The two left the city, riding swiftly towards the dock.
Information about their target was scarce, so they had to arrive early to investigate in person.
The Misty Mountain Villa earned its fortune through assassination contracts, often killing those who didn’t deserve to die. Over the years, many unsolved murder cases were linked to them. Disregarding its connections to the Liao state, the imperial court desperately wanted to eliminate this den of assassins.
Once, an official petitioned to send troops to raid the Misty Mountain Villa. Though troops were dispatched, they found only an empty outpost, its occupants long gone after receiving a warning. The raid became a laughingstock.
The main location of the Misty Mountain Villa remained deeply hidden. In the jianghu world, those seeking to do business with them would visit a manor near Zhending Prefecture in Western Hebei. The court had secretly attempted arrests several times, but the Villa’s agents were all willing to die for their cause. When cornered, they’d find ways to commit suicide, leaving no leads.
The Crane Control Army was the last line of defense for the Great Song Dynasty. They couldn’t leave the capital en masse unless necessary. They had rarely been assigned tasks related to the Misty Mountain Villa before, so despite gathering bits of intelligence over the past two years, they still lacked a complete picture.
In recent months, evidence emerged suggesting the Villa harbored Liao spies. The emperor deemed this tumor must be removed, so he tasked the Crane Control Army with the mission. Given the tight deadline, the Secret Commander ordered simultaneous raids on the Villa’s outposts, hoping to uncover their communication methods with the main base and follow the trail.
This strategy proved effective. Within half a month, they learned the Misty Mountain Villa was near Yangzhou in Eastern Huainan. However, the Villa reacted quickly, and the Crane Control Army still couldn’t pinpoint its exact location.
The fastest route from Bianjing to Yangzhou was by water. Bianjing sat midway along the Grand Canal, with the section from Bianjing to Jiangnan called the Bian River.
Chu Dingjiang and An Jiu arrived at the official dock to find a boat heading south.
The river was crowded with masts, boats coming and going. Over ten large ships were moored at the dock, along with numerous smaller vessels. Workers were unloading cargo from two of the larger ships.
The prosperous south produced abundant grain. In wartime, this canal could transport vast supplies from the south. Thus, the Great Song Dynasty prioritized river order from its founding, requiring imperial approval for private docks.
Near Bianjing, there were three small private docks, mainly for cargo transport and rarely for passengers. So Chu Dingjiang and An Jiu came to this official dock.
After finding a boatman, Chu Dingjiang took An Jiu to a nearby market to buy provisions.
“We set sail in an hour. The boatman said they don’t provide food,” Chu Dingjiang explained, pulling out two large cloth bags. At the market, he bought whatever edibles he saw and stuffed them in.
An Jiu silently followed, dragging the bags.
After a round of shopping, Chu Dingjiang headed back carrying two enormous bags, drawing stares from passersby.
An Jiu remained quiet until they boarded the boat. Then she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you were once a young master?”
Chu Dingjiang paused. “You mean I should have let you carry the luggage, as befits a young master who shouldn’t dirty his hands?”
“No, I just thought your earlier behavior suited your temperament perfectly,” An Jiu replied. Feeling her expression wasn’t clear enough, she added, “About being a young master… you weren’t just daydreaming, were you?”
Chu Dingjiang laughed heartily. “True nobility lies in the heart and bones. Others can’t imitate it.”
Even disregarding the two thousand or two hundred years between them, the ideological gap between An Jiu and him remained as vast as the Milky Way. Hearing his profound words, An Jiu found Chu Dingjiang truly humorous.
Unaware of her unique sense of humor, Chu Dingjiang saw her grinning and thought his charm remained undiminished.
Pleased with himself, he sorted out some ingredients that needed cooking and hoisted the bags. “I’ll take these to the ship’s cook. You rest a while.”
“Alright.”
An Jiu packed away the remaining items, piling them in a corner before going out to survey the ship.
The vessel was large, primarily for passengers, with some scattered cargo in the hold and large communal bunks for budget travelers. The middle section had cabins of various sizes.
An Jiu and Chu Dingjiang were staying in the smallest cabin at the far end of the middle section. Originally, the ship had been full, but Chu Dingjiang paid a hefty sum to have a cabin cleared for them. Consequently, they had to share a single room.
An Jiu didn’t mind. Missions were always tough, and it wasn’t their first time sharing a room. There was no point in being fussy.
After a quick look around, An Jiu was returning to their cabin when she encountered a group coming her way. Two burly men flanked a woman in a deep purple dress, wearing a veiled hat that half-concealed her face. As she walked, the veil fluttered, occasionally revealing a delicate chin and crimson lips. The four muscular men were nearly as tall as Chu Dingjiang, and the woman in the center wasn’t much shorter.
The passageway was narrow, forcing them to squeeze past each other. As An Jiu brushed shoulders with the woman, she caught a faint scent of medicine.
The woman’s extraordinary bearing made An Jiu look twice.
Seeming to sense the gaze upon her, the woman lowered her eyes slightly, her glance sweeping over An Jiu through the thin veil.
An Jiu was half a head shorter than the woman and lacked an imposing presence, but her calm, unflinching eyes gave an impression of unshakeable stability.
Their brief eye contact left an impression on both women, each sensing something unique in the other.
Shortly after An Jiu returned to the cabin, Chu Dingjiang came back.
“There’s a very special woman on board,” An Jiu said.
Chu Dingjiang sat across from her, pouring water. He looked up at her words. “Oh? Someone even more special than you?”
An Jiu nodded.
Chu Dingjiang sipped his tea. “Tell me about her.”
An Jiu’s spiritual power was formidable. If she found someone or something unusual, it certainly was. Chu Dingjiang never doubted this.
However, after pondering for a while, she simply said, “She’s truly extraordinary.”
“…”
Seeing Chu Dingjiang’s exasperated look, An Jiu realized her description was too vague. She added, “I sensed her spiritual power is around level eight or nine, but the aura she unconsciously emanates is far beyond that.”
“We’ll keep an eye out during the journey,” Chu Dingjiang said.
He sat on the bed, crossing his legs and closing his eyes to practice his skills. “If you feel bored, look around, but be back before dinner.”
An Jiu sat for a while, then got up to explore. They’d be on the boat for several days, so she needed to familiarize herself with the surroundings.
The lower deck was simple, just a large space sectioned off by wooden planks, with communal beds for sixty to seventy people. If passengers couldn’t afford better, men, women, old, and young all slept together. However, ordinary women rarely traveled far, and if they did, they were always accompanied by male family members.
Because all their belongings were there, despite the stuffiness below, everyone stayed to guard their things.
An Jiu observed that most were decently dressed, likely merchants.