At the instant their gazes met, Jinghong Zhui instinctively unleashed the art of Yanmei to counter the suffocating oppression.
The eerie glow beneath the hood of the black-robed figure momentarily dimmed, as a brief lapse in consciousness seemed to disrupt his sorcery. Seizing the opportunity, Jinghong Zhui’s sword tip pierced into the man’s chest. With a burst of internal force, he attempted to shatter the opponent’s heart meridian in one decisive strike.
Yet, to his surprise, some unknown hard object beneath the tattered layers of the man’s black robe rebounded the force back at him. With a sharp clang, the sword blade snapped into several shards, scattering fragments of metal in all directions.
Jinghong Zhui’s heart tightened as he recalled Su Yan’s earlier advice about switching weapons.
He had always prided himself on his martial prowess, believing that with an unwavering sword heart and refined sword intent, internal mastery far outweighed the importance of external tools. Once a martial artist reached a certain level, even fallen petals and drifting leaves could become lethal weapons. Thus, he had no qualms about wielding cheap, three-tael silver swords, and even his old favorite, Wuming was made of unremarkable material.
But Su Yan, a frail scholar with no martial skill, had once advised him that while cultivation was crucial, when two opponents were evenly matched, even the slightest advantage in weapon quality could be the deciding factor.
Reality had just proven Su Yan right.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Jinghong Zhui shifted his sword technique, adapting to a short-blade style. With the broken blade in reverse grip, he slashed toward the enemy’s throat.
However, in the instant his sword shattered, the black-robed figure had already shaken off the effects of Yanmei. At some point, a strange artifact had appeared in his hand.
It was an old staff bell. Long soaked in blood and oil, the birchwood handle, three feet and six inches long, bore a dark patina. At its head clustered seven brass bells of varying sizes. With a flick of the man’s wrist, the bells emitted a low, unsettling hum—nothing like the crisp jingle of ordinary bells.
The sound was eerie, reminiscent of cracked silk strings or a swarm of bees in turmoil, yet unlike either. It seemed to come from a place impossibly distant—perhaps the highest heavens, or the deepest depths of the underworld. Despite its remoteness, its piercing sharpness did not diminish, sending shivers through the soul.
Wave after wave of the hum surged into Jinghong Zhui’s ears, like a hurricane stirring violent waves, forcing his internal energy into chaotic reverse circulation.
With a sharp gasp, he spat out a mouthful of blood. Enduring the searing pain of internal injury, he pressed forward without retreat, resolutely thrusting his broken blade into the black robes.
The sensation at the tip of the broken blade confirmed one thing—this opponent was no demon or ghost. At the very least, he could still bleed.
And as long as he was human, he belonged to Jinghong Zhui’s domain of expertise. As long as he was human, there was no reason for Jinghong Zhui to lack confidence—or the resolve—to kill him.
With a faintly irritated grunt, the black-robed man let out a surprised “Hmph,” as if wary of the sword’s relentless momentum. He took a step back, choosing to evade rather than clash head-on.
The black-robed man was evidently skilled in trickery rather than combat—or perhaps he had never encountered an opponent as tenacious and resilient as Jinghong Zhui. His retreat not only diminished his own momentum but also gave his adversary the opportunity to press forward.
Jinghong Zhui seized the chance, his sword energy clinging to the black-robed man’s vulnerabilities like an unshakable curse. Blood trickled continuously from his lips, but the hand holding his sword remained unwavering.
After taking several consecutive sword strikes, the black-robed man hesitated, considering retreat. He raised the staff bell to his chest and struck it against the divine mirror hidden within his robes, unleashing an ear-splitting, tearing shriek.
Jing Hongzhui felt as if a massive hammer had slammed into his heart meridian. Blood trickled from his seven orifices in thin, winding streams. Staggering, he half-knelt to the ground, using his broken sword to prop himself up.
This seemed to be a move of mutual destruction, as the black-robed man did not emerge unscathed either. Clutching his chest, he swiftly retreated. Before leaving, he cast a resentful glance at Aletan, who lay on the ground at the end of the alley. Just a few dozen meters away—his prey had been within reach. Yet, because of this unexpectedly formidable swordsman, he had to abandon what was almost in his grasp. Muttering a curse in an unknown tongue, his tall and thin figure melted into the twilight.
Jing Hongzhui remained in his half-kneeling posture, trying to regulate his qi and suppress the chaotic backlash in his body. However, his breath only grew more erratic, and his consciousness began to blur.
