Meanwhile, at Linhua Pavilion, both the brothel keeper and the pimp were taken in for questioning. The Northern Surveillance Bureau’s torture chambers could pry open even iron jaws. It was confirmed the brothel keeper knew nothing, while the pimp finally cracked and confessed everything he knew.
Shen Qi reviewed the presented testimonies and extracted the key points:
The Hidden Sword Sect and the Seven Kill Camp had a relationship akin to outer and inner sects—one operated in the open, the other in secret. The Hidden Sword Sect funded and funneled personnel to the Seven Kill Camp, and its sect master answered to the camp leader. After the Sect’s downfall, most of the camp’s strength remained, and their funding continued—though the source was unknown.
The elite assassins of the Seven Kill Camp were categorized into “Heaven, Earth, and Mystery” ranks. Total numbers were unclear, but said to be in the hundreds, each capable of independent operations.
There was more than one underground base in the capital, all tunnels connecting to the destroyed “Mingtang” hall.
Each base had a gatekeeper. The pimp only knew two; the rest were unknown.
The camp leader had indeed been in the capital prior to the explosion. Whether they fled afterward remained uncertain.
No one had seen the battalion leader’s face, gender, age, or skill level. But every assassin who ever challenged their authority was dead.
“…Brainworm,” Shen Qi muttered.
“What’s that, sir?” asked Xing Yanshuang, the officer in charge of interrogations.
“Nothing. Lock those two up and guard them well. You and Wei Ying each pick 250 men and come with me to arrest the other two gatekeepers. Let’s see what else we can squeeze out.”
As Shen Qi stood, his movement tugged on his injury, and he clutched his chest, inhaling sharply.
Yanshuang quickly said, “Sir, you’re wounded. Please rest. This small matter can be handled by me and Commander Wei. You needn’t go yourself.”
The Bureau’s medical officer had given Shen Qi a medicinal paste to reduce swelling, promote blood circulation, and ease pain—it was meant to help fractured bones heal faster. But its pungent odor could be smelled even through layers of clothing.
Shen Qi thought for a moment. “Fine. Then prepare hot water. I need to bathe and change.”
After thoroughly cleaning himself and ensuring no trace of the medicinal scent lingered, he rode slowly to the Su residence.
His men had inquired several times earlier—each time told Su Yan was still asleep. Now, after six whole hours, he still hadn’t woken. Shen Qi couldn’t help but worry. Ignoring the imperial guards posted like watchdogs, he decided to go see for himself.
At dusk, the skies over the capital still seemed shrouded in the lingering dust of the explosion. The twilight was especially dim, with faint cries drifting on the wind, casting a heavy pall over the heart.
Just as he reached the alley’s entrance, Shen Qi saw the Su residence tightly surrounded by a group of men dressed like guards, the atmosphere tense and heavily guarded. These were clearly not ordinary guards — each of them radiated a sharp, honed aura, like seasoned veterans from the battlefield.
A chill gripped his heart. Sensing something, he circled to the back alley of the Su residence and silently leapt onto a neighboring rooftop.
Sure enough, Gao Shuo was still hiding in the shadows under the eaves, gnawing on red dates and craning his neck to peer hard at the main house in the rear courtyard. Shen Qi gave his shoulder a pat, nearly causing him to choke on a date pit in fright.
After coughing it out, Gao Shuo hurriedly whispered, “His Majesty is visiting in plain clothes. He’s inside the main house.”
Just as he suspected. Shen Qi frowned. “When did he arrive?”
“About 30 minutes ago. Still hasn’t come out. Not sure if Lord Su has woken up yet.” Gao Shuo mulled it over and added, “Tsk. If he hasn’t woken, what’s His Majesty doing in there, just staring? But if he’s awake, we’ve not seen any servant bring water in — surely he wouldn’t meet the Emperor with unwashed face and uncombed hair?
“No, no — a sovereign entering a subject’s bedchamber is already against decorum, especially our Emperor…”
Thunk — Shen Qi suddenly jabbed the back of his hand with the sheath of his blade.
A handful of red dates were stuffed into Gao Shuo’s mouth as a result, and he gagged, eyes rolling.
Shen Qi’s face was cold as frost. “Since when did you become so talkative?”
Gao Shuo rapidly shook his head, spitting out dates one by one, not daring to gossip further.
As they spoke, the door of the main house opened. The Emperor emerged first in casual dress, followed closely by Su Yan draped in a cloak. The two conversed while walking toward the flower hall.
