SS CH36

Yellow Flower Lane, located in the south of the town, was an entirely unremarkable alleyway within General Town. It lacked the bustle of nearby wine taverns or teahouses, and harbored no flower boutiques or silk manors. Instead, it was defined solely by ancient earthen walls and tiled houses where barely a dozen families resided. Yet, due to the frequent warfare of recent years, many of the town’s residents had fled, leaving only two or three lonely, elderly households in the lane. Among them, the courtyard nestled deepest at the end was where Master Shen lived.

It was said that Master Shen was nearing sixty years of age, but his constitution remained agile and his spirit robust. Having resided here for over half a year, he rarely ventured out for a stroll, yet whenever a neighbor faced a matter of grave import or a minor predicament, turning to him for counsel was guaranteed to yield the right course of action. However, over the past two days, Master Shen had abruptly suspended his lessons and sent all the studying children back to their homes, claiming he was indisposed and required quiet recuperation. Even those who brought eggs and flour cakes out of concern were turned away at the door, one after another.

After gathering their information, Chu Xiwei and Ye Fusheng partook of a casual meal and, taking advantage of the dimming twilight, made a few turns before slipping into this very alleyway.

The season was currently late autumn. The old tree that climbed over the wall from the Shen family courtyard seemed on the verge of death in the chilling wind, its withered yellow leaves littering the ground with no one to sweep them away. A scrawny crow perched upon a branch; it showed no fear upon spotting strangers, opening its beak to let loose a harsh wail.

Chu Xiwei suddenly smiled faintly, saying to Ye Fusheng, “The moment we arrive, we hear a crow’s cry—a dire omen.”

Ye Fusheng arched an eyebrow. “Are you actually afraid of crows?”

“I have seen plenty of crows over the years, so they are nothing extraordinary. However…” Pausing for a moment, the corners of Chu Xiwei’s lips curled up. “Every time I encounter a crow, I invariably run into a corpse.”

The two exchanged a look. Ye Fusheng stepped forward to knock on the door. Without even pinching his throat, his voice perfectly mimicked a woman’s anxious tone as he called out, “Is Master Shen within? My daughter said she was coming to ask you about some characters, but the hour is getting late and she has yet to return. Has the master seen her?”

The door was locked firmly from the inside. Ye Fusheng knocked a few times without receiving any response. Channeling his internal energy, he delivered a push against the wood, causing the horizontally slotted crossbar inside to snap clean in half. Fortunately, although it was still broad daylight, this alleyway was utterly devoid of human presence, sparing them the fate of being treated as bandits.

The moment the door cracked open to reveal a sliver of space, Chu Xiwei stepped forward, grabbing Ye Fusheng to flip and dodge to the side. Instantly, a row of steel needles shot violently out from the gap in the door, almost brushing against the edges of their garments before embedding themselves into the stone wall opposite. The steel needles sank in flush to their heads; they were coated in some unknown substance that actually corroded finger-sized holes into the surrounding stone!

Chu Xiwei furrowed his brows and released his grip on Ye Fusheng to walk back to the door. Ye Fusheng shrugged and produced a handkerchief. Exerting force into his palm, he struck the wall, vibrating one of the steel needles out of the stone. He used the handkerchief to pick it up and examine it; this needle was identical to the ordinary kind used by common households to sew hemp sacks, except its tip possessed a triangular barb. If it struck a person, even without the coating of poison, it would inevitably tear away skin and flesh—utterly insidious.

His gaze narrowing, Ye Fusheng wrapped the needle carefully and tucked it into his waistband. Seeing that Chu Xiwei had already stepped through the entrance, he quickly followed. The moment he stepped inside, a faint, ghostly scent of blood accompanied by a light medicinal aroma rushed over them.

The courtyard looked to have been washed down not long ago. Because the weather was cold and damp, the moisture on the ground had not yet dried completely. However, with a single glance, Ye Fusheng spotted the red stains trapped within the crevices of the stone bricks that could not be washed away—marks that only formed after blood seeped deep and coagulated.

The vague scent of blood hovered over the floor tiles. Chu Xiwei frowned, tracing that thread of medicinal aroma to where it drifted from the interior of the house. The doors were tightly shut, leaving it impossible to know what the situation was inside.

He reached out to push the door open, but Ye Fusheng grabbed him, gesturing for him to look down—there, at the lower edge of the threshold, lay an inconspicuous carved mark that resembled a reverse hook. If one’s eyes blinked for a second, it would easily be dismissed as a common scratch.

