Chapter 115: A Poisonous Scheme (Part 2)

Chapter 115: A Poisonous Scheme (Part 2)

That morning, Le Wuya lazed in bed for a while before sprawling by the window, lazily gazing into the courtyard.

Since yesterday afternoon, a fierce north wind had been blowing, leaving the yamen runners outside too frozen to stand. They had all ducked into the gatehouse to escape the wind and warm themselves by the fire, saying a big snow was bound to come today.

But now the wind had stopped, and no snow had fallen either. Heavy gray clouds hung low, shrouding the sun and weighing the sky down toward the ground.

Wen Ren wasn't coming to the yamen today.

Lately, he had been reporting to Nanting Academy every day.

The reason was simple: he'd gotten the real deal from Le Wuya, and his essay-writing skills were getting better every day. Just like his personality, it was a total overhaul—a whole new man.

Lots of exam-bound students were coming to him for advice.

Wen Ren wasn't the type to keep things to himself. He taught diligently and had basically become a half-time academy teacher.

Once he'd had his fill of rest, Le Wuya got up, threw on some simple clothes, hopped on his little yellow horse, and led Er Ya by the reins as he headed out of the city.

He was going to check on his camellias.

...

Thanks to the Guo siblings' careful attention, the camellias on Nanting Mountain were doing really well, and in autumn, they had a bumper harvest.

Earlier, Le Wuya had led Wen Ren to visit the retired Grand Secretary Xu Ji, partly to open some doors.

Once the camellias bloomed, he grabbed two of the best pots and had Wen Ren deliver them to Xu Ji to thank him for his advice.

Xu Ji was a refined, flower-loving man. The gift hit the spot, scratching exactly where it itched.

Le Wuya had also specifically instructed Wen Ren: if Grand Secretary Xu asked what the flower was called, he should ask the grand secretary to name it.

With his name on it, the flower's worth would go up ten times or more.

Wen Ren reminded him: "Didn't you say earlier we'd name it after County Princess Qi's personal name?"

Le Wuya waved it off: "Pfft, back then Grand Secretary Xu hadn't even shown up yet, right?"

Wen Ren frowned, clearly disapproving: "Isn't that going back on your word to County Princess Qi?"

Le Wuya gave a sly wink: "No worries. Old Xu—uh, Grand Secretary Xu—might not even want to name it. If he doesn't mention it, don't push it. If he does name it, then worst case, I'll write a letter myself, saying the grand secretary wants to set the name and asking for County Princess Qi's take on it."

Wen Ren: "..."

He was sure this was going back on his word—acting first and asking forgiveness later.

But since Le Wuya had said so, he decided to deliver the flowers first and sort out the rest later.

Le Wuya had called it right.

When Xu Ji saw the flowers and learned they were a newly cultivated variety, the first batch ever sent to him, his heart bloomed with joy. He paced around them, hands behind his back, circling round and round, praising them nonstop.

As Le Wuya had predicted, he asked: "Does this flower have a name?"

Wen Ren's mind churned for a good while before he answered honestly: "Respected Elder Xu, it has no name yet."

Xu Ji's face lit up with a grin. He walked around to his desk, grabbed his brush, and wrote quickly.

Wen Ren followed and caught sight of the three characters on the page—and froze for a second.

On the paper, ink still glistening, were three characters: Endless Thought.

Xu Ji was thinking of the line "Past squalor is not worth boasting; today, with wanton thoughts, I roam endlessly," and said with a self-satisfied air: "Shou Yue, do you know that the three characters 'Endless Thought' are taken from, uh—"

When he actually said the three characters out loud, Xu Ji choked on his words.

He finally realized the name's meaning seemed a bit off.

But since he had already written it down with such confidence, saying it was bad now would make him lose face in front of this young scholar.

While he hesitated, Wen Ren politely cupped his hands and smoothed things over for him: "Respected Elder Xu, if I may venture a guess, it might be drawn from Zhuangzi's saying, 'Life is finite, but knowledge is infinite.' By choosing this name, you hope scholars everywhere will 'always remember that learning is a boundless sea.' Might this junior's guess be correct?"

Xu Ji nodded, silently endorsing Wen Ren's interpretation.

He steadied his mind and thought: after all, he had already retired, far from the turmoil of the court—couldn't he just happily name a flower he liked?

With that thought, Xu Ji calmed himself and stroked his long beard: "Indeed, indeed. This lad is worth teaching."