Turning into the corridor, their figures vanished beneath the eaves. Before long, an eunuch dressed as a servant emerged from the kitchen, dishes flowing like water into the hall. The candles in the flower hall shone brightly, casting the shadows of the two seated across from each other onto the window paper.
Realization finally dawned on Gao Shuo, who awkwardly said, “Ahem, the Emperor dining with a favored subject is… a benevolent gesture, not uncommon… no need to… no need to…”
The shadows raised their cups in a toast. Shen Qi suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his ribs, as if his heart was being ripped apart. Each breath he exhaled burned like fire. Clutching his blade tightly, his voice was hoarse and menacing:
“What is the penalty for disturbing the Emperor’s person?”
“A—a grave offense!” Gao Shuo stammered in terror. “Knowing and doing it anyway is doubly so, milord!”
Shen Qi’s fingers gripped and released the hilt again and again, his knuckles jutting out under his thin skin, only to be dragged back by tense muscle fibers.
Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Is it also common for an Emperor to stay overnight at an official’s home?”
Gao Shuo answered in alarm, “Absolutely not! There are records of past emperors favoring eunuchs, even whimsically taking handsome commoners encountered on the road — but with a civil official? Never! That would surely provoke scandal across court and country. His Majesty would never risk such a loss of decorum!”
He paused, then added, “Surely you know His Majesty’s temperament better than anyone?”
Shen Qi did know — but he also knew how tempting Su Qinghe could be. Though he truly meant it when he said he would never serve with his looks, the Emperor’s combined grace and pressure, and his deliberate patience, might sway even the firmest heart.
Even if Su Yan could resist, such defenses were fragile before absolute power. If the Emperor truly gave in to base desire and abandoned all pretense, what then? Could he resign and flee? Resist unto death? His family had served the court for generations — his father was still in office as a magistrate!
This tug-of-war was between vastly unequal forces. If you are defeated, I will not blame you — this thought was not just absolving Su Yan in advance, but also forging one more chain around the beast in his own heart. Yet now, he heard again the furious roar of that beast, and the metallic clatter of chains on the verge of breaking.
“Keep watching. If anything ‘unprecedented’ really happens, meet me at the wonton stand at the end of East Market Street.”
Gao Shuo watched Shen Qi leap away across rooftops and scratched his head. “Still not done with the personal guard mess, now the Emperor too? Lord Su is truly… accursed… Wait, does our Lord Shen really have the appetite for wontons?”
—
Though East Market was bustling, the wonton stand at the far end was desolate — likely because the owner lacked business sense. The wontons weren’t great, and scallions and vinegar cost extra. The owner also seemed a bit slow-witted and often gave incorrect change, so customers grew fewer and fewer.
Even so, the stall operated through wind and rain, and somehow limped along for years.
Under a dim lantern, Shen Qi emerged from a dark corner and sat on a crooked bench, laying his xiuchun blade beside him.
The middle-aged owner, a ragged towel over his shoulder, came over to greet him. “What would you like?”
Shen Qi replied, “Noodles.”
“No noodles — I only sell wontons.”
“Then why ask me what I want?”
The owner blanked, then clumsily rephrased, “How many bowls of wontons?”
Shen Qi stared at him. “One bowl. Pork wontons — with no filling.”
The owner froze. His dull eyes shifted, as if a wooden carving suddenly came to life. He said, “Please wait a moment, sir.”
Soon, a bowl of cooked wonton skins was set before Shen Qi. The owner said, “Filled or not, same price. Scallions and vinegar extra. Want some?”
Shen Qi didn’t answer. He added a spoonful of scallions and three drops of vinegar, then finished the bowl.
The owner sat down opposite, a smile slowly forming. “Tongzhi of the Northern Surveillance Bureau, Lord Shen. You’re the one who sent your predecessor, Lord Feng Que, to the execution ground.”
“You’re mistaken. Not the gallows — waist chop,” Shen Qi said coldly. “Before he died, he told me a secret.”
—
At the edge of a crater formed by a collapsed street, Fuyin crawled out between stones on hands and knees. His bloodied fingers clutched a crane-bone flute. After a few staggering steps, he collapsed again.
It was the darkest hour before dawn. The waning crescent moon in the west was swallowed by soaring flames and black smoke.
Sword light replaced moonlight, slicing through the night and striking directly between Fuyin’s brows.
Jinghong Zhui’s clothes were in tatters. His face was smeared with dust, rouge, and blood, all blended into a mess—yet his eyes, cold and clear as starlight over a frozen river, remained sharp and emotionless.
He said, “You’ve lost.”
