Fuyin looked like a stray dog, hiding in the sewers from dawn until dusk.
He had lost his cultivation, and was barely surviving thanks to years of soaking in secret medicines and the faint remnants of true qi lingering in his meridians. But those demonic, blood-red eyes could never return to normal.
That eye color was as good as having “survivor of the Hidden Sword Sect” written on his face. Fuyin didn’t dare show himself. If discovered, he’d be reported and captured—torture in the Northern Surveillance Prison would be unavoidable.
Only after nightfall did he cover half his face with a ragged cloth and steal some medicinal herbs from the backyard of a pharmacy. Then he hid in a civilian house.
That house had been rented by Han Ben beforehand, for use on days when “Yin Fu” went out shopping, paid respects at temples, or simply didn’t want to stay in the prince’s guard quarters.
Fuyin felt conflicted when he sneaked in—he both hoped Han Ben wouldn’t be there, and yet also thought if he was, maybe he could help him.
Han Ben wasn’t there.
Fuyin let out a breath of mixed relief and disappointment. He boiled water to clean the sword wound and prepared medicine based on his own experience.
Every breath burned like fire. Without a surgeon, and without true qi to aid his recovery, even if he managed to survive, he’d likely be left with permanent damage. But now that he had nothing left, who cared?
His left chest was a bloody mess. He was trying to stitch it up himself, teeth gritted in pain, when the door suddenly opened.
Han Ben froze at the threshold, then rushed in within three steps. “How did you get this hurt?!”
Startled, Fuyin instinctively looked up, then remembered to hide his eyes.
But it was too late—Han Ben had already seen. He stood there as if struck by lightning, stunned. “Blood eyes… You’re an assassin from the Hidden Sword Sect…”
If he still had his power, Fuyin believed he could subdue Han Ben. But now, he was the one at the mercy of others. He had to think of a way to save himself.
He’d studied Han Ben’s personality and experiences—he knew what worked on him. Immediately, he tore a strip of cloth from his inner garment and tied it around his eyes.
“Don’t look at me!” His voice was defiant, but underneath was panic and vulnerability. “I don’t want to drag you down… Just go, don’t care whether I live or die.”
Han Ben took a deep breath, walked forward two steps, and crouched down. “Are you really an assassin? Sent to infiltrate Yu Wang’s residence? Was it you playing the flute?”
“—Yes, it was me. I’m guilty beyond redemption, deserving of death!” Fuyin snapped, like a broken pot, “If you want to avenge your Wangye, just kill me now. Don’t you dare drag me to the authorities. I’d rather die than end up in the prison!”
Han Ben had just touched the hilt of his blade when he saw tears soaking through the cloth over the man’s eyes, dripping one by one. His pale, delicate face trembled with sobs, pitiful beyond words.
Han Ben’s heart softened. “Were you under someone’s orders? Who was it? If you confess, maybe the court will grant you leniency.”
Fuyin choked back a sob. “If I don’t tell, I die. If I do tell, I die even worse… Don’t ask anymore. Just take pity on me and end it cleanly, let me be free and reincarnate. Maybe next life I won’t have to suffer like this again. I’ll repay you—repay you with my life in the next world.”
As he spoke, he tried to infuse his voice with a subtle enchantment. But his true qi was exhausted—he couldn’t cast the charm. He could only hope the lingering effects from last time would still work a little longer.
Han Ben hesitated for a long time. After checking his pulse, he finally sighed. “Your internal strength is ruined. You wouldn’t survive torture in prison, nor would you ever be strong enough to harm anyone again. I can’t just watch you walk to the executioner’s block… Here’s the deal—write down everything you know, and give it to me. I’ll arrange for you to leave the capital, hide away under a new name, and live the rest of your life in peace.”
Live out his life as a nameless peasant or peddler, cut off from the world? How was that any different from dying?
Fuyin clenched his teeth. Why is it always like this? His senior brother of many years, the one who swore to protect him—Han Ben—every last one of them eventually abandoned him! Why did they get to live open, dignified lives while he had to kill in filth, crawl through mud, struggle to survive—only to end up like this?
…If everyone had betrayed him, and even the heavens denied him a way out, then he wouldn’t hold back anymore. Even if he had to die, he’d take someone with him.
Han Ben removed his coat and wrapped it around Fuyin. Then he frowned. “Can your eyes go back to normal? If not, you’ll always risk being recognized. The wanted posters are still up in every county…”
Without a word, Fuyin grabbed Han Ben’s waist blade and aimed it at his own eyes.
Han Ben seized his wrist just in time, both shocked and pained. “What’s wrong with you?! I’m trying to help, why so extreme?! If you blind yourself with one strike, how do you expect me to live with that for the rest of my life?”
Fuyin clung to him, sobbing loudly. “I was lying to you! Why do you still care?! Just leave me, go back to the palace and keep being the proud commander of guards. I’m just a wretched criminal, I don’t need your pity!”
Han Ben’s heart ached into a knot. He wanted to tell him: I’ve already covered for you too many times—how can I still face the general? I’ve failed too many people; I can’t afford to fail you too. A few years from now, when His Highness returns to his fief and no longer needs an aging guard like me… I’ll come find you, wherever you’re hiding, and live out the rest of my life with you.
