Around midnight, the seventh leader had forced his way into Yiji Hall.

Just before dawn, Xiahou Zuo had forced his way into Yiji Hall.

The difference was that Xiahou Zuo was clearly more direct.

He heard Steward Yu say the name Wang Deng, turned to look, and asked, “In that case — who is Wang Deng?”

At this moment Wang Deng’s legs had already gone soft. He instinctively tried to shrink backward, but had nowhere to go — the people behind him pressed their shoulders together, refusing to let him retreat.

Everyone understood: if he left, others might die. No one at that moment dared to feel resentment toward Xiahou Zuo — the resentment was all directed at Wang Deng, for why he had ever accepted this one contract.

Steward Yu pointed at Wang Deng and said, “He is Wang Deng.”

Wang Deng spun around and dropped to his knees before Xiahou Zuo with a crash. The arrogant, disdainful manner he’d always carried was nowhere to be seen — Yiji Hall’s people all saw themselves as distinguished, wearing an expression of contempt for others at all times.

“Young master Xiahou, please hear me out.”

Wang Deng knelt there. “I too was deceived. I didn’t know Li Chi was your closest friend. I…”

Thud!

Xiahou Zuo had absolutely no intention of listening to anything he had to say.

He cut Wang Deng down in one stroke, then turned and walked to Steward Song, standing before this figure who could raise storms in the underworld.

“Steward Song. Is this matter settled between us now?”

Xiahou Zuo asked.

Steward Song’s eyes were webbed with red. He pressed down the rage in his chest. His voice went very cold. “Young master Xiahou, your people came and killed once in the night, and now you have come and killed again. You ask if it’s settled? Ha. What standing do I have to say it’s settled?”

Xiahou Zuo nodded. “So it’s not settled yet.”

He pivoted abruptly. The person nearest to him had no time to react before the saber struck him down.

Xiahou Zuo asked, “Is it settled?”

Steward Song’s eyes went wide open. “Xiahou Zuo!”

Thud!

Another one.

Xiahou Zuo asked, “Is it settled?”

Steward Song’s teeth ground together — the sound of it said everything about the fury churning inside him.

Yet this was reality: the person killing his men before his very eyes was Xiahou Zuo, son of Prince Yu. So even if he ground his teeth to powder, it was useless.

“Not yet?”

Xiahou Zuo moved toward Steward Yu. As he walked, he said, “I know you have a Distribution Hall and an Execution Hall. Who is the master of the Distribution Hall?”

Steward Yu didn’t answer — instead he looked toward Steward Song. “Grand Steward! Call it settled!”

Steward Song continued to grind his teeth, because he knew perfectly well: once he acknowledged it, Yiji Hall was finished. But if he didn’t acknowledge it — would Yiji Hall not be finished anyway? And yet he was in an impossible position. He was the grand steward.

“I’ll fight you to the death — better dead anyway!”

At that moment, someone could endure the pressure and the fury no longer, seized a saber, and charged at Xiahou Zuo.

The assembled men, compressed to the breaking point, had reached the edge of collapse.

Xiahou Zuo looked at the one charging toward him. He stood facing forward, didn’t move, didn’t even raise his saber. He was deliberately waiting — to see if the people of Yiji Hall had the nerve to let him take a wound here.

Thud!

This time it was Steward Yu who acted. This man who seemed on the surface to only know how to throw tantrums, and supposedly had no real ability at all — a thin flexible blade flashed out from his sleeve, and with a soft piercing sound, it drove through the charging assassin’s throat.

“Young master Xiahou.” Steward Yu stepped forward and bowed. “Yiji Hall’s daily affairs are managed by me. So this matter should properly be my responsibility. I didn’t know at the time what relationship Li Chi and young master Xiahou shared — I simply knew the contract had been taken.”

He dropped the flexible blade to the floor, walked to stand before Xiahou Zuo. “If young master Xiahou has not yet vented enough, kill me with one stroke, and this matter is settled.”

Xiahou Zuo had been using the strategy of pressing forward by feigning retreat. Was Steward Yu not doing the same?

Taking a small advantage and ruining a foundation — how many times had that happened in the merchant world? Especially in the assassins’ business: once they took silver and killed someone, provided there was no real evidence, how could they ever be compelled to admit it?

But that was the business they were in. If contracts went untaken, Yiji Hall would be in even greater difficulty. The grand steward cared nothing about daily affairs or whether there were contracts — but he had expectations to be met.

Yet Steward Yu did genuinely regret it — because he had later learned that Li Chi and Xiahou Zuo were friends, but felt there was nothing to be done about it. Provided it didn’t come to light, who would know how Li Chi had died?

Yiji Hall’s larger failing was that it had grown too close to official circles. That was a double-edged blade: they could work for officials and profit from it, yet when the officials wanted to move against them, they found themselves helpless.

Steward Yu understood: Xiahou Zuo’s deliberate stillness just then had been to force Yiji Hall to offer a response.

Now, by stepping forward himself, he had given that response.

The two men had used the same approach — only with slightly different methods.

“Oh.”

Xiahou Zuo said, then cut Steward Yu down with one stroke.

The methods were indeed different.

“Did you think your standing was sufficient?”