Wen Ren brought the calligraphy scroll back to Nanting and recounted the grand secretary's words and deeds to Le Wuya in full.

In Wen Ren's presence, Le Wuya maintained a solemn expression, nodding frequently.

The moment Wen Ren left, he nearly laughed himself right off his chair and under the desk.

Still chuckling, Le Wuya straightened up, spread out a sheet of paper, and wrote a letter conveying the grand secretary's intent, sending it to Qi Hongzhuang.

Half a month later, Qi Hongzhuang replied.

Her handwriting was deeply true to her own nature—not very refined, but concise and to the point: "Fine. Call it Endless Thought."

With the grand secretary's personal naming and the fact that "Endless Thought" was indeed blooming beautifully, the flowers were snatched up by literati and scholars in no time.

Those who came too late could only reluctantly place orders for next year's first bloom.

Nanting County gained a new source of income, filling its coffers to the brim.

As winter approached, these camellias were hardier than orchids, but they still couldn't withstand the harsh frost and heavy snow.

Le Wuya recalled how the court nurtured flowers in winter and, following his memory, set up warm shelters in scattered patches across the mountain. He covered them with straw thatch, used translucent oilcloth for the walls, stuffed the seams with mud mixed with Sichuan pepper, and placed gently burning fires inside to generate warmth—making winter feel like spring.

Two days earlier, Le Wuya had fulfilled his promise, distributing coal lumps and cinders from the Nanting coal mine to the poor families in the county. He also hauled plenty of good charcoal to the flower and tea farmers stationed on Nanting Mountain, so they could have a warm, comfortable winter.

The tea and flower farmers were deeply moved and somewhat overwhelmed, saying they would be fine with just the broken coal lumps.

As for these whole, high-quality coals—they had never even seen them before, let alone used them.

Le Wuya's reply was blunt and unmistakably clear: "What nonsense are you talking? If you're working for me and can't even use good charcoal, what kind of nonsense is that? Broken coal for the flowers, good charcoal for you—which matters more, freezing the flowers or freezing the people?"

Through such heartfelt exchange, the flower farmers grew even more devoted to Le Wuya, patrolling the grounds daily without fail.

After yesterday's north wind, several spots in the camellia shelters had been torn apart. Fortunately, those farmers were diligent—the moment they spotted damage, they immediately set to repairs, and they managed to weather the gale without a single shelter being blown away entirely.

Only one patch of camellias had been crushed by a half-collapsed shelter, with several plants toppled and leaning askew.

The farmer guarding this shelter was surnamed Wu, and he had been spinning like a top all night long.

But everyone else's shelters were fine—only his had partially caved in.

He rubbed his hands nervously, his mind a mess, and had nothing to say.

After making his rounds, Le Wuya gathered the flower farmers together and commented, "Alright, well done. For your efforts last night, the Master will reward each of you with a pig's hind leg at New Year's."

Then, pointing to Farmer Wu, who looked about to cry, he added, "Old Wu, you didn't work hard enough—this New Year, you only get a rack of ribs!"

A wave of good-natured laughter spread through the group.

Farmer Wu's gloom instantly lifted, and he rubbed his hands, tears of joy welling up in his eyes.

What he feared most was being seen as lazy by the Master.

With this call, at least the Master recognized his hard work last night.

Farmer Wu thanked him profusely, bowing repeatedly, while silently resolving to redouble his efforts and never slack off again.

The other flower farmers naturally preferred the hind legs and also admired the Master's fair rewards and punishments.

To earn more hind legs, they were even more determined to take better care of the plants.

Le Wuya hurriedly toured the flower and tea fields, charming every farmer and tea grower without exception. He filled their hearts with spring joy and a willingness to devote their lives to the Master, until the sky had darkened.

The north wind picked up, blowing with increasing force.

The flower and tea farmers had to head out to patrol the mountains again.

Le Wuya knew that even if he stayed, he wouldn't be of much use and would only distract them, so he said his goodbyes and headed home.

In this foul weather, with snow on the way, no one wanted to go out.

Even on the main road, Le Wuya rode his horse for nearly a quarter of an hour without seeing a living soul.

After winter set in, darkness fell with astonishing speed. With today being a moonless, starless, overcast day, the tree shadows looked like eerie ghosts, and the bare branches resembled countless skeletal fingers reaching up to claw at the sky.

Halfway through his journey, the heavy snow that had been threatening all day finally began to fall in thick, swirling flakes.