But these words could not be spoken out loud now. First, promises should not be made lightly; second, whether he could safely escort him out of the capital was still uncertain. With the first step not yet taken, how could one speak of a thousand more?
Han Ben patted Fuyin’s back to comfort him and said, “Stay here for the night. Write out a full confession. I’ll have someone bring you food, water, and herbs later.”
Fuyin, afraid he would leave and never return, clutched his sleeve tightly and pleaded, “My injuries are severe. I’m afraid I can’t care for myself. Could you stay with me for one night?”
Han Ben hesitated, then shook his head. “There’s something at the prince’s manor. I can’t be absent tonight—I must return.”
What could be so urgent? Even Yu Wang had used the secret tunnel last night. Could it be…
Fuyin tested him: “Was Yu Wang injured in last night’s explosion?”
“His head was hurt, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Then why can’t you stay? Even if he’s unwell, the medical officer should attend him. What use are you?”
Han Ben frowned. “I really must return. His Majesty is visiting—every guard must be present. Be good. Get some rest.”
The Emperor was at Yu Wang’s manor…
A dark light flickered in Fuyin’s eyes, quickly spreading into a blaze of madness—what better offering in death than the life of a sovereign ruler? He nearly burst out laughing.
Indeed, now stripped of martial skill and gravely injured, so weak even Han Ben deemed him unworthy of precautions—still, the training from the Seven Kill Camp was etched into his bones. He still knew how to kill without using martial arts.
For instance—poison.
“Take me back to the manor. I don’t want to run anymore. I want to confess to Wangye personally, in exchange for leniency,” Fuyin said.
Han Ben was taken aback, replying, “If that’s your decision, I’ll support you. But tonight is not the time. Tomorrow morning, I’ll bring you.”
Fuyin replied stiffly, “It has to be tonight. Han Ben, if you don’t help me, I’ll kill myself. Then you’ll get nothing.”
He tore off the cloth covering his eyes. His pupils glowed crimson—not enhanced by any demonic arts, but still eerie. “Han Ben, don’t forget the vow you made to Yin Fu—you trusted him, cherished him, were willing to go through fire and water for him. Now you’re going back on your word, forcing him to his death?”
Han Ben stared at Fuyin, expression tangled, as if finding this person before him utterly incomprehensible—yet unable to abandon him to fate.
His chest seemed filled with a thousand words, yet he couldn’t speak. Finally, he sighed deeply and reached for the pressure point on Fuyin’s neck.
—Han Ben is going to kill me?! Fuyin, after a moment of horror, was filled with cold ridicule and disappointment. He let his body go limp and collapsed toward Han Ben’s chest just before contact.
Han Ben had intended to strike the sleeping point, but seeing Fuyin faint and his breath disappear, he panicked and caught him—only to feel a sudden sharp pain in his lower back.
As if a spark entered his bloodstream, his entire body erupted in burning agony—Han Ben convulsed violently, mouth open but unable to speak.
Fuyin gasped for air, pulled out the poisoned dagger shaped like a thorn, and with trembling hands, searched Han Ben’s robes for the guard captain’s command token.
His heart was elated, yet tears blurred his vision. He blinked hard and sneered: “I knew I couldn’t trust you. No—can’t trust the soul enchantment technique. No matter how powerful, it’s still an external force. If it clashes with someone’s true will, it breaks.”
He shoved Han Ben to the ground and staggered back, asking, “When did you break free of the enchantment? Was it when I forced you to take me back tonight? Are you that determined to protect your Wangye, afraid he’ll be accused of regicide and condemned by all?”
The poison made Han Ben’s limbs spasm. His eyes filled with pain and sorrow as he moved his lips to speak.
Fuyin turned to go but couldn’t resist leaning close for the answer.
“When I pushed open the door… and saw you… I woke up. I knew… it wasn’t worth it… I planned… to cut ties for good… but… seeing you hurt… powers lost… no one to care if you live or die… I couldn’t bear it… just thought… to pull you… out once…”
I couldn’t bear it. Just thought to pull you out once.
Fuyin repeated in a daze. What was he saying? Lies. All lies. No one comes back. Not his senior, not Han Ben. It wasn’t his true intention—just the enchantment’s effect.
Han Ben was just a tool. Now useless to him and a hindrance—disposing of him was only natural.
—He couldn’t possibly have truly wanted to save me.
—Even if he did… what could he offer me? Wealth? Power? Freedom? No. I’ve always known—he could offer none of that.
—Then what is it that I actually want?
In that moment of disorientation, the poisoned blade slipped from his hand.
Han Ben, trembling, dragged his fingers across the floor until he clutched the thin, sharp flute-sword and with all his strength, stabbed Fuyin in the leg.
Fuyin fell to one knee, staring down at Han Ben in surprise—oddly, he didn’t feel much pain.
Must be the medicine numbing my body, he thought.
“…Han Ben,” he murmured dreamily, “Are you dying?”
But Han Ben couldn’t utter a word—black blood, mingled with bits of organs, poured from his mouth.
“At least I have you… to be buried with me,” Fuyin whispered, his last breath slipping out. He collapsed onto Han Ben’s body.
“Pity… it’s only you… But still… not bad…”
He murmured as he closed his blood-red eyes.
In his dreams, a flute’s melody wound like spring wind through green branches. Beneath the branches stood someone, holding his hand, ready to go home together.
