Chapter 159

Chapter 159

The courtyard was dazzlingly bright, with lanterns hanging all along the corridor, cascading from eaves to pillars, stretching from pillars into the depths of the walkway, layer upon layer, illuminating the entire yard like daylight.

That light fell on the long couch with a soft cushion under the corridor, and also on the person lounging sideways on it.

Luo Qian still maintained that carefree demeanor, the hem of her soft robe hanging open, unable to cover her bare feet, her ankles dazzlingly white, a few strands of hair falling over the edge of the couch, fluttering slightly in the wind.

She propped her head with one hand, holding a cup of wine in the other, the liquid swaying inside, reflecting the light from the lanterns above, shattering into a swaying field of gold.

Hearing footsteps, she didn't stir, didn't even lift her eyelids, but her lips slowly curved into an intoxicating, utterly seductive arc.

"Ah, we meet again."

The words drifted lazily from her lips, greeting a prey that had finally stepped into the trap.

Nan Wuxie stood at the entrance, his hands hanging at his sides, clenched into fists. He watched Luo Qian's nonchalant demeanor, watched this courtyard with no place to hide under the lantern light, and said not a word.

Stillness filled the yard. Luo Qian finally lifted her eyes, her gaze crossing over the rim of the cup to land on Nan Wuxie's face.

"You've gotten thinner," she said with a hint of pity. "It hasn't been that long, how have you worn yourself down like this?"

Nan Wuxie gave no response, watching as Luo Qian set the wine cup down on the small table beside the couch and slowly sat up.

Her movements were languid, as if she were putting on a display. The hem of her robe slipped off the couch's edge, revealing a section of her calf—pale, slender, glistening with a soft sheen under the lamplight.

She stood up, took a step forward.

"Come here," her voice was seductively explicit, dangerously obvious. "Come here."

Seeing that Nan Wuxie didn't move, she took another step forward, tilting her head to admire his face, her gaze sliding slowly over him, lightly appraising the person before her.

"Do you know," she said softly, "you look quite good when you're angry."

Nan Wuxie's Adam's apple bobbed, as if suppressing the weight of a mountain. "Where is the child?"

At his words, the smile on Luo Qian's face spread instantly from her lips to her eyes, blooming brilliantly. "What's the rush?"

As she spoke, she lifted her hand, her fingertip pressing against his chest with a lightness that seemed barely there, like a fox teasing the tip of a wild beast's fur, touching yet not touching. Nan Wuxie stood still, neither retreating nor avoiding.

Her fingertip slid slowly up his chest, over his lapels, past his collar, along his taut jawline, finally stopping beside the wound at the corner of his mouth. She lightly touched it.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

Luo Qian was a dangerously wicked person—thoroughly wicked, openly wicked. Nan Wuxie stared into those smiling yet fathomless eyes, still silent. He had seen many eyes—those of enemies, of friends, of the dead, of the living—but never such eyes. The danger beneath that smile was like a towering wave, suffocating.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked again.

Luo Qian withdrew her hand, took a step back, and said with a hint of boredom, "You're really no fun."

With that, she turned and walked back to the couch, sitting down. Her bare feet swung over the edge, her posture relaxed. "Your child is fine, with plenty to eat and drink, and someone to play with. She's better off than I was as a child. Don't worry, I won't touch her. I have a child too. 'A mother is naturally kind'—I wouldn't have the heart to."

The moment those words left her mouth, Nan Wuxie suddenly thought of another person.

A person lying in the dark, covered in blood, unable to move even a finger.

When the Luo residence in Nanchang had already been emptied, Nan Wuxie spent an entire afternoon in that mansion. The pavilions and towers were still there, but without a trace of life, like a hollowed-out shell. He searched every room, kicked open every door, lifted every bedcover, but found neither Luo Qian nor anything he sought.

When he came out from the back courtyard, it was almost dark. As he was about to leave, passing by the woodshed, he heard an extremely faint moan.

The sound was very weak, like something slowly breaking, or desperately trying to piece itself together.