Upon seeing this mark, Chu Xiwei’s face turned grim, and he abruptly turned his head around, only to see an equally solemn expression on Ye Fusheng’s face.

Ye Fusheng pulled out the steel needle wrapped in the handkerchief, unrolled Chu Xiwei’s left hand, and wrote in his palm: “Blood-Piercing Needle, Soul-Hooking Brand… it is the mark of the ‘Lingying Guards’.”

The Lingying Guards, who answered directly to the Son of Heaven—wherever the Emperor’s heart inclined, their blades pointed.

Ye Fusheng had escaped death by a hair’s breadth during the battle of Jinghan Pass, causing his identity as the Commander of the Lingying Guards to dust over. Yet, he knew perfectly well in his heart that while Xie Wuyi dying in his stead could deceive the Northern Barbarian enemies who shared little history with him, it could absolutely never deceive the Lingying Guards who collected his corpse, much less… Chu Ziyu.

During their brief conversations on the road here, Chu Xiwei’s words had betrayed no shortage of lingering fury regarding his previous “death.” From this, Ye Fusheng deduced that Chu Ziyu likely knew he was not dead, yet chose to help him conceal it.

However, now that Chu Ziyu wished to reinstate Ruan Feiyu, it would inevitably draw the eyes and ears of various interested parties who opposed the New Laws and their factions. For the sake of prudence, announcing it to the world with great fanfare to divert attention while secretly dispatching the Lingying Guards to escort him—coordinating the overt and covert movements—was the most appropriate tactic.

Yet, complications in this world were never in short supply.

Chu Xiwei possessed absolutely no goodwill toward the Lingying Guards—those imperial hounds. In fact, his feelings bordered on outright loathing. He particularly disliked seeing Ye Fusheng associated with them in any way. The fact that this man had served as an imperial hawk and hound for ten years felt like a thorn in his throat every time he recalled it, making him wish the two would never cross paths again.

Unfortunately, heaven rarely conforms to human wishes.

Fortunately, he quickly reined in his emotions, suppressing the restless true qi within his chest before taking a step back. Ye Fusheng intended to pat his shoulder, but the gesture was dodged. Feeling an inexplicable touch of loss, Ye Fusheng shifted his direction mid-air and rapped five times upon the door—three heavy strokes and two light ones. At the end, he rounded his mouth to let out a soft cry, which sounded precisely like the hoarse call of a bird.

A rustling movement came from within the room, followed by an old voice that asked, “Who is it?”

Ye Fusheng replied, “The autumn wind rustles, cold to the bone; the weary bird is listless, finding it hard to return to its nest. Kind soul, pray lend a hearth to warm through the winter.”

The contact signals for the Lingying Guards varied across the four seasons of the year. Ye Fusheng spoke according to the current season. After two seconds of silence inside the room, footsteps slowly approached. The person within slid back the door bar, shifted some chests and chairs that had originally blocked the door, and finally opened it.

The person who opened the door was an elderly man, tall and thin, yet showing no signs of a slouch. He wore an old, faded long robe, his graying hair gathered neatly into a hairpin. His face, which already bore the hallmarks of old age, was creased in misery, making him look exactly like a poor old scholar who had suffered through bitter cold, carrying a weary air of vicissitudes that could not be shaken off.

His eyesight was likely poor, as he could not help but squint when looking at people. His hand remained propped against the door as he stood there in silence, staring at these two uninvited guests.

To any onlooker, he was merely an ordinary old man, yet Ye Fusheng was all too familiar with this face.

The Southern Scholar, Ruan Feiyu—whether in the imperial court or the martial world, he always maintained this impoverished, down-on-his-luck appearance. Yet the moment he turned serious, he was a master of strategy, directing the fate of the realm within the flip of his palm.

Without drawing attention, Ye Fusheng tugged at Chu Xiwei’s sleeve and said calmly to the old man, “The two of us belong to the Qian Camp. Our Master ordered us to come and escort your lordship.”

To facilitate administration, the internal structure of the Lingying Guards was divided into eight camps based on the Eight Trigrams. Among them, the Qian Camp consisted of a mere twenty people, secretly deployed only by the Son of Heaven and the Commander. The other seven camps knew very little of it, making it the perfect identity to gain trust at this moment.

Ye Fusheng had lost his Commander’s token, but the tattoo of the Lingying Guards remained. Feigning ignorance of Chu Xiwei’s cold expression, he rolled up his left sleeve. Upon his pale arm, there was indeed a dark wild goose, its wings spread as if about to take flight.