Fuyin panted heavily, his voice broken and ragged. “I… never wanted it to come to this…”
Jinghong Zhui replied, “But here we are.”
“Senior brother… give me a quick death…” Fuyin reached out a trembling hand, trying to clutch the hem of his robe.
Jinghong Zhui sidestepped it, avoiding contact. “I’ll give you a quick death.”
Fuyin’s eyes lit up faintly, like the shimmer of fire beneath deep water.
“But before that, you’ll tell me everything you know—about the camp master, and the forces behind him.”
“You mean to interrogate me?” Fuyin gave a twisted, bitter smile, coughing up dark blood mid-laugh. Leaning against a collapsed pillar, he clutched his bloodstained flute tightly. “Senior brother… you’ve always been like this. Sparing my life with one hand, only to push me into a deeper h*ll with the other. Just like during the ‘Gu Duel’ at Seven Kill Camp, and now again!”
Jinghong Zhui heard the simmering hatred in his voice and fell silent for a moment before asking, “You hate me… because I begged the camp master to spare your life?”
“Begged?” Fuyin sneered. “Your swordsmanship has always been the sharpest, striking straight and true. So is your way of begging—simple and effective.”
Jinghong Zhui remembered what he’d told the camp master back then:
“How many have you seen recover from Blood Eye madness?”
“Wouldn’t he make an excellent research subject?”
Two simple questions. The camp master had broken his silence and replied: “Indeed.”
“You remember now?” Fuyin said coldly. “I lived—survived as the only one from the Gu Duel who lost but didn’t die. But I’d rather have died on the spot, under your sword! You thought they reassigned me to another squad and that’s why we rarely met?”
He let out a strained, cruel laugh, his dimples twisting like a gruesome scar. “You were wrong. Just like you said—I became an ‘excellent research subject.’”
“The art of Yanmei makes us powerful—but it also drives us mad. Controlling the Blood Eye state, using it without being consumed, has always been the camp master’s obsession. Then I arrived—his perfect test subject.”
Fuyin clawed at the broken stones on the ground, fingers trembling uncontrollably as though even recalling it plunged him back into h*ll. “They force-fed me all kinds of drugs. Tortured me endlessly. Forced me to shift between madness and lucidity over and over—just to observe what would happen to my body and mind. Do you know what that’s like? The agony, the hopelessness? Praying for death, but denied even that.”
There was a ripple behind the frozen calm in Jinghong Zhui’s eyes, but his sword remained unwavering, cold and steady.
“You hate me,” he said, “for not ending it all with one strike back then.”
Fuyin screamed hoarsely, “Shouldn’t I hate you? You escaped! But me? I stayed in h*ll—clinging to a sliver of hope that you’d come back for me! But you didn’t. You never did. You never even thought of me again—your so-called junior brother!”
“I never considered Hidden Sword Sect or Seven Kill Camp a true sect,” Jinghong Zhui said flatly.
“…Right,” Fuyin laughed bitterly. “You never once called me junior brother. To you, that place was a cesspool, crawling with beasts and monsters. You finally got to live like a ‘human’ again—of course you wouldn’t risk it all by returning for me!”
Jinghong Zhui looked at him oddly, like he was no longer a comrade of seven years, but some deranged stranger.
“I escaped,” Jinghong Zhui said quietly. “Why couldn’t you?”
“What obligation did I have to go back for you—or anyone? When you all would have stabbed me through the heart the moment the camp master gave the order?
“If I had lost the Gu Duel that day, would you have risked angering the master to beg for my life?
“Search your heart—if you had escaped instead of me, would you have come back for me?”
I would have… No—I wouldn’t.
If I had broken free from that nightmare, I wouldn’t have returned even if the whole world perished…
Fuyin’s body trembled. His thoughts frayed at the edges, but he still argued: “Even if I had escaped… you wouldn’t have taken me in. You wouldn’t even associate with me.”
Jinghong Zhui sneered. “Why should I associate with you?”
“You only care about protecting yourself. And I have someone I want to protect. As long as I live—so long as I can lift my sword—I’ll never let beasts and monsters like you near him.
“I was once a beast. A monster. But now I live as a human—and I’ll never let you drag him into our darkness.”
The final glimmer in Fuyin’s eyes was consumed by a thick, all-swallowing darkness.
That darkness deepened—thick as blood, reeking of rot and hatred.
Fuyin slowly drew a dagger from within his crane-bone flute. His face was deathly pale. His eyes, blood-red, were those of a vengeful specter.
He said, “Old rules. Winner walks away. Loser dies.”
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