He pushed open the woodshed door. Inside, it was pitch black, with only an overwhelming stench of blood, mixed with the smell of hay and mold, assaulting his nose. He pulled out a fire starter, lit it. The flame flickered a few times, illuminating the pile of rotting straw in the corner, and the person curled up on it.

He Xi was no longer recognizable. He had charged into the Luo mansion alone to stop Luo Qian from escaping, but Luo Qian was utterly devoid of humanity. Perhaps He Xi had already foreseen his fate when he came, but he still came.

Now, his body and face were covered in blood, smearing half his face. His eyelids were swollen shut, his lips cracked, oozing blood at the fissures. His hands lay limp at his sides, with two deep cuts on his wrists. The blood had stopped flowing, the wounds gaping, exposing the white bone beneath. His ankles were twisted too, as if they had been forcibly broken.

He had been thrown there like a discarded object.

Nan Wuxie crouched down, reached out to check his breath. He was still alive, but barely. He called out to him; He Xi didn't respond. He called again. Only then did He Xi's eyelids move, opening slowly, as if using all his strength to crack open a slit.

He Xi recognized him. His lips moved, but only a hoarse, garbled sound came from his throat, as if something were stuck there, unable to rise or fall.

Nan Wuxie lifted his head, letting him lean against his arm. His body was terrifyingly light, like a skeleton, like he was turning to ash in his arms.

"Luo Qian..." He Xi finally managed to squeeze out two words, the voice scraping from deep in his throat, carrying traces of blood.

Nan Wuxie waited in silence.

He Xi gasped, the rise and fall of his chest growing weaker and slower, like a lamp about to burn out.

"She's a madwoman," he said. Each word seemed to take all his strength. "This woman... is insane."

A surge of anger rushed through Nan Wuxie; he wished he could flay Luo Qian alive on the spot. Suppressing his complex emotions, he watched He Xi's lips move with effort. Nan Wuxie bent down, leaning closer to catch the words wrapped in breath.

"My child... is in her hands," He Xi said, his voice growing fainter. "Help me get him back... Don't let him take the surname Luo."

He looked at Nan Wuxie, a faint light in his clouded eyes, like a distant lamp on the verge of extinguishing. "Don't let him take the surname Luo," he repeated. "Don't let him... become like her."

Nan Wuxie nodded. He held He Xi for a long time, until the fire starter went out, until the woodshed fell dark again, until the body in his arms went from warm to cold, from cold to ice.

He laid him down, arranged his hands, crossing the ones with severed tendons over his chest, and straightened the legs with broken ankles.

He stood up and remained in the darkness.

When he first heard the name He Xi, he hadn't met the man in person. He only knew that this man had once stood in the court, was the top scholar, a fellow examinee of Xu Yuxiu, someone who dared to speak and criticize even the imperial family.

He had worn himself down to this state not for the sake of survival, so in the end, he did not survive.

When he walked out of the woodshed, the sky was completely dark. The empty mansion behind him stood quietly, as if nothing had ever happened.

Now Luo Qian stood right in front of him. Nan Wuxie watched her carefree demeanor, watched her pick up the wine cup and set it down again, watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. All his fury surged to the top of his head in an instant.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Luo Qian lifted her eyes to him, her smile deepening.

"What do I want?" She repeated the words, savoring their taste. "I want—" She rolled her eyes, feigning thoughtfulness. "You to sleep with me."

She said this without a trace of shyness, without any hint of hesitation, even without any deliberate intent—as if stating the most ordinary transaction.

Having said that, she stood up and walked toward him again, each step landing on his heart. When she reached him, she looked up at his expressionless face.

"Let me have you. I want to have you." Her voice was low, like a whisper. Then she raised her hand, her fingertip pressing against his chest again—not a light touch this time, but a real, solid press.

"I want you to beg me to have you." Her gaze fell on his face, as if waiting for an answer, or as if admiring something.

Nan Wuxie did not retreat. He silently looked into her empty eyes. "You killed my people, plundered my grain, blocked my path, and used my daughter to blackmail me," he said through gritted teeth. "I will kill you."

Luo Qian burst into loud laughter upon hearing this, the sound echoing through the empty courtyard until the corners of her eyes glistened with tears.

