Xu Maoxiu was utterly disheartened, and Xu Bangchui wasn’t faring much better, his face already flushed with anger from those few words.
“We’re not deserters! We were framed by those damned officials!” he roared, eyes blazing.
“I don’t give a damn whether you were framed or not!” General Liu bellowed back, glaring fiercely. “All I know is that your names are on the wanted list—that makes you deserters! And it’s my duty to haul you in! If you’ve got grievances, take it up with the courts! Hiding like cowards—what kind of men are you?”
“Sir, are you here solely to arrest deserters?” Xu Maoxiu took a deep breath and demanded.
General Liu barked an order, and one of his attendants stepped forward, unfurling an official document.
“That’s exactly right!” he replied.
“Brother…” Xu Bangchui turned to look at him, his expression complicated.
Xu Maoxiu watched as the men closed in step by step and sighed.
“The crime of desertion is unforgivable,” he said, loosening his grip. “How can we truly kill these brothers and flee?”
As he released his hold, Xu Bangchui did the same. The two soldiers immediately scrambled away, clutching their throats and coughing violently.
With a wave of General Liu’s hand, the others surged forward, leveling their weapons at them.
“Well, at least you’ve got some honor left!” he remarked, then suddenly looked surprised and let out a puzzled sound. “It’s… you?”
By now, they had moved closer, and their faces were clearly visible to each other.
Xu Maoxiu was also stunned.
“It’s you!” he exclaimed in astonishment.
General Liu stared at the man before him, his expression complicated.
“So it’s you,” he said. “Since we’ve crossed paths before, I’ll grant you some dignity.”
With that, he waved his hand dismissively.
“No need to break their arms and legs—just tie them up and take them away.”
Seeing that the two men offered no resistance, allowing themselves to be bound and shoved along, General Liu no longer felt the agitation from before.
It was as if the earlier outburst had vented the pent-up frustration he had long suppressed.
To think it was this man… He frowned as he watched the soldiers lead the prisoner away.
That broken-hand man—he had kept tabs on him. He knew that although the hand had been reattached, it was ultimately useless. He had seen it with his own eyes at Tai Ping Residence: the man no longer used his right hand to hold a knife and had started cooking with his left instead.
Tai Ping Residence had the money to keep him employed while he slowly retrained, but the military had no such luxury.
When a soldier lost a limb, even if it was reattached, he had to relearn everything from scratch—wielding bows, arrows, blades, spears, and halberds wasn’t something mastered in a day or two.
He hadn’t bothered following up on that cook, much less paid special attention to Tai Ping Residence.
He had known all along it was a lost cause.
Cases of assault normally fell under the jurisdiction of the magistrate, so he saw no reason to meddle. He had dropped the matter entirely, treating that night as if it had never happened.
Yet now, against all odds, he had crossed paths with the man again—and under these circumstances.
So this man had gone from Tai Ping Residence to Immortal’s Abode.
“Did you see any of the others?” he asked abruptly, turning his head.
“No. Only these two came out of Immortal’s Abode,” his subordinate replied.
General Liu took out the anonymous document, which listed seven names but only one hiding place—Immortal’s Abode.
“Could they be at Tai Ping Residence instead?” he suddenly said.
“Sir, we’ll investigate immediately,” his subordinate replied.
General Liu gave a grim nod.
“Search! Not a single one gets away!” he said harshly, swinging onto his horse.
…
By noon, the area in front of the government office was deserted.
“Hey, hey! What are you doing here?”
A sharp voice rang out.
Xiang Qi quickly averted his gaze and turned toward several minor officials emerging from the administrative hall, apparently on their way to lunch together.
“I’m from the Office of the Gate Inspector, here to collect a document,” Xiang Qi replied hastily.
“Get lost, come back in the afternoon,” the clerks snapped impatiently.
Xiang Qi nodded obsequiously and muttered an acknowledgment. As he watched them walk away, laughing among themselves, he glanced back. Nearby stood the capital’s prison. He had been keeping an eye on it for days but had yet to see any new inmates.
So all those anonymous tip-offs he had scattered far and wide had sunk without a trace.
Not that this was unexpected.
After all, he was a minor official himself. He knew better than anyone how little regard the authorities had for anonymous accusations—especially when they concerned something as trivial as deserters.
He had just been taking a wild gamble, venting his frustration in the only way he could.
Xiang Qi turned away, head lowered, and trudged slowly back.
Suddenly, the street erupted into chaos—scattering chickens, barking dogs, and the disorderly clatter of hooves.
“Out of the way! Move!”
The leading guard cracked his whip, shouting to clear the road as pedestrians hastily scrambled aside, watching the soldiers gallop past.
Jostled by the crowd, Xiang Qi staggered left and right, his hat knocked to the ground unnoticed. His eyes widened in disbelief as he caught sight of the two men being escorted among the riders—
The onlookers buzzed with speculation.
“Bandits?”
“…They don’t look the part…”
One of the two prisoners glanced toward the street, his eyes sharp and bright. Xiang Qi spun around, covering his face as he ducked behind the crowd.
The procession soon passed—a common enough sight in the capital—and the street gradually returned to normal.
But Xiang Qi remained rooted in place, his heart pounding so violently it nearly leapt from his throat.
They—they were really… caught!
He exhaled in short, ragged bursts, swallowed hard, and glanced around furtively before hurrying away at a near-run. In his haste, he even forgot to retrieve his fallen hat, vanishing swiftly into the bustling street.
