“Boss, things are going smoothly — the two sides are fighting again.” A man’s voice came from a cave inside the brush.

“Good.” Another man’s voice rose. “Report to the master, let him know the situation.”

“Yes.” The man who had gone inside answered.

Jian Yi was in no hurry. He held his breath and waited off to the side.

Before long, the black-clad man appeared outside the brush again, and a pigeon left his hand, flying off toward the forest.

Suddenly, a long sword pressed against the black-clad man’s throat — Jian Yi stared at him coldly.

“Who are you?”

This man was one of the outsiders who had entered through the North Gate a few days earlier — Jian Yi recognized the faint scar on the left side of his face.

No wonder the brothers said they’d lost his trail — he’d hidden himself deep in the mountains.

“You won’t get the chance to find out.” The black-clad man curled his lips, then suddenly frowned, his face darkening at once.

Jian Yi seemed to catch some strange sound, his thick brows furrowing — with no time to spare for caution, he leapt instantly.

The moment the black-clad man, having bitten through his own tongue, collapsed to the ground, a hissing sound rang out — a dense volley of cold arrows shot out from the brush.

Had Jian Yi not dodged in time, his body would already be riddled with holes.

A small, delicate figure appeared in the ravine, cutting off the fleeing man’s escape.

Before the man could react, Feng Jiu’er flicked her slender finger, sending a small pebble flying to strike him.

Struck on his acupoint, the man crashed onto the rocks with a thud.

Jian Yi arrived before Feng Jiu’er in an instant and picked the fallen man up.

“Only one left?” Feng Jiu’er asked in a low voice.

“Mm.” Jian Yi nodded. “The other one killed himself.”

“Good. We’ll talk back at camp.” Feng Jiu’er turned and moved off through the ravine.

Jian Yi hauled the man along and quickly followed.

The moment they returned outside the camp, Xiao Yingtao came up to meet them with a dozen or so brothers, Tuoba Keyan approached from another direction with his own men, and Qiao Mu came back alone.

“Jiu’er, no other suspicious people spotted for now.” Xiao Yingtao said quietly.

“Nothing on my side either.” Tuoba Keyan’s voice rose.

Holding a pigeon, Qiao Mu glanced at the man Jian Yi had dropped on the ground, then handed Feng Jiu’er a letter.

Feng Jiu’er took the letter, glanced at it, and handed it back to Qiao Mu.

“Have it sent out.”

“Mm.” Qiao Mu took the letter, rolled it up, and placed it back in the small tube tied to the carrier pigeon’s leg.

Feng Jiu’er took out a pill, walked over to the black-clad man, pushed it into his mouth, and forcefully tilted his head back.

Once she saw the man had swallowed the pill, she lightly furrowed her moth brows.

“Jian Yi, take him inside. I have questions to ask.”

“Good.” Jian Yi nodded, and just as before, hauled the black-clad man up like prey and turned to leave.

“Xiao Yingtao and Keyan, keep leading the brothers to watch the surroundings — make sure no other eyes are watching us from anywhere.” Feng Jiu’er continued giving orders.

“Mm, understood.” Xiao Yingtao nodded.

“Yes.” Tuoba Keyan answered as well.

The two led their men away, and Feng Jiu’er turned to follow Jian Yi’s footsteps.

Inside the tent, the black-clad man was bound to an iron frame, his head hanging limply.

Feng Jiu’er pulled over a chair, sat in the middle of the tent, and raised her eyes to look at the bound man.

“Has Nanmeng Zhuo arrived yet?”

“Reporting to Miss Jiu’er, someone’s already gone to fetch him. He should be here soon.”

“Good.” The moment Feng Jiu’er nodded, faint footsteps sounded outside.

Nanmeng Zhuo lifted the tent flap and walked in, glanced at the man on the iron frame, then let his gaze fall on the woman seated in the chair.

“Miss Jiu’er, what exactly is going on here?”

Nanmeng Zhuo had only arrived at the North Gate camp in the middle of the night, never expecting that he’d return to news of someone trying to cause trouble.

“Go take a look — do you recognize this man?” Feng Jiu’er turned her head and glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

Nanmeng Zhuo nodded and walked over toward the black-clad man.

“Jian Yi, release his acupoints.” Feng Jiu’er’s voice rose.

“Jiu’er, these are death warriors — I’m worried…” Recalling what had just happened, Jian Yi still hesitated a little.

“It’s fine. Having taken my special medicine, even if he wants to bite his tongue, he won’t have the strength to manage it.” Feng Jiu’er waved a hand.

Jian Yi nodded, stepped over, and pressed two fingers down on two points on the man’s body.

Seeing the man go limp all over, Jian Yi finally relaxed, turning to return to Feng Jiu’er’s side.

The black-clad man raised his eyes briefly, then let his head droop low again.

“Kill me or cut me up, do as you please. We take the money… and do the job. We’d rather die than… speak of our master’s affairs, we…”

“Miss Jiu’er, this man isn’t from Crow Wood City. I’ve never seen him before.”

Nanmeng Zhuo studied him carefully for a while, making sure the man hadn’t disguised his appearance, before turning back to look at Feng Jiu’er.

“Let’s hope he’s not your man — otherwise I won’t be able to tolerate you either.” Feng Jiu’er glanced at Nanmeng Zhuo, her voice carrying a faint edge.

“Miss Jiu’er has no need to doubt my sincerity.” Nanmeng Zhuo replied quietly.

“If I weren’t sincere, it wouldn’t only harm the Nanmeng family — it would harm every brother and every commoner in Crow Wood City.”

“Given how things stand now, I have no other choice left to make. And Miss Jiu’er has always kept her word — why would I betray you?”

Feng Jiu’er paid Nanmeng Zhuo no more attention, letting her gaze settle on the black-clad man as she rose and walked over.

Feeling a wave of cold pressing in on him, the black-clad man tried to ignore it but couldn’t.

Some force he couldn’t name forced his eyes upward, and the moment he met the gaze of this small, delicate woman, he wanted to look away but found himself powerless to do so.

She was nothing but a small, breathtakingly beautiful woman, and yet she struck such fear into him that the man couldn’t even get words out.

“Who exactly sent you?” Feng Jiu’er’s moth brows knit slightly, several silver needles appearing in her hand.

The man’s eyes widened as he stared at the slowly enlarging needles, the dread rising in his heart more intense than the fear of death itself.

“Jiu’er, there’s no need to dirty your hands.” Qiao Mu lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.

With Nanmeng Zhuo conveniently present too, it was just the right time for her to show off her skill.

Qiao Mu glanced briefly at Nanmeng Zhuo off to the side, then came up beside Feng Jiu’er.

Feng Jiu’er looked at her and seemed to understand her intent.

“All right.” She looked at Qiao Mu and raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead!”

Qiao Mu nodded, the corner of her mouth curling faintly upward.

Feng Jiu’er stepped aside to make room. Qiao Mu stood before the black-clad man, her gaze just as chilling.

“You… what are you going to do?” The man, still reeling from the needles, felt his dread deepen further at the sight of Qiao Mu’s expression.

Qiao Mu stared at the man without blinking, the corner of her mouth slowly curving into a smile tinged with something sinister.

Bound on the iron frame, the man breathed deep and heavy, his eyes gradually growing hazy.

In less than the time it takes incense to burn half a stick, the man’s eyes had gone dull and unfocused, as though he were possessed, leaving anyone who saw it unsettled.