"You're right," she said. "I've done so many bad things, you really should kill me."

She paused, the smile gradually fading, replaced by a cold expression. "But you can't defeat me. You can't kill me."

Nan Wuxie knew he was not necessarily a match for Luo Qian—this wasn't about whether he dared to fight, it was a genuine gap in skill. Precisely because of this, the naked provocation stung even more. His eyes blazed with anger, his jaw clenched tight, and for a moment he could not utter a single word.

Luo Qian saw his expression and found it amusing. The corners of her lips lifted slightly as she spoke slowly, "Don't be angry, my good Marquis," she said softly. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead a thousand times over. How could you still be standing here talking to me?" She took a step forward, closer to him. Neither of them avoided it; their breaths intertwined. Luo Qian continued, "As for your daughter, that little life of hers—how many times do you think I could kill her? Don't worry."

Nan Wuxie's hand suddenly clenched, his nails digging into his palm. Luo Qian looked at his tense face and let out a sigh, speaking as if disciplining a proud defeated opponent: "I won't kill you, and I won't kill your daughter. I just want you to sleep with me. After that, not only your daughter, but even Li Zheng's life I'll take for you. How about that?"

Luo Qian's smile was fainter than before, her amusement dissolving in the lamplight as she continued to tempt: "That way, in future history books, you won't be recorded as a regicide. I'll take that blame for you, hmm?"

Nan Wuxie had not felt this kind of suffocating helplessness in a long time—being at someone's mercy. He truly had no way to deal with her now. Nannan was in her hands. Whatever she said went; whatever she wanted, he had to give. If she wanted him to kneel, he had to kneel. At this moment, he was like a beast locked in a cage, all its claws worn down, all its teeth broken, and the cage simply would not open.

The two faces were very close, each peering into the depths of the other's eyes. In his eyes were fire, ice, hatred, anger, murderous intent—the things that had burned too long, pressed too long, threatening to burn through him. But in her eyes were glaring excitement, fearless provocation, and a triumph like the twilight of the gods.

Luo Qian! Luo Qian!!

Nan Wuxie remained silent for a long time. Luo Qian's patience ran out. She sighed regretfully and said, "You still won't," as if concluding, "You never have."

With that, she turned and picked up the unfinished cup of wine, tilting her head back and drinking it down. The liquor spilled from the corner of her mouth, dripping past her chin, down her neck, and into her collar.

The next moment, she suddenly slammed the cup to the ground!

"Smack!!"

Shards of porcelain scattered everywhere.

"Fine, if you won't sleep with me, then forget it." Her voice suddenly turned cold, sharp as a knife. The courtyard fell into a terrifying silence. The lanterns swayed overhead, casting her shadow on the ground—long and faint.

She suddenly turned around. A short dagger slid out of her sleeve, the blade glinting in the lamplight before fading.

Holding the blade, she faced Nan Wuxie. Her expression had changed; gone was the lazy jesting, replaced by a cold, sharp edge.

"Then I'll just kill you," she said, cracking a startling smile. "Or you can try to kill me."

Nan Wuxie didn't move, watching the dagger in her hand. His hands hung at his sides, fists clenched. "Rest assured, I told you—I will definitely kill you."

Luo Qian walked forward with a smile, stopping in front of him. She looked up, the sharpness in her eyes slowly fading into something harder to read.

"You," she commented with a smile, "are outrageously arrogant."

***

The torches at the entrance of the estate were burning brightly, illuminating half the alley. The guards stood against the wall, an oppressive black mass. When Wen Buchi reined in his horse, Chao Cheyun had already jumped off. The leading guard took a step sideways, blocking his path.

The blade was held horizontally across his chest, sealing off the entire road.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice neither loud nor low, neither servile nor arrogant. "Our Young Master is inside conducting important business with Marquis Nan. It's not convenient for anyone to watch."

Chao Cheyun's expression shifted from urgency to anger, and from anger to disdain. "Important business?" he repeated, his voice rising. "What important business could she possibly have with Nan Wuxie? Step aside!"

The guard did not move, the blade still fixed in place, motionless.