The midday tranquility of the magistrate was shattered by clamor.
“A rare sight indeed—your office actually caught thieves?” The clerical officers chuckled as they examined the document handed over by the armored soldiers, preparing to stamp it. Their eyes drifted to the two bound men behind them. “…Though it’s a bit underwhelming. Why only two?”
“Don’t worry, the rest will be delivered shortly,” one soldier replied, urging them on. “Hurry up and lock them up. We still need to report to the Ministry of War.”
The clerk’s gaze lingered on the document.
“The Ministry of War?” He looked up, puzzled. “Why report there over a few petty thieves?”
“They’re deserters,” the soldier said impatiently. “Faster, faster—we’ve got to help the captain round up the others.”
The clerk gave an absentminded “Oh,” stamped the document, and handed it back.
The soldiers took the paperwork and noisily hustled the prisoners toward the jail.
Deserters…
That sounded vaguely familiar…
Standing dumbly in the administrative hall, the clerk frowned. Where had he heard that before?
Ah, age was catching up to him—his memory wasn’t what it used to be.
The clerk turned to brew himself some tea, ready for a proper break. Just as the fragrant tea finished steeping—he inhaled its aroma, the cup not yet lifted to his lips—someone burst in with a frantic shout.
“Sir! Is there trouble again?”
The clerk nearly spilled his tea, looking up in disarray to see the jailer in charge of the prison cells.
“What trouble?” he asked, setting down the teacup.
“Has something happened again at Tai Ping Residence?” The jailer stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Why have those men been thrown back in here?”
“Tai Ping Residence?” The clerk was startled.
Though Tai Ping Residence had become a renowned establishment in the capital, its reputation alone wasn’t what intimidated the prison officials of the magistrate—what truly unsettled them was its ominous aura.
When had it all started? Someone had once tipped them off, saying a few men would be sent their way and instructing them to “show proper hospitality.”
In prison, “hospitality” naturally didn’t mean fine wine and meat—it meant branding irons and merciless beatings.
But in the end, those men never arrived. Instead, the person who had given the order wound up dead.
If it had just been this once, they might have dismissed it as coincidence—those men simply got lucky. But then it happened a second time. This time, the men actually made it into the cells.
And this time, things grew even more chaotic. Some demanded harsh treatment, while others urged restraint.
Of course, those thrown into prison were mere pawns—behind them stood powerful backers. Such power struggles were nothing new to the prison officials.
Soon enough, the men were released unscathed. And the one who had ordered their torment? Though not dead, he might as well have been.
Another coincidence? Perhaps. But if they’d stubbornly insisted it was all mere chance, they wouldn’t have survived in their positions this long.
They had memorized those men’s names and every incident tied to them.
Tai Ping Residence: Fan Jianglin, Fan Shitou, Xu Maoxiu, Xu Sigen, Xu Layue, Fan Sanchou, Xu Bangchui…
The clerk stared at the document, his finger tapping two of those deeply ingrained names—
Xu Maoxiu. Xu Bangchui.
“I remember now!” The clerk shouted as if struck by sudden enlightenment.
“Why even think? Brother, we all remember this clearly—how could you forget?” the jailer said.
“No, I mean I’ve realized what this ‘deserter’ business is about!” the clerk exclaimed, turning to rummage through the documents on his desk.
Files and records were shoved aside in a flurry, knocking over the teacup. He paid no mind, quickly digging out several documents and flipping through them.
The jailer leaned in to look—they were anonymous tip-off letters.
“…Sir, there have been far more anonymous letters lately…”
“…Which day doesn’t have them? Ignore them…”
“…Sir, the people mentioned in these letters are the same ones from Tai Ping Residence last time…”
“…Tai Ping Residence? Then ignore them *even more*—just more scheming between their backers… We mustn’t get dragged in…”
“…Sir is wise. That Tai Ping Residence is a cursed star—anyone who touches it ends up dead or maimed. Just look at what happened to Secretariat Editor Liu…”
“…Exactly. Tai Ping Residence is truly sinister. One misstep, and families are ruined…”
“…Still, no need to worry about these anonymous letters. Who’d take them seriously anyway…”
The clerk’s ears rang with the conversation he’d had with the prefect’s office days earlier—back then, it had been nothing more than idle talk. Yet now, someone had actually acted on it! The men had been arrested! Thrown into their prison! And they had signed the paperwork!
A storm was clearly brewing again!
“What in the world has happened now?” he muttered, snatching up the documents and sprinting toward the prefect’s office.
Just what had happened?
The back courtyard of Tai Ping Residence was suddenly flooded with people, accompanied by screams. Fan Jianglin overturned a bamboo tray of drying vegetables, blocking the two soldiers chasing him.
Meanwhile, on the other side, two of his sworn brothers were overwhelmed and pinned down by several soldiers.
“Official business! Apprehending fugitives! Surrender now or face execution!”
Shouts rang out from beyond the courtyard as archers poured in, their drawn bows aimed at the Maoyuan Mountain brothers, who had grabbed whatever tools were at hand to resist.
With a roar, the two brothers who had been pinned by four soldiers suddenly flipped over, throwing the men off with brutal force.
But the moment they steadied themselves, the piercing whistle of arrows split the air.
One arrow struck a brother squarely in the shoulder, its momentum hurling him backward.
By the window, the maid and Ban Qin screamed, their voices tearing through the clear sky.
Standing motionless at the window, Cheng Jiao-niang remained expressionless, her gaze cold as she watched the chaos unfold below.