“The art of Yanmei is powerful, but dangerous. It can ensnare the minds of others, yet if the opponent’s will is too strong to be affected, it may backfire, sending you into inner turmoil. Remember, if you ever encounter shamans, Daoists, or sorcerers, use it with great caution—lest you meet your downfall.”
His master’s warning echoed in his mind, yet he could barely make out the words. A cacophony of overlapping bells and gongs filled his ears, while the world before him twisted and spun like a kaleidoscope.
He recognized these as the early signs of qi deviation. He had seen fellow disciples suffer similar fates—some left crippled and powerless, while others lost their sanity entirely, descending into madness.
Whether he could survive this ordeal, even he did not know.
The only thing he was certain of was that while he still had a sliver of clarity, he had to get away from Aletan. He needed to leave Qingshui Camp before he lost control and harmed his own allies.
Jing Hongzhui released his grip on the broken sword and tumbled from the rooftop, landing with a dull thud on the stone-paved ground. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up, then staggered away into the night.
—
Aletan’s eyes snapped open.
He realized he had lost consciousness—but for how long?
The evening haze draped the land in a soft veil. Judging by the dimming light, he estimated no more than half an hour had passed. Perhaps even less.
What had happened?
His last memory was defeating a group of shadowy pursuers. Then, a sudden pain had struck his back, and everything had gone black. Now, he found himself sprawled in a remote alleyway, disoriented and disheveled.
“…Aletan! Aletan!”
He heard his comrades calling his name in the language of the Oirat people. Forcing himself upright, he prepared to respond—“I’m here!”—but the moment he tried to speak, his throat burned like searing coal, his voice utterly lost.
Panic surged through him. In desperation, he grabbed his waist dagger and struck it against the ground, producing a crisp, ringing clang.
Within moments, the Wala warriors arrived, swarming to his side and helping him up.
Then, someone gasped in shock. “Prince—your hair—!”
Aletan hunched forward, lowering his head. His gaze followed the loose strands of hair that fell over his shoulder.
Once jet-black and gleaming, his hair had turned deathly white—like snow.
Stunned, he grasped a handful of it, only to find that the color had changed from root to tip.
One of his men reached toward his back and plucked out a thin, pitch-black flying needle. A sinister, ghostly blue sheen swirled over its surface—a clear sign that it had been laced with poison.
Aletan’s lips moved soundlessly. His chest roared with the fury of a thousand voices, but no sound escaped.
At last, the rage and sorrow condensed into a single, burning force—
And with a violent heave, he spat out a mouthful of blackened blood, staining his clothes and the ground beneath him.
—
In the eastern city, Huo Dun had specially prepared a spacious and elegantly furnished residence for the newly arrived Censor Su. The house was conveniently located next to the military fortress, ensuring that the five hundred elite guards from the Embroidered Uniform Guard could provide round-the-clock protection.
Tonight was the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month—Mid-Autumn Festival. Government officials were on holiday, and although the stationed troops couldn’t return home, they were treated to a feast of stewed meat and flowing wine as a festival reward.
Huo Dun and Yan Chengxue had already arranged a lavish banquet for Su Yan, setting it up in his courtyard so they could drink and admire the moon at leisure.
Since Su Yan had accepted their allegiance, it was only right to show him due courtesy. Without pretense, he accepted the invitation and even warmly invited them to join his department’s gathering.
Yan Chengxue, however, found Su Yan’s very presence suffocating. He wanted nothing less than to dine at the same table with him, so he made up an excuse and left with Huo Dun.
Su Yan made no effort to stop them, merely smiling as he sat down with the junior officers and Embroidered Uniform Guard guards.
He glanced at the sky and murmured, “Why isn’t Ah Zhui back yet?”
Chu Yuan replied, “Brother Jinghong is highly skilled. There’s no way he’s in danger. The situation must be more complicated than expected, requiring more time. Let’s wait a bit longer.”
Gao Shuo chuckled. “Qingshui Camp is a lively place, and with tonight’s grand festival, it’s bound to be bustling. There are also plenty of brothels around—maybe he got distracted by the sights and found himself some entertainment.”
Su Yan scoffed. “Not a chance. That’s not his style.”
Feigning seriousness, Gao Shuo added, “Well, you never know. A man deprived for too long might just go to a madam to relieve himself. Nothing shameful about it.”