The snowflakes were large, and the wind was fierce, stinging Le Wuya's eyes and making it hard to keep them open.

Even with the lantern turned up all the way, he could only see three feet ahead.

The little yellow horse, chilled to the bone, plodded along miserably, slipping with every step.

Fearing that Er Ya might be blown away by the wind, Le Wuya scooped her up and set her on the saddle, hoping to keep her warm.

The little yellow horse immediately stopped in its tracks and snorted repeatedly.

Le Wuya found it both amusing and exasperating, thinking that despite the horse's easygoing nature, it had a temper as proud as the Little Master's—willing to carry a person, but not a dog.

Just as he was thinking this, Er Ya in his arms suddenly bared her teeth, arched her back, and stared into the darkness, letting out a low, warning growl.

Le Wuya's heart jolted, and he reached for the dagger at the horse's side.

A hand shot out from the darkness, silently seizing his wrist.

The "trees" he had mistaken for shadows by the roadside transformed into human figures, quietly closing in around him, armed with bows and blades—clearly they had been lying in wait for a long time, specifically to ambush Le Wuya.

Le Wuya's eyes darted around, counting five men who had surrounded him front and back, leaving no escape.

He furrowed his brow.

A robbery? In this weather? On the main road?

These three questions flashed through his mind, and then he knew what to do:

He had to kill.

The hand gripping him was as cold as iron. Le Wuya looked up, and in the dim lantern light, he saw a tall man wearing a warm dog-skin hat.

The hat seemed to fit tightly against his scalp, with nothing much under it.

A monk? A lama?

Le Wuya pitched his voice high and thin, saying, "Gentlemen, you've got the wrong man. I'm not a merchant, and I don't have anything valuable on me. I—"

Before he could finish, the man yanked out his dagger and, without hesitation, stabbed it into Le Wuya's calf.

The blow was vicious; Le Wuya even heard the blade scrape against bone.

Amid the surging pain, Le Wuya didn't let out a sound.

He seemed stunned, or perhaps numbed by the pain, as the man dragged him off the horse like a sack of potatoes.

The Liao man in the dog-skin hat glanced at Er Ya, who was howling in fury, and smiled grimly.

Good.

The man named Zhong's intel was accurate.

As he'd said, this dog looked fierce but was a total pushover—docile as could be. Every time the Little Master took it for a walk, it never lunged or bit anyone; anyone could pet it.

He looked back at Le Wuya.

The man's face was pale from the cold, making his violet eyes look even deeper and more mysterious.

The Liao man tilted his head, hardly believing that the lucrative opportunity he'd secured in Yin Family Village had been ruined by this young man.

He had come under orders to bring Le Wuya back to the Liao tribe intact, to be tortured slowly for half a year to satisfy their thirst for revenge.

But he had underestimated the bitter cold here and nearly froze to death.

Still, despite the detours, he had finally found him.

He said clearly: "Money."

Beads of sweat rolled down Le Wuya's forehead: "No... no money..."

The Liao man flashed a ferocious grin: "Then your life!"

Le Wuya, drenched in sweat, smiled softly through the cold and pain: "Fine."

With that, he suddenly raised his other hand, and with a flick of his sleeve, a compact wrist-mounted crossbow came into view, its bolt aimed at the side of the Liao man's throat:

"...I'll come for it."

As he spoke, he pressed the trigger with his fingertip, and the bolt shot out, piercing straight through the Liao man's neck!

Ever since the sudden ambush in Yin Family Village, Le Wuya had become far more cautious, always carrying weapons on him whenever he went out.

When the man had grabbed his wrist, he had already been quietly adjusting his stance, one hand already on the string.

But Le Wuya had never expected this man to be so ruthless, dead set on crippling him.

He was a step too late, catching a blade to the leg—his face gave nothing away, but his chest was already seething with fury.

When had Le Wuya ever suffered such a silent loss?

It pissed him off! It was so damn unfair!

Amid the rising rage, Le Wuya gritted his teeth, raised a hand, and pointed in one direction, snapping, "Er Ya, go!"

The usually obedient Er Ya, who would whimper and circle around Le Wuya, shot up like black lightning at the command, snapping the bowman's throat in a single bite.

It all happened so fast—two people dropped in a blink, sending the rest into a panic.

Le Wuya ripped the hairpin out of the back of his head with one hand—it split in two, forming a little sword.

He drew the little blade, brought his frozen hand to his mouth and gave it a quick breath, and without hesitating, he flung it—nailing one bowman dead center in the chest.

