Chapter 115

Chapter 115

Inside the Southern Marquis's estate, Wu Ye was marshaling a squad of elite personal guards according to Nan Wuxie's prearranged orders, preparing to depart for the designated rendezvous point to provide support.

The air was taut like a drawn bowstring.

Suddenly, a sharp, violent pounding came from the direction of the estate's main gate!

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The sound was chaotic, urgent, and heavy, like drumbeats—a frantic, desperate fury bordering on the extreme, as if the last struggle of a dying man. It instantly tore through the silence of the night and the deadly tension in the courtyard.

All the guards froze mid-motion, their eyes snapping toward the gate, hands already resting on their weapons.

Wu Ye's expression darkened. He gestured for everyone to fall silent and stay alert, while waving off the servant who had been about to answer the door.

Gripping his sword hilt tightly, he walked steadily toward the gate.

The heavy bolt was drawn back slowly. The moment Wu Ye pulled the door open a crack, a thick wave of the smell of blood hit him.

Then, a figure burst in, carried by the night wind and the smell of blood!

Wu Ye instinctively reached for his blade to block, but the moment he recognized the person, his pupils constricted sharply, and he stood frozen in place.

There stood Nan Wuxie, drenched in blood, sweat and gore plastering his hair to his temples. His eyes were bloodshot, burning like wildfire, churning with a terror and fury on the verge of collapse.

"Save him! Save him—!!!" Nan Wuxie's voice was hoarse to the breaking point, trembling with barely contained violence and desperation.

This was a Nan Wuxie Wu Ye had never seen before. In his shock, he looked more closely and saw that the marquis himself was holding someone in his arms.

Wen Buchi was also soaked in blood, lifeless, his head drooping limply against Nan Wuxie's chest. His long black hair was disheveled, covering most of his face, with traces of blood still fresh at the corners of his lips.

But what was most shocking wasn't just this unexpected sight.

A cold, sinister hilt protruded from the upper abdomen of the person in his arms.

Blood was still soaking through.

Wu Ye's mind went blank, a buzzing in his ears.

Nan Wuxie didn't spare a glance for the stunned Wu Ye or the gaping guards behind him. Holding Wen Buchi, he staggered but rushed swiftly toward his own sleeping quarters, leaving a trail of glaring blood drops in his wake.

"Have the household keep an eye on Nannan! She is not to step out of her room tonight!"

Wu Ye snapped back to his senses, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

He immediately shouted to the equally stunned guards behind him: "Dismissed! Everyone back to your posts! Heighten security within the estate! No one is to approach the marquis's sleeping quarters without orders! You—go to the rear servants' quarters at once. Tell the governess to watch over the young miss. The marquis orders: lock the door, and tonight... do not let her leave her room. Do not alarm her!"

His words came out like a whirlwind. Then he chased after Nan Wuxie, hearing him continue issuing orders in a broken voice as he hurried along. "Wake the estate physician! Immediately! Now!"

The bedchamber door was yanked open by a panicked page boy. Nan Wuxie rushed in, carefully laid him flat on the bed. In the candlelight, the hilt on Wen Buchi's abdomen glinted coldly. The fabric around it was soaked through with blood, the dark brown stain slowly spreading.

Two estate physicians were quickly brought in by the guards. One was already on night duty, relatively well-dressed. The other had already turned in and was now hastily wrapped in an outer robe, barefoot, his face a mix of shock and sleepiness as he was dragged into this hellish bedchamber.

Seeing the scene on the bed, both physicians sucked in a sharp breath. But seasoned professionals that they were, they forced themselves to calm down.

"Marquis—"

"Save him! Save him!" Nan Wuxie roughly pulled the physician closer, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Wen Buchi's ashen face. A terrifying, oppressive presence mixed with the smell of blood made the air in the room stagnate.

Fear flooded over him like an icy tide.

Anger? No, it was a collapse due to his own foolish judgment.

"Marquis... you—"

"What should I do? Tell me what to do!" Nan Wuxie suddenly grabbed the physician's wrist, his voice hoarse and urgent. "Stop the bleeding! First stop the bleeding! What medicine? I have the best wound-healing powder here! Ginseng slices! Life-saving ginseng slices!"

He was rambling, completely losing his composure, just shouting on pure instinct.

"The knife... the knife must be pulled out," the physician stammered in reply. "But the position is risky—if we pull it out rashly, he could hemorrhage..."

"Then find a way!" Nan Wuxie growled like a cornered beast.

The physician on duty was terrified by Nan Wuxie, nodding frantically as he moved closer.