Chao Cheyun took a step forward. The blade's edge touched his chest. His hand had already gone to the knife at his waist. "I'll say it again," he said, word by word, "step aside."

The guard still did not move, nor did the crowd behind him. The torches burned overhead, crackling, stretching everyone's shadows long and crooked.

Wen Buchi stood behind, watching this scene. Chao Cheyun's back was like a fully drawn bowstring, the arrow ready to fly at any moment.

The guards' faces flickered in the firelight, unreadable. Wen Buchi knew what was happening inside.

Not sleep.

Kill.

That woman would not sleep with Nan Wuxie, and Nan Wuxie would not sleep with her. They would only fight, only kill, only drive knives into each other's bodies to see who fell first.

He had not come to catch them in the act; he had come to save someone. He was afraid Nan Wuxie would die inside, afraid he would arrive too late, afraid that when that door opened, the one coming out would be that madwoman, not his beloved.

He stepped forward and reached out to grab Chao Cheyun's arm, which was as hard as iron.

Chao Cheyun was pulled but did not move. Wen Buchi used a bit more force before Chao Cheyun turned his head to look at him.

In his eyes there was still uncollected fire, then a flash of confusion. Wen Buchi did not explain; he simply pulled Chao Cheyun back a step, pulling him to his side.

The blade moved away from his chest, still fixed in its original place, as if nothing had happened.

Chao Cheyun's chest heaved as he looked at Wen Buchi, waiting for him to speak. But Wen Buchi did not look at him. Silently, he stared at that door, at the people blocking it, at the invisible darkness behind that door.

"Clang——!!"

Half of the lanterns in the courtyard had been knocked out. The remaining ones swayed in the wind, stirring light and shadow into powder, splashing on the pillars, on the window lattices, on the two figures locked in combat.

The blade split the air, emitting a sharp whine, as if something were being torn apart, or as if it were crying.

Nan Wuxie's knife swung upward from below. The blade scraped past Luo Qian's clothes, cutting off a piece of blood-soaked fabric that drifted lightly into a pool of blood.

As if she knew no fear of death, she countered with a knife aimed at his throat—fast as a flash of light, grazing past Nan Wuxie's ear, cutting off a few strands of hair.

The two advanced simultaneously. The blades clashed, sparking a series of sparks that flashed in the darkness and then died.

The pillars under the eaves were deeply scarred. Wood chips flew, landing among the porcelain shards and at Luo Qian's bare feet. She stepped on a piece of broken porcelain; blood seeped from her sole. Her knife struck again.

The two blades locked together, making an ear-piercing grinding sound. He pushed forward; she pressed back. Their faces, separated by the hilts, were close enough to see the bloodshot veins in each other's eyes.

"Strong," she commented breathlessly, still wearing that smile.

Nan Wuxie twisted his wrist. The knife slid out from under hers and slashed horizontally toward her waist. Luo Qian leaned back, the blade passing an inch above her belly. She used the momentum to backflip, landing a zhang away. Her bare feet hit the bricks, leaving a trail of bloody prints.

She looked down at the wound on her foot, then raised her head to look at him. There was no pain in her eyes, only something brighter.

"You can't bear to kill me?" she said. "I told you long ago, you can't kill me."

A bloody gash had opened on Nan Wuxie's arm, the flesh turned over. A wet streak of bright red flowed down his elbow, dripping to the ground.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked.

Luo Qian's smile glittered in the flickering lamplight.

"Kill me, and I'll tell you."

With that, she closed in again, going all out.

The blade light was like a net, descending from all directions. Nan Wuxie parried three strikes; the fourth got through. The tip grazed his shoulder, tearing a slit in his clothes and sending out beads of blood. He took a step back. She didn't let him retreat, pressing forward, each strike aimed at his vitals.

He stepped back again.

She pressed again.

The blade swept in like a storm, like a gale, like the fiercest charge he’d faced on the battlefield. He was pinned against the porch pillar, his back hitting the wood with a dull thud.

Her blade pressed against his neck, the edge cold against his skin.

“You lost.” Her chest heaved, her face drenched in sweat. She grinned, tilting her head as she looked at Nan Wuxie’s face.

