distance.
Ling had other ideas.
She pressed him relentlessly, her double blades flashing like lightning in the afternoon sunlight. Richard retreated across the porch, his boots scraping hard against the timber decking as he caught one strike after another. The heavy impacts shuddered through his forearms, forcing him to shift his grip on the hilt.
"Jesus Christ!" Penny scrambled backward on her hands and knees, staring wide-eyed at the chaos. "What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
Neither answered.
Ling spun on her heel, bringing one blade down toward Richard's shoulder while the other swept low across his waist. He caught the descending strike on his guard, twisted away from the second, and shoved his shoulder hard into her chest.
She barely gave an inch.
Instead, she hooked her boot behind his ankle and drove forward. Richard stumbled, his shoulder striking the porch railing hard enough to rattle the heavy timber posts.
Ling's grin was all teeth.
"You're getting slow."
"You're getting mouthy."
He lunged. She lunged. They met halfway.
Their blades collided with a deafening clang, silver edges grinding together as Richard forced her backward toward the front door. Ling twisted free at the last split second, bringing her left sword around in a vicious horizontal cut. Richard ducked beneath it, the blade slicing through the air so close he felt the breeze of it.
It struck the wooden doorframe instead, tearing off a long, jagged splinter of oak that flew across the porch.
"Watch my fucking paint!" Ling shouted.
Richard stared at her, incredulous. "You attacked me!"
"And you brought a sword to my house!"
"You've got two!"
"Because one wasn't enough for you!"
Penny stared at them from the floorboards, looking as though she'd wandered into the world's most deranged domestic dispute.
Then Richard's heel struck one of the ceramic gnomes positioned beside the porch steps.
The painted figure toppled, hit the timber decking, and exploded into a dozen shattered pieces. Ling's expression changed instantly from sheer hostility to absolute fury.
"Oh, you absolute bastard!"
She attacked with renewed venom.
Richard barely managed to get his guard up before her blades hammered against his, driving him backward across the porch floorboards. He parried left, blocked right, then ducked as a silver edge passed so close to his ear that the air whistled against his skin.
His counterstrike caught Ling's right blade near the guard. He twisted sharply, trying to wrench it from her hand, but she rolled her wrist and slipped free with terrifying ease.
The next exchange drove them toward the side of the house.
Richard struck. Ling blocked.
She countered. He turned the blow aside.
Their boots hammered against the decking, the steady rhythm of their footwork broken by the relentless crash of steel. Penny pressed herself flat against the white picket fence, too stunned to decide whether she should run, intervene, or simply accept that her afternoon had taken a spectacular turn for the worse. Then Ling drove Richard backward with a brutal overhead strike.
He caught it with both hands on his hilt, his sword angled sharply above his head. The raw impact forced him down onto one knee. He shoved upward with everything he had. Ling staggered back, her boots skidding across the smooth timber. Richard rose with the momentum, sweeping his blade in an arc toward her chest. She crossed both swords and caught his strike in a sharp X, the impact ringing out like a church bell.
At that exact moment, Richard's elbow backed into the front window.
The glass exploded inward with a deafening shatter.
A shower of razor-sharp fragments scattered across the interior hallway floor.
"WHAT THE HELL!" someone screamed from deep inside the house.
Both fighters froze, Richard took long deep breaths. He was.sure Ling and Penny could hear his heartbeat.
"LING!" the voice boomed as thunderous footsteps clattered heavily across the interior floorboards and spilled onto the porch.
A man looking no older than Richard himself rounded the ruined doorframe, his emerald-green silky dressing gown billowing around his ankles. His eyes swept across the carnage the gouged woodwork, the shattered window glass, and the smashed ceramic gnome before clapping onto Ling.
"What the hell is going on out here?" he demanded.
"Ask..." Ling paused, resting her hands on her knees as she sucked in a deep, ragged breath, "...him."
She thrust her chin toward Richard.
The man spun around, his chest heaving, clearly primed to launch into a full-throated shout. But the moment his gaze settled on Richard, the anger evaporated into sheer astonishment.
"Richard!" the man greeted him, his face lighting up as if he'd just run into an old school friend at a pub.
"Hi," Richard gasped, doubled over with his hands resting on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. "Zhan."
"What the hell is going on on my porch?" Zhan muttered, his eyes sweeping over the gouged oak, the shattered glass, and the pulverized ceramic.
Then he spotted Penny, still sprawled flat on the timber deck where Richard had shoved her. His expression shifted instantly to deep, theatrical sympathy.
"Oh, you poor, sweet little thing," Zhan cooed softly, stepping carefully over the sharp debris.
He extended a hand with effortless grace and helped her to her feet, immediately wrapping a soft, silk-clad arm around her shoulders to guide her past the ruined doorframe.
"Look at you absolutely radiant despite being thrown into a warzone," he murmured under his breath, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, comforting purr meant for her ears alone. "Are you alright, darling? No scratches on that lovely face? What an absolute brute, shoving a gorgeous girl onto the floorboards like that. Come inside, let's get you away from those maniacs before they break something else."