Removing the knife was the hardest part by far—position, depth, any mistake could mean instant death.

The physician began preparing the necessary tools and hemostatic agents. Another tried to first assess the wound.

Nan Wuxie stood just one step away, watching the bloodstained blade inside Wen Buchi's body, watching him unconsciously frown in his coma, watching the blood gush out.

He seemed sapped of all strength, not daring to approach and hinder them, nor daring to look away. As if, the moment he did, the person before him would vanish.

Just then, Wu Ye hurried in with a basin of clean hot water. Nan Wuxie's gaze seemed activated by the water. He spun around and yanked Wu Ye closer.

"Listen, Wu Ye. Now, immediately, go to the northern secret estate in person."

He paused, gasping for breath.

At the time Nan Wuxie had left the dock with the unconscious Wen Buchi, the slaughter on the ship had already been halted. The few captives left were being escorted by Wei Qinghe to the northern secret estate.

Then, a hint of his commander's calm returned to his eyes as he continued giving orders.

"Bring Meng Zhentang here to me."

Wu Ye's heart clenched. He immediately understood that the gravity of the situation far exceeded expectations. He nodded firmly. "Understood!"

Without even asking what had happened at the dock, he turned and shot out like a shadow, dashing toward the stables.

Inside the bedchamber, the treatment went on under immense pressure and strain. Candles burned bright, illuminating Nan Wuxie's pallid, ghostly face and Wen Buchi's lifeless features.

The scissors cut through the bloodied clothes with a series of tearing sounds. The faint smell of burning silver needles mixed with the physician's subdued instructions and Wen Buchi's hoarse, pained groans continued for a long time.

Basins of clean water were brought in; basins of bloody water were taken out. New hot water and various medicine bottles were constantly delivered. Nan Wuxie became the clumsiest yet most persistent assistant, pressing with all his might on the acupoints around Wen Buchi's wound as instructed to slow the bleeding, but his eyes never left Wen Buchi's face, as if he could force life back into him through sheer willpower.

Every time Wen Buchi trembled in pain, it was like a knife twisting in Nan Wuxie's chest.

He hadn't recognized him.

He actually hadn't recognized him.

His lips moved soundlessly, mouthing something—perhaps a name, perhaps a prayer.

Don't die.

Please.

Please live.

I beg you.

Time passed agonizingly amid the smell of blood and medicine. Outside the window, at the edge of the pitch-black sky, a faint grayish-white finally emerged.

The senior physician finally straightened up, wiped the cold sweat off his forehead with a bloodstained sleeve, and said wearily, as if relieved: "The bleeding... has been temporarily stopped. The blade is out, the wound stitched and medicated. But Lord Wen has lost too much blood, his internal organs are injured, and his pulse is extremely weak... Tonight is the most critical juncture. If he survives this night, then... then there is a glimmer of hope."

A glimmer of hope.

These four words were like a pardon, but also like an even heavier shackle.

Nan Wuxie's body swayed, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. He braced himself against the edge of the bed and slowly reached out. His fingertips trembled as he gently brushed aside the strands of hair on Wen Buchi's forehead, damp with cold sweat. The strands were icy cold.

"...Mm."

He knew the physician had done all he could. He slowly knelt beside the bed, took Wen Buchi's equally cold hand, and pressed it tightly against his own lips.

In his bloodshot eyes surged boundless regret, fear, and hope.

***

The Xue family's carriage came to a halt by the deathly quiet dock.

In the glow of torches, the officials from the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Works had already arrived, both ministers personally present.

Xue Shechuan's gaze swept across the berth. The grain ship lay still like a black beast, with dark stains faintly visible on the deck. There was no sound of living people, nor the expected chaos.

He felt slightly reassured, exchanged a glance with his younger brother, and stepped forward steadily.

Minister of Revenue Fu Ruizhou came forward, his official robe was neat, his expression calm. "You two have arrived," he said.

"Lord Fu." Xue Shechuan nodded, his gaze fixed on the dead ship and the yamen runners moving the bodies. At the right moment, he put on a grave, inquiring expression. "This...?"

Fu Ruizhou sighed softly and shook his head without saying a word.

After pondering for a moment, he turned and walked straight toward Zhang Mianzhi, the Minister of Works, who was by the berth.

The two whispered by the dock, both looking grave and troubled.

Xue Shechuan stood still, observing calmly. Corpses were carried down one by one, mostly in boatmen's attire, and the number seemed controlled.

Nan Wuxie had handled it rather cleanly.