Su Yan shot him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Going by that logic, you must’ve done it plenty of times yourself. What about your superior?”
Gao Shuo hesitated. He knew Su Yan was referring to Shen Qi. His initial plan was to tease Jing Hongzhui, but now he had unwittingly dragged his own boss into the fray. His mouth went dry with awkwardness. “He… uh… he’s a man of integrity…”
His voice trailed off.
Because, recalling their first encounter, he had been there—watching as Shen Qi, egged on by his subordinates, nearly kidnapped a drunken, scholar-dressed Su Yan under the pretense of forcing him to “sober up” with soup.
That was hardly the behavior of a man of integrity.
Su Yan let out a mocking snort. “Spare me. Don’t go polishing his reputation.”
Before his own participation in the examination, he had lingered in the pleasure districts for several months and formed a rapport with the renowned courtesan Ruan Hongjiao. At the time, he refrained from taking things further due to his youth, fearing that premature indulgence might deplete his vitality and stunt his growth. Otherwise, he might truly have shared a bed with Ruan Hongjiao.
—Who could have predicted that before he even turned eighteen, he would fall victim to a scheming spymaster who took advantage of him?
His first time… Not only did it lack the tender guidance of an older, mature beauty, but he was also ravaged to the point of exhaustion by a man.
D*mn Shen Qi.
After taking full advantage of him, that b*stard didn’t even bother to see him off.
Su Yan silently cursed, biting his lip in frustration, but outwardly remained composed as he remarked nonchalantly, “We’re all men here. Who doesn’t understand?”
The Embroidered Uniform Guard officers burst into scattered laughter, exchanging knowing glances. A few even whispered amongst themselves, suggesting they go out after dinner for a moonlit stroll—the nature of which was, of course, understood without needing explanation.
Chu Yuan, who had a family in the capital and a more stable temperament, didn’t join in their nonsense. Instead, he shot them a warning glare and scolded, “Enough of your prattle in front of Lord Su! We’re on duty—do your jobs properly and stop thinking about sneaking off!”
One officer chuckled and replied, “Unlike Commander Chu, we don’t have someone at home to care for us. Can’t we relax a little while we’re out? We could take turns—it won’t take much time. Don’t worry, it won’t delay the mission.”
Turning to Su Yan, he asked, “Would Lord Su like to join us? We can provide protection while you’re out—it’s killing two birds with one stone.”
Su Yan lazily chewed on a fried peanut and waved them off. “Go if you want. I’m heading to my room to sleep. The journey’s been exhausting—I’m dead tired. Not all of us have your martial arts training and boundless energy.”
“Lord Su thinks he’s a phoenix looking down on us common chickens, doesn’t he?”
The men laughed good-naturedly and raised their cups to toast him.
Su Yan, obliging, drained each cup presented to him.
The alcohol from the Western Regions wasn’t particularly strong, its sweet and tangy flavor easy on the palate, but its aftereffects were potent. After a round, he felt a pleasant buzz creeping in. Gesturing at the table full of dishes, he called out, “Start eating while it’s hot. With twelve seats filled, there’s no room for Ah Zhui even if he comes back. I’ll prepare something special for him later.”
With Su Yan’s approval, the Embroidered Uniform Guard officers eagerly began to dig in, devouring the food with ravenous speed.
Only Su Xiaobei and Su Xiaoji, the young attendants, held back their hunger, focusing instead on piling food into Su Yan’s bowl before the others could finish everything. “Lord Su, eat quickly! They’re like reincarnated starving ghosts—if you’re slow, even the plates will be empty.”
Su Yan chuckled and ruffled their hair. “You two should eat, too. You’re all skin and bones—put some meat on those frames.”
After taking a few bites of meat and soup, the alcohol started to go to his head. Feeling lightheaded, he stood and announced, “I’m going to wash my face. You all carry on.”
The two attendants quickly wiped their mouths and tried to follow, but Su Yan waved them off. “Go back and eat. I have hands and feet—do I really need someone to help me wash my face?”
He strolled through the moonlit courtyard and ascended the steps slowly. Suddenly, he spotted a slender figure standing in the shadows near his bedroom door, head bowed in shy anticipation. Startled, he asked, “Who are you, and how did you get in?”
The young woman curtsied gracefully and answered in a soft voice, “This humble servant is Huang Lier, sixteen years of age. I was sent by Minister Li to attend to your needs.”