“A hard journey, but you have arrived just in time.” Upon seeing the tattoo, the old man’s expression softened slightly, and he allowed the two to enter. Only then did they see that the room was filled with choking smoke; a small stove was boiling a pot of pitch-black medicinal soup, which blended with the foul stench in the air to create a truly unpleasant odor.

The room was small. Aside from the old man, there was another person lying upon the bed, clad in black clothing with a mask covering his face—precisely the night-travel attire of the Lingying Guards. Except at this moment, the eyes exposed outside the mask holes were tightly shut, his breathing appearing exceedingly faint.

Ye Fusheng asked in a deep voice, “What happened?”

“Word of this operation leaked. When they arrived last night, they were followed by tails. Although the pursuers were slain in time, two of the Lingying Guards were left dead and one injured. Rather than taking my old bones out to flee and face disaster, I figured it was better to remain here and watch how the situation changes,” the old man said flatly, his gaze sweeping over the two of them. “Fortunately, you arrived quickly. However, the origin of those hidden assailants who ambushed us remains unknown. With just the two of you, I fear it may be perilous.”

Hearing this, Ye Fusheng’s expression changed drastically. After a brief calculation, he said, “We came in a haste and did not know that a variable had arisen here. The two of us shall escort your lordship away from this place first, then find a way to contact reinforcements.”

“Very well. However, his injuries are severe, and I lack medicine and treatment. I wonder if you brought any emergency supplies?” Hearing that they could withdraw, the old man showed little joy, merely pointing toward the wounded man on the bed, his eyes reflecting deep worry.

Seeing this, the coldness on Ye Fusheng’s face softened slightly as he said, “We have some golden wound ointment; let us apply it to him first. Pray step aside a little, your lordship.”

The old man retreated behind him. Ye Fusheng extracted a small porcelain vial the length of a pinky finger from his cloak, tore off the cloth seal, and moved to pull apart the man’s clothing to inspect the wound.

Ye Fusheng’s hand came to rest upon his wrist pulse. Right at that instant, the man who was supposedly “unconscious” suddenly snapped his eyes open. The quilt covering his body flew up, blinding Ye Fusheng’s line of sight. Within his right hand that lay against the wall, a dagger had materialized, thrusting directly toward Ye Fusheng’s chest to seize the opening—all while Ye Fusheng’s hand was still gripped tightly by him!

Simultaneously, the old man who had looked entirely impoverished suddenly moved. A sharp, brilliant light burst from his turbid eyes as a hidden blade slid from his sleeve, stabbing straight toward Chu Xiwei’s Dantian!

With a muffled groan, the blade pierced into flesh. Before anyone could see how Ye Fusheng moved, the quilt that was about to shroud him twisted and coiled backward, using the momentum to entangle the assailant’s arm holding the knife. The dagger pierced through, yet when it was less than an inch from Ye Fusheng’s chest, Ye Fusheng struck the man’s wrist pulse, seizing the blade and driving it back with a reverse thrust.

He did not even look, his actions carrying a rare, ruthless cruelty. The dagger pierced clean through the man’s neck, blood spraying across the quilt as a corpse with unclosed eyes collapsed onto the bed.

“It was exhausting work pretending to sleep while alive; you might as well rest eternally in death. Why bother?” Ye Fusheng shook his head, turning back to look at Chu Xiwei, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “A-Yao, one must respect the elderly and cherish the young!”

Chu Xiwei let out a cold snort. During that hair’s-breadth moment just now, the old man had believed his ambush was entirely foolproof. He never expected that Chu Xiwei would catch his wrist in a vice-like grip. Before he could react, a heart-wrenching pain erupted from his right hand—starting from the seized wrist, his meridians were shattered inch by inch by a torrent of internal energy!

The old man trembled violently from the pain, yet no cold sweat appeared on his face. Ye Fusheng curled his fingers and gave a yank against the man’s face, tearing away a masterful human-skin mask to reveal the face of a man in his prime beneath.

The man glared at them with absolute hatred, his eyes nearly splitting open. “You…”

“I shall ask a question, and you shall provide an answer. Otherwise…” Chu Xiwei’s expression remained unchanged, yet his words carried a sinister undertone. Seeing this, the man prepared to bite down with his teeth, only to receive a resounding slap across the face that caused half of it to swell instantly, spitting out a few teeth mixed with bloody water.

Catching sight of the poison capsule hidden within one of the teeth, Ye Fusheng praised Chu Xiwei, “Quick eyes and fast hands; I am deeply gratified.”

“Without making things clear, did I grant you permission to die?” Chu Xiwei ignored him, looking down from his height at the man struggling on the ground, his tone born of a chilling calm. “Who are you?”