He ushered her into the hallway and pulled what was left of the front door shut behind them, cutting off the chill afternoon air with a gentle, decisive click.
"What the..." Richard stared blankly at the closed door, his sword still loose in his hand.
Beside him, Ling had already shifted gears. She crouched on the porch deck, her blades set aside, and began methodically sweeping up the scattered shards of the shattered gnome.
Richard watched her for a moment, listening to the quiet scrape of ceramic against timber. He let out a long breath, sheathed his sword, and dropped down onto his knees beside her to help pick up the rubble.Ling didn't look up at him. She carefully gathered another jagged piece of the shattered gnome, her sharp jaw set and her expression fixed in a bitter, unyielding scowl. The bright blue strands of her hair fell across her eyes, casting shadows over her face as her fingers worked over the decking.
Richard let out a long, heavy breath, slid his sword into its sheath with a quiet metallic click, and dropped to his knees on the porch beside her.
For several moments, neither spoke. The only sound between them was the soft rustle of autumn leaves blowing across the lawn and the delicate clinking of broken pottery as their hands worked side by side.
Richard reached out and picked up a particularly large fragment the gnome's cracked, cheerful face staring blankly back at him.
"Bit of a shame," he murmured softly. "He was an ugly little bastard, but he had character."
Ling turned her head slowly, her dark eyes locking onto his with razor-sharp intensity.
"Finish that sentence, Richard," she whispered, her tone dangerously calm, "and I'll put the other half of him through your skull."
Richard placed the fragment carefully onto the growing pile between them.
"Understood."
---
"Who's Chan?" Richard asked, reaching into the sharp debris to hand Ling a small, miraculously intact piece the gnome's tiny, painted fishing rod.
"My nephew," Ling muttered, taking the fragment from his fingers without looking up. "His parents flew out to Hong Kong three days ago, so he's staying here."
Richard stayed crouched on the timber decking, his hand hovering over the pile of ceramic shards. "Oh. For a second, I thought you had a kid."
Ling’s fingers froze over the rubble. She turned her head slowly, her vivid electric-blue hair falling over her shoulder as she looked at him with an utterly unimpressed, long-suffering glare.
"I do," she said dryly, tossing the ceramic rod onto the pile. "Her name is Ruby"
Richard stopped dead and took a look at Ling "Ruby?"
"Yes... after... you know"
"His daughter... he would of loved that"
"I know"
For a moment Richard looked at her again, her soft features, how her electric blues hair stopped at her shoulders, how much of an idiot he was to leave.
"Why are you here, Richard?" Ling asked softly, her hands still restlessly sifting through the tiny ceramic shards. "The last time I saw you was eight years ago."
"Yes, I know." Richard bowed his head, his gaze fixing on the timber floorboards beneath his knees. "Tom's dead."
The words hung heavy in the afternoon air the first time he’d spoken them aloud to anyone other than Penny and Jarhead, to someone who actually mattered to both him and Tom.
Ling’s fingers froze over the dust. The words settled between them. Ling stopped moving. For once, she had nothing sharp to say. "I'm sorry, Rich" she whispered. "Was it the Drugs?"
"No."
"Then the Vamps."
"Yes... that's why I'm here, Ling," Richard said, his voice dropping an octave, steady and dark. "We were set up by a proxy."
"A proxy? Seriously?" She frowned, searching his face.
"Yes."
"That's impossible, Rich."
"Why is it?"
"Because I'm your proxy," Ling said, her dark eyes locking onto his with absolute clarity. She let out a dry, exasperated breath. "Let me guess that dope Jarhead put doubt in your head?" She tilted her head, dropping into a harsh, exaggerated mimicry of Jarhead's voice: "'Nobody has a proxy...'"
Richard blinked, the pieces refusing to fit. "I'm confused."
"When I heard the Syndicate was going to send you two bungling into the underworld, I told them I wanted control," Ling said plainly. "They granted it"
"Why?"
"Why? Why?" She reached out and slapped the back of his head with an affectionate, furious smack. "Because I love you both, you absolute idiot!" She shook her head, blue hair falling around her face as she looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and raw affection. "Four years in the army... why? What a complete idiot. But what I don't understand is that I haven't received any chits with bounties in a year"
"What?"
"Yeah, after Ruby was born in haven't had any, I assumed it was because I just had a baby"
"What? Some fucked up maternity leave, or some shit?"
"Well yeah"
“Ling, you're a vampire hunter."
"Former"
"Sorry, you was a vampire hunter. You killed vampires for a living. Since when does the Syndicate give a shit about maternity leave?”
She shrugged, brushing a fragment of ceramic dust from her fingers. “Apparently, since last year.”
Richard looked at her for a long moment.
“Something's wrong... Somethings very wrong"
For once, Ling didn't argue.
Comments