***

The night had swallowed the desolate manor outside the city whole—no moonlight, no stars.

Something crept closer in the darkness, surging silently from the withered woods at the manor’s edge, like a black tide surging over the collapsed fences and abandoned millstones.

They were all dressed in black outfits, only their eyes showing—silent, swift, without even a torch. The faint rustle of clothing was magnified several times in the still night.

The leader stood in the middle of the manor, his gaze sweeping over the dilapidated huts. He raised a hand and gestured. The figures behind him immediately dispersed into several groups, darting silently toward each building.

Silence was more unnerving than any uproar—a silent hunt, with hunters already in place, waiting for the prey to fall.

The woodshed was at the farthest end of the manor, a low earthen hut. Most of the thatch had been blown off the roof, revealing a few crooked rafters. Two black-clad men used their blade tips to lift the door latch. The door let out a harsh groan.

They slipped inside sideways. The dim glow of a fire striker flickered in the darkness, illuminating a pile of blackened straw in the corner.

In the straw pile, two small figures were huddled tightly together, like frightened cubs. The older one was a girl of about four or five, with large round eyes staring at the intruders in terror. Looking closer, Nannan was holding a younger boy in her arms, only two or three years old, still not fully understanding what was happening. He blinked dazedly, tightly held by her.

Those two black-clad men stood at the woodshed entrance, the fire striker’s light dancing in their hands, casting the shadows of the two children on the earthen wall, flickering, as if they could be snuffed out by the wind at any moment.

The leader had already arrived at the woodshed entrance at some point. He pushed aside the two men in front of him, bent down to look at the two children in the dim light.

His gaze lingered on the girl’s face for a moment, then fell on the boy.

“Take them.” He straightened up.

At the command, someone immediately stepped forward. The two terrified children, wailing loudly, were roughly yanked from the straw pile. Their small hands clung tightly to each other, refusing to let go.

The black-clad man pulled a piece of coarse cloth from inside his robe and quickly wrapped the two children in it, shielding them from the chill of the night wind.

The leader had already strode out of the manor. His black figure quickly melted into the deeper darkness. The team behind him withdrew as silently as they had come, leaving only the kicked-open woodshed door swaying gently in the wind.

***

Luo Qian’s gaze shifted from the blade edge to Nan Wuxie’s eyes, then from his eyes to his lips. “What a waste of a face.”

Nan Wuxie gritted his teeth, resisting her strength, staring unblinkingly at the eyes so close to his.

Arrogance, satisfaction—it was an indescribable light, burning brightly.

He suddenly raised a hand and slammed his palm onto her wrist—also with full force.

This force caught her off guard, and she froze for a second. The blade flew out of her hand, landed on the ground, and rolled with a clatter a few times.

But in that split second of hesitation, Nan Wuxie had already reversed his grip, grabbing her wrist, twisting and pressing her down, flipping her over entirely.

Luo Qian’s back hit the porch pillar. Nan Wuxie’s hand clamped around her neck, pinning her there.

The tables had turned too quickly—so fast that she had no time to react. He held her by the throat; her head tilted back, a muffled sound escaping from her throat. But her smile was even deeper, brighter, more reckless than before.

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, her voice squeezed from her throat.

Nan Wuxie tightened his grip a little. Luo Qian’s face flushed red, still smiling as she looked into those burning eyes.

In that single breath, Luo Qian summoned her strength, and the blade light flared up again.

***

The night wind swept through the streets and alleys, causing the few white lanterns in front of Lord Xu’s residence to sway wildly. The light and shadows scattered on the ground, flickering on and off.

The Shadow Guards of the Listening Terrace stood on both sides of the mansion’s gate like iron stakes driven into the ground, utterly motionless. Even the stray cats at the street corner detoured around them.

The first clash of blades exploded from the west end of the alley, a sharp sound as if something had been torn apart. Then came the second, third, fourth... The shrieks of weapons erupted simultaneously from all directions, like cold water into hot oil.

Black figures leaped down from the walls, surged in from the alley entrance, slid down from the roof tiles like a tide flooding the entire street. Their attire was almost identical to that of the Listening Terrace guards, except they held not long blades but Xiu Chun narrow blades.

