Second Young Master Fan could no longer feel pain. The wound on his throat had been struck too deep. San Nan’s technique was extremely precise—he hadn’t allowed Second Young Master Fan to make a single sound, bleeding him dry just like slaughtering a chicken. San Nan didn’t look at Second Young Master Fan’s bulging eyes. Only after slashing his face beyond recognition did he use all his strength to kick his body, watching it rapidly roll down the mountain slope. After confirming three times over that nothing had been left behind in the vicinity, he clutched the bundle of Second Young Master Fan’s belongings and swiftly descended the mountain.

Sitting in the carriage, Fan San finally felt like he’d recovered his life. He wiped his eyes, which were streaming tears from the thick smoke, and began to worry about his Second Young Master. Though Second Young Master was foolish, he was still Second Young Master after all. If he was lost… his heart trembled. If he was lost and discovered by the Imperial Guard or the Imperial Grand Grandson’s men, the Fan family would be finished. If the Fan family was finished, his own father, mother, wife, and children would all suffer together. He could only keep chanting Buddha’s name in his heart, begging the Bodhisattva to open their eyes and let Young Master San Nan successfully bring Second Young Master back.

The carriage moved very quickly. Fan San’s eyes had been severely smoked, and after streaming tears for a long time, they were both sore and painful. Gradually, he couldn’t bear it anymore and leaned against the carriage wall, closing his eyes.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he suddenly noticed the carriage become heavier—someone had suddenly appeared in the compartment. This was no small matter. His entire body couldn’t help but jump up, and his head struck heavily against the carriage roof. Only after seeing a large, round, smooth bald head did he forcibly suppress his cry, shrinking sullenly to one side—it was San Nan.

He’d just breathed a sigh of relief when he couldn’t help but feel anxious again. Looking left and right without seeing Second Young Master Fan, he couldn’t help but ask: “Young Master San Nan, where is our Second Young Master… didn’t you find him?”

If he hadn’t been found… his heart pounded like a drum, and his complexion became extremely poor.

San Nan coldly threw the seal, jade pendant, and brocade pouch from his chest at him all at once, saying expressionlessly: “Dead.” He looked at Fan San, whose mouth was hanging open looking rather foolish, and added neither warmly nor coldly: “The Imperial Guard had already begun searching the back mountain. If I’d brought him along, I couldn’t have escaped, so I could only kill him. Someone like him couldn’t keep secrets.”

Having followed Second Young Master Fan for so long, Fan San of course knew his Second Young Master’s nature—greedy for life, afraid of death, choosing the easy path over the hard. If he’d been captured, the Imperial Guard probably wouldn’t even need to act—just opening their mouths to frighten him a few times would be enough for him to tell everything. His gaping mouth finally closed again with difficulty. Thinking that Second Young Master had actually died at the hands of this little baldy before him, he shrank back a bit fearfully: “But… but what if someone recognizes that it’s Second Young Master…”

“No one will recognize him.” San Nan’s voice was even colder and calmer. He didn’t even glance at Fan San cowering to the side, explaining flatly: “I slashed his face to pieces. I also stripped everything on his body bearing any marks. No one will be able to recognize him. When you return home, just tell your Fan family people this.”

Fan San knew then that his life was saved. Though returning home might still bring trouble, or even great misfortune, at least his life was preserved, wasn’t it? After all, Second Young Master hadn’t been lost because of him. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, thumping as if it wanted to leap out from his throat. He didn’t even know how he descended from the carriage—they couldn’t use the carriage anymore. To prevent pursuit, they now had to switch to horses.

San Nan watched that carriage plunge into the mountain ravine, then pulled on the reins and mounted his horse in one movement. Looking at the fat monk and the few remaining death warriors, his gaze lingered on them for a moment before he pointed at the fat monk: “You take him and leave. Go now, board a ship directly from Jinzhong. Don’t wait for me.”

The fat monk seemed shocked. After hesitating a moment, he called out to him: “Little Master Uncle, where are you going? Let’s go together…”

San Nan firmly shook his head. He had already failed many times. Huangjue Temple had also failed several times against the Song family and Song Chuyi. If helping Fan Liangdi this time also ended in failure, and even cost Fan Liangdi her own brother, Huangjue Temple’s future usefulness in the eyes of Fan Liangdi and Prince Dongping would be greatly diminished. He couldn’t allow such a thing to happen.

If he hadn’t guessed wrong, the ones who went up the mountain to the temple should only be Ye Jingkuan or Commander Zhou. Zhou Weizhao had been injured and his vital energy greatly damaged, and Song Chuyi was just a woman—they should both have remained at the foot of the mountain. Going back now… going back now, with the men he’d brought and himself, there might still be a possibility of making a desperate last stand.

The fat monk couldn’t dissuade him—he’d never been able to dissuade this Little Master Uncle. Though Little Master Uncle was young, he was Master Yuanhui’s only disciple. Even the abbot and his own master, Yuanjue, showed him great affection. He struggled for a while, then shivered under San Nan’s gradually cooling gaze and swiftly acknowledged the order, leading Fan San away on horseback at a gallop.

San Nan’s movements were even faster than his. Seeing him turn around, he led eight or nine death warriors to swiftly turn their horses around, taking a detour to the south of the mountain. Just reaching the foot of the mountain, San Nan saw Ye Jingchuan guarding in front of a carriage, along with about twenty or so soldiers around him—to lure their side’s people into the trap, Zhou Weizhao had dispatched all the Imperial Guard to those three roads. The other Imperial Guard from the capital were now all on the mountain at the temple.

Finally, he’d found the main target. Expressionlessly, he waved his hand, and the death warriors behind him leaped from their horses and swiftly charged toward the carriage over there.

With so many people suddenly surging forth, the originally bored soldiers were caught somewhat unprepared and were beaten back step by step. Qing Zhuo and Han Feng, protecting Zhou Weizhao’s carriage, also struggled somewhat—the three roads should have already dispersed quite a bit of this group’s manpower, plus those left behind on the mountain. They really hadn’t expected so many death warriors to surge forth all at once.

San Nan’s gaze fell on the carriage beside Ye Jingchuan, gloomy and cold. After a moment, he suddenly drew out the dagger he’d used earlier to kill Second Young Master Fan and viciously stabbed it into his own horse’s rear end.

The horse, startled and in pain, immediately bolted wildly. One after another, they charged toward Ye Jingchuan’s side.

When these tall, powerful horses went mad, their killing power was astonishing. Several soldiers were trampled beneath the horses’ hooves. By the time Ye Jingchuan realized something was wrong, it was already too late. One horse after another galloped over wildly. The horses hitched to Song Chuyi’s carriage were struck hard several times and also became startled, rearing up on their front legs almost standing upright, then throwing the coachman off and charging around chaotically without direction.

Qing Luo and Han Yan were stunned for a moment before immediately stepping forward trying to grab the reins, but the horses struggled fiercely. Stimulated by the surrounding horses, they were completely out of control.

Song Chuyi was violently thrown against the carriage wall, feeling that even though felt padding was laid out, the jolting was about to displace all her internal organs.