The guy grunted and folded to the ground.

Two left.

The sleeve crossbow only held one bolt, and Le Wuya had no other weapon at hand. His thoughts spun, and he pointed at another guy sprinting straight at him: "Er Ya, go!"

That man, having just watched his buddy get his throat ripped out, was already braced. At Le Wuya's command, he threw an arm up to block the killing bite and went at it with Er Ya.

Another guy with a big cleaver saw the spooky black dog wasn't after him and let his guard down. Just as he moved to seek out Le Wuya, he was shocked to see the guy was gone from the horse's side.

Just a wind lantern swung in the north wind hauling the heavy snow, giving the scene a ghostly edge.

The guy lost his mark, and his panic spiked. At a loss, he suddenly heard a taunting voice: "Hey. Look down."

On instinct, he looked down and felt a sudden cold at his throat.

In disbelief, he raised a hand and grabbed the quivering arrow stuck in his neck.

Le Wuya lay on his side, holding the bow that had dropped from the guy he'd killed with the hairpin, and let out a slow puff of white breath: "If you hadn't looked down, I couldn't have hit you."

The big blade clattered onto the frozen, iron-hard road.

Over on the other side of the field, the fight was already over.

Er Ya, with its long snout and sharp teeth, had shredded the guy's exposed skin beyond recognition.

The guy rolled on the ground, screaming in agony.

Le Wuya dropped his arm and staggered up: "Er Ya, that's enough. Leave one breathing."

In a flash, the tables had turned.

Le Wuya leaned on the long bow like a crutch, hopping on one leg through the pain, hunting for a blade to finish off the downed men one by one.

A sudden gust swept in, kicking up a swirl of snow that slapped straight into Le Wuya's face.

As Le Wuya threw up a hand to shield his eyes, the little yellow horse let out a sharp whinny, and Er Ya shot off like an arrow, tearing into the darkness toward something!

But Er Ya had just brawled with two men, killing one and wounding the other—it was already running on fumes.

In the dark, the wind carried Er Ya's piercing yelp.

Someone kicked it mid-air, sending it tumbling into the roadside ditch.

Le Wuya also saw who it was.

The wind lantern flickered, showing the blood-soaked, savage face of the Liao man.

His neck had been pierced, but luck was on his side—his windpipe wasn't cut.

He clutched the fallen great blade, like a corpse clawing out of the ground, wheezing hoarse, savage breaths as he lurched toward Le Wuya at a breakneck pace!

When Le Wuya tried to run, a searing, stabbing pain shot up his leg.

He threw himself flat, gripping the long bow, and by the swaying, flickering lantern light, he fumbled for the quiver.

The Liao man was hell-bent on killing him, pressing in step by step, slashing and hacking, sweeping and stabbing.

But Le Wuya was slick as hell, barely dodging every blow, refusing to die.

Finally, Le Wuya got his hands on the bowman's quiver.

The Liao man was just two steps away now.

He bent down, gritting his teeth, and tried to yank out an arrow—but the quiver was pinned under the guy's body, and the arrows were too long; he tugged this way and that, but couldn't get one loose.

Le Wuya's heart seized and shook, but his head and hands stayed eerily calm.

He dropped to his knees, crawling forward with everything he had, and finally managed to pull the arrow free.

He spun, nocked the arrow with lightning speed, and as he frantically drew the string, the Liao man's blade came down, aimed straight at his skull!

But the blade's descent halted mid-swing, unable to advance another inch.

Then, Le Wuya's face and head were suddenly drenched in warmth.

Just then, the fierce wind eased, and the lantern's sway gradually stilled.

The Liao man stood there, his head—along with the dog-skin hat—tumbling in a spin to land at Le Wuya's feet.

Streams of blood gushed from his neck stump.

Le Wuya wiped his face with his shoulder and found himself splattered with blood.

He nearly cursed aloud:

Killing a man is one thing—why make such a filthy mess of it?!

The headless Liao man, still gripping the great blade, toppled toward Le Wuya.

A hand grabbed the man's collar and shoved him aside with ease.

The Liao man had been tall, but next to the newcomer, he was dwarfed.

Le Wuya propped himself up on his hands behind him, gasping: "How... how... are you here?"

He Lianche flicked the curved blade, shaking off the blood beads, sheathed it with a clean click, furrowed his sword-like brows, thought for a moment, and replied, "I was following you."