Chapter 71
WU DU, his black clothes blending into the deep night, easily snuck into Bian Lingbai’s study. Pulling on silk gloves so as not to leave fingerprints behind, he searched through the dusty shelves of documents. They were stuffed with letters labeled by number, but after leafing through them, he promptly abandoned them as useless. He surveyed the room, then turned and threw himself down on the low divan before Bian Lingbai’s desk. Resting an elbow on his knee and propping his chin on one hand, he examined the calligraphy and paintings on the walls. His eyes swept across each frame, each item on display, as well as the brick floor and every decorative piece on the table; not a single spot was missed.
Elsewhere in the manor, Fei Hongde coughed softly in his bed. Though there was no breeze, the door to his room swung open, and soundless steps slipped inside.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” said Fei Hongde, his voice raspy. “But now that you’ve come to kill me, I am.”
An assassin clad entirely in black stepped further into the room, his sword reflecting the cool light of the moon.
“You really shouldn’t have come—it looks like a cover-up,” Fei Hongde said. “Where did you even find that fake crown prince of yours?”
“He’s a boy who has met Li Jianhong before. A schoolmate of that child,” replied the assassin. Already recognized, he untied his mask to reveal his fair and handsome face and a pair of sharp eyes. It was none other than Lang Junxia, who had pursued them all the way from Xichuan.
“You should kill him,” Fei Hongde said. “But allow me to hazard a guess: You’ve already tried, haven’t you?”
“I couldn’t do it. I was the one who brought him up,” Lang Junxia answered. “But I certainly did almost kill him.”
“You always make the attempt first, and only negotiate when you’ve failed.”
“That’s the way my shifu taught me: When you can kill, talk of terms is unnecessary,” Lang Junxia said.
Fei Hongde sat up, unhurried, and draped an outer robe over his shoulders. He gave Lang Junxia a pointed look. “But why would someone you’ve attempted to kill care to discuss terms with you?”
“I made three attempts on Li Jianhong’s life, yet in the end he still negotiated with me.”
“He was probably the only person in the entire world who would,” Fei Hongde said. He waved a hand toward a seat. “Sit down, Lang Junxia. It’s been a while. Why don’t we catch up?”
Lang Junxia narrowed his eyes, hesitating.
“I’m surprised to see a sword-wielder wearing prayer beads on his wrist.”
“Your eyes are keen as usual, Mister Fei,” Lang Junxia said.
“I’ve seen those prayer beads before somewhere,” Fei Hongde replied lightly. “It seems you still seek to live. Just as well. But if that’s the case, what harm is there in taking my old life to accomplish your mission?”
When Lang Junxia remained silent, Fei Hongde burst out laughing. “Does it make it harder to kill me when I willingly bare my neck?”
Lang Junxia’s expression shifted, and he slowly unsheathed his sword. Yet in the next moment, a voice rang out from the other side of the door.
“Mister Fei!” Bian Lingbai called.
Fei Hongde rose from his bed, but before he could answer, Lang Junxia’s sword was against his neck. Fei Hongde smiled, fixing his eyes on Lang Junxia, and spread his hands wide: What will you do?
“Mister Fei?” Bian Lingbai called again.
When he didn’t respond, a servant rapped on the door. Lang Junxia hesitated, unable to decide whether or not to slay the old man, as Fei Hongde simply stood and waited for his final resolution, life or death a whim away.
Sensing something amiss, Bian Lingbai couldn’t wait any longer and pushed the door open. “Mister Fei!”
Lang Junxia burst through the far window and leapt from the room.
“An assassin! Guards!” Bian Lingbai cried in alarm.
Seated in Bian Lingbai’s study, deep in thought with his chin still propped in his hand, Wu Du was starting to get drowsy. He yawned, then shook himself awake and squinted around the room again. His brow stayed locked in its tight furrow. The switch he was searching for remained elusive—where could it possibly be?
A commotion rose outside.
“He fled toward the guest wing!” someone shouted.
Wu Du tensed, ready to make his escape, but the heavy patter of footsteps faded as soon as it’d come—the guards with their raised torches had passed right by. Bored again, he sat back down. Yet before he settled in, Bian Lingbai and Mister Fei burst into the room.
The instant the door swung inward, Wu Du raised his foot and kicked the desk over.
Before Bian Lingbai could lift the lantern to identify the black-clothed man who’d stolen his seat, the desk was hurtling toward him. “Gua—”
His cry was cut short by the force of the desk crashing into him, sending him flying out the door and across the yard; at the same time, Wu Du ducked out the window and disappeared without a trace.
“—uards!” Bian Lingbai finally expelled the rest of his cry as he landed in the pond with a great splash.
While chaos reigned across the residence, Duan Ling and Helian Bo were still sitting with their hands clasped, tearfully reminiscing and utterly oblivious to the commotion outside, when Shang Leguan burst into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Duan Ling asked.
Shang Leguan looked at Duan Ling first, then at Helian Bo. Seeing Helian Bo’s obvious ire, he quickly backed out of the room again.
“A g-group, my uncle—th-they won’t allow a m-marriage with the Yao family,” Helian Bo told Duan Ling, pacing the room. Almost to himself, he muttered, “I th-think Bian Lingbai m-made a deal with him.”
As he said it, Duan Ling made the same leap: The bandits! The mounted bandits who’d intended to sabotage Yao Jing’s marriage alliance. “What do you think they’ll do?”
Helian Bo glanced at Duan Ling and dragged a finger across his neck. “Disobedient…kill.”
Duan Ling’s heart lurched. “Kill whom?”
Helian Bo gestured, implying that Duan Ling should be able to guess—it was precisely whom he was thinking of. Shock crashed over Duan Ling like a wave.