Su Yan immediately pictured the plump, smiling face of Li Rong, the Minister of the Imperial Stables, and thought to himself, That d*mn fatty not only flatters shamelessly but also excels at bribes wrapped in honeyed gestures. Too bad I don’t take the bait.
He said to the lovely girl, “You may return and tell Minister Li that I abstain from such indulgences. His efforts are wasted on me.”
Though his words sounded upright and principled, they carried a mocking undertone. Whether Li Rong would pick up on it or attempt another method remained to be seen.
Huang Lier, a newly risen star in the pleasure circles, had high standards. Initially disheartened upon hearing she would serve an older official from the capital, she was elated to find Su Yan was a handsome young man close to her own age. But when he declared himself above such desires, her mood plummeted once more, a mix of disappointment and annoyance filling her heart.
Not interested in women? That means he’s into men. In this era, one in three attractive men leaned toward male companionship, and half of the remaining seven were ambidextrous in their preferences. Courtesans like her were finding it harder to make a living!
Silently cursing, Huang Lier dared not argue and retreated with a deep bow.
As she walked through the shadowed garden path, a hand suddenly reached out from the darkness, grabbing her by the throat and dragging her into the bushes.
A man’s voice, cold and gravelly, froze her scream in her throat.
“You were sent to serve him? How would you serve him? Do you even know how clean and untouchable he is? How could he ever accept such filthy bribes? Li Rong is despicable! No one will ever drag him down as long as I’m here to protect him!”
The words were erratic and filled with sinister intensity, utterly unlike those of a normal person. Terrified, Huang Lier trembled and choked out muffled sobs, pleading for mercy.
The man suddenly fell silent, as if grappling with his own thoughts. After a moment, his voice rang out again, commanding, “Take off your clothes!”
Huang Lier, tears streaming down her face, dared not disobey. She hastily removed her outer robe and skirt.
Just as she began to remove her undergarments, the man barked, “Leave!”
She glanced up and saw a pair of glowing red eyes in the shadows, like a beast’s, piercing through the darkness and straight into her soul. Terrified, she collapsed to the ground before scrambling away as fast as she could.
A moment later, a tall figure emerged from the bushes, dressed in a richly embroidered outfit. With long, flowing black hair cascading down their back, they moved with an eerie grace toward Su Yan’s room.
Su Yan washed his face in the copper basin inside the room, the alcohol’s effect dissipating slightly. However, he grew even drowsier and decided to take a short nap, planning to call for Xiaobei and Xiaojing to heat water after they finished their meal.
Since he had yet to bathe and change clothes, he didn’t bother climbing onto the canopy bed. Instead, he leaned against the nearby Luohan couch, closed his eyes, and dozed off.
Suddenly, he heard someone whispering close to his ear in a low voice:
“Lord Su… my lord.”
The voice was unmistakably Ah Zhui’s, yet something felt off—it was far too close for comfort!
Su Yan shivered, snapping awake. Before him stood a woman. At first glance, judging by her clothes, he thought it was the returning Huang Lier. He frowned immediately and said, “Didn’t I tell you to leave? How did you sneak back in? Hurry up and go. If I call someone in, how will you save face as a young lady?”
“Does Lord Su truly wish to drive me away?”
The voice—it was Ah Zhui’s! Su Yan blinked his drowsy eyes and took a closer look at the person’s features. Recognizing Ah Zhui, he chuckled, “Ah Zhui, did you strip that poor girl of her clothes? Are you in disguise to gather some secret intel?”
But halfway through the joke, something felt amiss. Ah Zhui’s eyes had turned an eerie crimson, with faint traces of bloodstains poorly wiped away near the corners of his eyes and mouth. His expression was off—he looked as if he wasn’t fully conscious.
Su Yan sat up abruptly, grabbing Ah Zhui’s hand, which rested on his shoulder. “What happened to you? Your eyes—what’s going on?”
“My eyes? Yes…” Ah Zhui muttered, his hand tightening as he slowly leaned closer, his crimson gaze burning. “Lord Su, look at me. Keep looking at me.”
It was as if an irresistible force was pulling Su Yan in. He couldn’t help but stare into those haunting eyes.
He had seen these mesmerizing eyes before—cold, beautiful, and dangerously captivating. They were like swirling galaxies, drawing in all light, leaving no room for thought, only entrancement.
But this was different. This wasn’t a galaxy; it was a blood-soaked abyss, swallowing souls whole.