The two brothers had their own tacit understanding. Xue Shechuan remained silent and composed, but Xue Shuyu suddenly stepped forward half a step, his face showing just the right amount of anxiety, and called out loudly: "Lord Fu! Lord Zhang! This... how are we supposed to make the handover? The silver from this shipment is a small matter for my Xue family, but if the grand ceremony is delayed, even our two heads won't be enough to cover that!"

Brilliant, truly clever.

This statement shifted the focus from the Xue family's loss to the collective responsibility for delaying the grand ceremony. Fu Ruizhou and Zhang Mianzhi both looked over, their faces even grimmer.

Fu Ruizhou pondered for a moment, then walked back to the Xue brothers and lowered his voice so only the three of them could hear: "You two, tonight's matter is quite unusual. It seems there was internal strife on the ship, resulting in casualties... and the goods have also been damaged."

He paused, raised his voice slightly, and continued: "Lord Zhang and I will need to enter the palace later to report the truth to His Majesty."

The words "enter the palace later" reached Xue Shechuan's ears, and his eyes flickered.

It was half past the zi hour—the palace gates were locked. An invitation to "enter the palace later" could only come as a special decree. The old fox was hinting to them that His Majesty was fully aware of this matter, and everything tonight was under His Majesty's gaze.

Fu Ruizhou looked at him and added slowly, in a tone that was more warning than reminder: "After all, this matter concerns the Xue family's procurement responsibilities. You two should also prepare yourselves in advance to answer His Majesty's questions."

The implication was clear and not to be ignored: We will only report the "internal strife" at the scene truthfully, but if His Majesty probes deeper, you must have a reasonable explanation.

Xue Shechuan bowed: "Thank you for the advice, Lord Fu. I understand."

Steady, truly steady. He ceded the initiative without a trace, acknowledging Fu Ruizhou's favor.

The old minister said nothing more, turned back to join Zhang Mianzhi, and continued directing the clean-up.

Xue Shuyu leaned in close to his elder brother and whispered: "Did they believe it?"

Xue Shechuan watched the two ministers' retreating figures, narrowing his eyes slightly.

After a moment, he said calmly: "They saw the result of the 'internal strife' and are willing to report it that way. That's enough."

The Emperor's scheme was ruthless, but Fu Ruizhou clearly didn't want to get too deeply involved. Zhang Mianzhi's thoughts and stance aside for now, the pressure of 'delaying the grand ceremony' weighed heavily on them. It was also because of this that the two chose the safest way to report.

However, the crisis was not yet resolved. Fu Ruizhou's words 'prepare yourselves early' were the challenge left to the Xue family.

The night wind carried the river's fishy smell and a faint scent of blood. Xue Shechuan stood still, sleeves folded, his mind racing.

***

Deep in the marquis's residence was a windowless dark room, lit only by a single lamp that cast a dim yellow light.

Meng Zhentang was brought in, with a black cloth hood over his head and his hands tied behind his back.

Wu Ye led him to the center of the room, said nothing, then turned and retreated. The heavy stone door closed silently, sealing off all outside sounds.

The room fell into complete silence.

Meng Zhentang did not struggle, nor did he make any sound. He stood quietly at the boundary between dim light and shadow, his posture straight. The black cloth hood covered all his expressions, only the steady rise and fall of his breath visible through the fabric.

Time crawled in the absolute silence.

After an undetermined amount of time, the stone door slid open again silently.

Nan Wuxie walked in, having changed out of his blood-soaked robe. His face was still pale, and the redness and fury in his eyes had been forcibly suppressed, settling into an unfathomable gloom.

Wu Ye followed silently, half a step behind.

Nan Wuxie halted, his gaze landing on the still figure in the center.

After a moment, he barely raised his hand.

Wu Ye understood. He stepped forward and swiftly untied the ropes around Meng Zhentang's wrists.

The hood fell away, revealing Meng Zhentang's face in the dim yellow light. He moved his newly freed wrists slightly, unhurriedly. Then he raised his eyes and met Nan Wuxie's gaze calmly and directly.

There was no surprise in those eyes—not a trace of the turmoil one would expect from someone suddenly abducted.

Nan Wuxie's heart was silently pierced by that calm gaze.

At this moment, Meng Zhentang could have been suspicious, questioning, or even furious, cursing. Only this silence—as if he had been waiting for this—was the deadliest blow to Nan Wuxie.

Nan Wuxie's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty as he suppressed the complex emotions surging in his chest.

"Did you guess?"