Chapter 59
DUAN LING SENSED that Wu Du had more to say, and there was more he wanted to know. After a moment of hesitation he asked, “How did General Zhao die?”
Wu Du slouched against the bench, gazing listlessly into the sunset outside the window. “His rebellion failed, and the late emperor defeated his army. Changliu-jun dealt the final blow.”
“Then…what about the late emperor?” Duan Ling had asked so many questions just to arrive at this one.
“Everyone says he died in battle,” Wu Du said, shaking his head. “But someone like him would never be defeated like that. He was ambushed by a group of assassins”—a violent pang struck Duan Ling’s chest—“then attacked by the assassin Helan Jie and poisoned with Gold Thread Spritz.”
Another painful throb gripped his heart.
“I told him to stop and wait for me before riding into the city, but there was no time. I rode deep into the Xianbei Mountains, to the Northern Temple where Master Kongming once presided as abbot, to find an antidote. But by the time I could return with it, he was already at death’s door, and when Helan Jie’s men attacked him in the city…”
“Who is Helan Jie?” Duan Ling asked, too quickly. “What kind of poison was it? What’s Gold Thread Spritz?”
“A type of snake venom. Helan Jie also uses poisons, but his methods are vicious. He betrayed his sect in the past, just like Wuluohou Mu.”
Sect loyalty was a serious matter for those of the jianghu, and betraying one’s master and bringing dishonor to one’s sect was a terrible taboo. What type of person, then, was Helan Jie?
Noticing Duan Ling’s look of consternation, Wu Du finished, “Helan Jie escaped in the end.”
“But why did he kill—” Duan Ling’s head was a jumble; he almost blurted my dad. Catching himself in the nick of time, he instead choked out, “His Majesty?” Wu Du studied Duan Ling; he certainly had a lot of questions. But then again, such impactful events were always the subject of idle interest.
Wu Du shook his head and fell silent. Duan Ling was instantly anxious, but he couldn’t risk appearing too eager. After a reasonable pause, he nudged Wu Du and asked casually, “Why did you stop?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Tell me,” Duan Ling pleaded.
Wu Du suddenly blew up. “I—don’t—want—to!”
It was Duan Ling’s turn to fall silent; he hadn’t expected Wu Du would get so angry. The atmosphere in the carriage turned tense. Duan Ling asked no more but sat quietly on his side of the bench. He thought of his father, his eyes stinging.
Seeing him like this, Wu Du was at a loss. He’d yelled at Duan Ling because his own head was a mess remembering what happened. He hadn’t thought Duan Ling would be so hurt.
“All right, all right,” Wu Du said. “I said I didn’t want to talk anymore, but you kept asking.”
Duan Ling glanced at Wu Du, his eyes sheened with held-back tears.
Wu Du was frankly astonished. He’d only raised his voice a little; was it necessary to act so pitiful? Why did this boy look like he’d just suffered a great wrong? Duan Ling was far too troublesome—but Wu Du did feel a little guilty. When he looked at Duan Ling’s red-rimmed eyes, his heart softened as if he’d been pawed by a kitten.
“Okay, okay, okay—I’ll talk.” Greatly resigned, Wu Du closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a bitter edge. “It’s just—everyone keeps asking me how the late emperor died. I’ve told them over and over, but the looks they give me…”
Understanding dawned on Duan Ling. Wu Du had been asked to repeat this story too many times. When he’d returned from the north, he must have been interrogated by Li Yanqiu, then the false crown prince, then Mu Kuangda, each with their own goals, and each confirming the details with Wu Du over and over so they could… What?
Wu Du’s thoughtless comment sparked another realization.
“Who else has asked you?” Duan Ling asked, struggling to clear his head.
Wu Du opened his eyes and cast him a strange look. “The prime minister, the Marquis of Huaiyin, Princess Duanping, His Majesty, the crown prince, and Xie You.”
“Who’s Xie You?” Duan Ling asked.
“The commander of the Black-Plated Army,” Wu Du replied. “The personal guard of the emperor of the Central Plains—his loyalty belongs only to the emperor.”
“And who is the Marquis of Huaiyin?”
“The prince consort, Princess Duanping’s husband.”
The topic had shifted, but Duan Ling was still sorting through his thoughts. “Who sent the assassin?”
“I don’t know,” Wu Du admitted. “After Helan Jie betrayed his sect and made off with the Ender of the Profane, he trained his own group of assassins and kept them beyond the Great Wall. He accepted any assassination assignment—for a price—but he was afraid Master Kongming would seek him out, so he rarely interacted with the Han. Initially I thought Prime Minister Mu was the one who’d hired him, but Changliu-jun is the prime minister’s only connection to the jianghu. The prime minister is terrified of being killed and scarcely lets Changliu-jun leave his side, never mind sending him across the border to find an assassin who might not even take the assignment. As for Zhao Kui…” Wu Du trailed off, deep in thought for a moment. “He couldn’t find Helan Jie either. So I still don’t know who killed the late emperor.”
“What if it was Prime Minister Mu, somehow?” Duan Ling asked.
“Then we’ll have to deal with him, of course,” Wu Du said. “But the prime minister has been looking for the Guardian this whole time and has explained his circumstances to me thoroughly, so I don’t think it’s him. He might have wanted the late emperor dead, but he wouldn’t have chosen that moment.”
“Then, among the people who interrogated you about the late emperor’s death…one of them must be the mastermind.”