The sound of blades being drawn linked together in the night wind, like the low growl of a wild animal.

The moment the signal of danger sounded, the Listening Terrace Shadow Guards all drew their weapons. Wen Buchi was in the northern city at the time. In front of Lord Xu’s residence, there was no command, only the sharp clash of blades exploding in the darkness, sparks flying, immediately swallowed by the night.

The shadows tangled together at the edge of the lantern light, separating and merging.

The clashing of weapons grew denser and more urgent. Xu Yuxiu heard the commotion outside in his study. The sounds of fighting at the mansion gate lasted a long time—the sharp clang of blades like the relentless hammering in a blacksmith’s shop, one blow after another hammering into Xu Yuxiu’s ears. The sutra book open in his hand still remained on the same page; he hadn’t read a single word.

When the second wave of battle cries exploded, he could take it no longer. He slammed the memorials onto the desk, strode toward the door, anger in every step.

In the corridor outside, two rows of Listening Terrace Shadow Guards stood. Hearing Xu Yuxiu’s footsteps, they turned simultaneously, took a step sideways, and blocked the path completely.

“Let me through.”

The first guard on the left lowered his eyes. “Lord Wen has ordered that Lord Xu remain in the residence and await further instructions. Matters outside do not require your involvement, my lord.”

Xu Yuxiu stared at this expressionless face and suddenly felt absurd—his own mansion, with fighting and killing outside, and yet he couldn’t even step out the door.

He stepped forward.

The Shadow Guards did not retreat; instead, they shifted slightly, blocking the already narrow passage even more.

Xu Yuxiu, furious beyond control, ground out, “Wen Buchi, this traitor—this villain will die a miserable death.”

No one answered. Then another dense collision of weapons came from the end of the corridor, mixed with the sharp sound of something being smashed.

Hearing this, Xu Yuxiu’s brow twitched. He listened intently—the sounds of fighting were closer than before. He didn’t know who was fighting outside, whether they came to rescue him or to kill him.

“Let me through!” He reached out to shove the left guard’s shoulder.

That guard did not move. Xu Yuxiu’s hand pressed on his shoulder and pushed hard. The guard’s body swayed backward but still did not retreat. He only turned his head and looked at Xu Yuxiu with those emotionless eyes.

“I urge you to return, Lord Xu,” he said, his voice as flat as still water.

Xu Yuxiu was burning with rage. He cursed loudly, his chest heaving violently as he stared at the two walls of human bodies.

The sounds of battle outside grew even denser. This time, he could even hear the sound of commands—short and powerful—getting closer and louder, until finally, like a blade, it drove straight through the mansion gate.

The men of the Celestial Inspectorate surged in like a flood from a broken dam—from the alley entrance, over the walls, through every gap, wave after wave, each stronger than the last. Although the Listening Terrace guards fought desperately, Wen Buchi was not there. Without command, without direction, they could only fight as individuals, like rocks being washed away by the tide, one by one submerged.

Blade light flashed in the darkness like a fisherman’s net, dense and inescapable. There were too many from the Celestial Inspectorate—it seemed as if all the shadow guards from both departments had poured out. In the final assault, more than a dozen black-clad figures descended from the roof, sliding down the tiles and landing on the steps before the mansion gate. The Listening Terrace guards had their formation already broken. The mansion gate was kicked open, the door panels crashing against the side walls with a dull, heavy thud.

Xu Yuxiu looked up and saw Situ Kong standing at the entrance, covered in blood, holding a narrow blade. “Lord Xu! This subordinate has arrived late!”

With that, the shadow guards behind him poured in, instantly filling the entire courtyard.

Inside the yard, the Shadow Guards simultaneously drew their blades. The blade light glinted in the candlelight, and both sides lunged at each other again.

Situ Kong’s gaze swept over the entangled figures and landed on Xu Yuxiu. Before he could react, four or five Shadow Guards rushed up behind him. He raised his hand to parry; blades clashed, sparks flew.

Situ Kong fought his way through the chaotic sea of people, fighting his way to Xu Yuxiu.

“Go!”