Xiahou Zuo looked at the fallen body. Every face around him had gone bloodless. Who could have expected this — Steward Yu had come forward of his own accord to apologize, and Xiahou Zuo had still killed him.

Xiahou Zuo looked toward Steward Song. “Is it settled now?”

Every tooth in Steward Song’s mouth was drawn with blood.

“Young master Xiahou, please leave. Yiji Hall will never again accept any contract connected to Li Chi.”

At last, Steward Song lowered his head.

Xiahou Zuo stepped to Steward Song, standing so close they were nearly touching. He looked into Steward Song’s eyes and asked with relentless pressure: “I don’t quite follow what you mean. Is that to say — it’s settled?”

Steward Song jerked his head up to meet Xiahou Zuo’s gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment. At last Steward Song slowly exhaled, then nodded. “Yes, young master Xiahou. It’s settled.”

Xiahou Zuo said, “Good. No hard feelings?”

Steward Song replied, “No hard feelings.”

Xiahou Zuo tossed his saber aside. “Leave the saber here. Hang it somewhere it can always be seen. With this saber here, you’ll always have something to keep in mind — third-rate business is third-rate business. No matter how much style you put around it, it’s still third-rate.”

He walked out.

Sure enough, the number of Military Preparedness soldiers outside had grown and grown. And by now, word had reached them that Xiahou Zuo had entered Yiji Hall and begun killing, and Military Preparedness General Jiang Ran was already riding toward the scene.

Xiahou Zuo stepped outside and tilted his head to look at the sky. The sky had already brightened. The red morning sun was not the least bit warm — the morning cold so heavy — yet he felt no chill. The eyes of the people around him seemed to be saying the chill came from him.

Xiahou Zuo boarded his carriage, sat down, and let out a long slow breath.

He genuinely hadn’t wanted to use Prince Yu’s son’s standing to accomplish anything. But he found that in the end, it was this standing that worked — and this way of handling things was exactly how his father Prince Yu Yang Jixing handled things.

The carriage moved off. Yiji Hall fell into utter silence.

A long while later, from within Yiji Hall came a scream — a howl that seemed to tear from the very core of the chest.

Steward Song, who had always appeared cultured and refined, even with a faint air of otherworldly grace, released an anguished cry. The veins on his forehead bulged and stood out.

“Grand Steward…”

A cluster of people looked toward Steward Song. One of them opened his mouth, but the rest of the words wouldn’t come.

What was there left to say?

From the founding of Yiji Hall until now, this was its most profound and devastating humiliation. They had been massacred twice, and now they had no choice but to bow their heads and accept it.

“Grand Steward…”

Song Dongzhu approached with great care, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “You… why don’t you go rest, and we’ll handle things here.”

“You’ll handle things?!”

Steward Song raised his hand and struck Song Dongzhu hard across the face — the blow heavy enough to leave half his face instantly red and swollen.

“For petty profit, with no thought for consequences — I should never have handed the hall’s affairs over to any of you!”

Steward Song shouted.

His chest heaved violently. After a long time, Steward Song waved his hand. “Scatter, all of you. There is no more Yiji Hall. I have no face left. None of you have any face left. From this moment forward, each of you finds your own way to survive.”

He turned in defeat, thinking that perhaps Yiji Hall was better off dissolved — at worst, he could rebuild from nothing and create a new Yiji Hall someday.

He looked at Steward Yu’s headless body on the floor and thought: why were you such an idiot? I handed the hall’s daily operations to you, and for a mere four hundred taels of silver you threw away my entire guild.

He let out a long breath and moved to leave.

Just then, a wave of rhythmic footsteps sounded from outside — and then they could see that the Military Preparedness soldiers who had been standing watch on the street were rapidly pulling back. The Military Preparedness figures had barely withdrawn before column after column of solemn, disciplined Dachu garrison soldiers arrived.

These soldiers swiftly surrounded Yiji Hall front and back, sealing off the streets on both sides as well.

A carriage stopped before Yiji Hall’s gate. Two servants quickly bent down and supported the passenger climbing out.

Prince Yu had just entered the city when this news reached him. He gave the order for troops to advance directly on Yiji Hall.

Behind Prince Yu, Military Governor Zeng Ling followed, his own face equally grim.

Prince Yu stepped through the gate and looked around. Steward Song immediately dropped to his knees.

“This commoner pays his respects to the Prince.”

Servants brought two chairs. Prince Yu and Zeng Ling sat — not in the main hall proper, but just inside the gateway.

“Was my son just here?”

Prince Yu asked.

Steward Song did not dare not answer, kneeling as he said, “Yes — young master Xiahou was just here.”

Prince Yu asked again, “He came to kill people?”

Steward Song hastened to reply, “Yes — he killed a number of people within the hall, and the hall’s steward Yu Yan was also killed by young master Xiahou…”

Prince Yu asked again, “I heard some of your people fought back?”

Steward Song felt every hair on his head stand on end.

He knelt there, continuing to knock his head against the floor — just as Wang Deng had knocked his head before Xiahou Zuo — one knock after another, each striking the floor solidly.

“Your Highness, no — no, Your Highness. When young master Xiahou arrived, no one dared to block his path, much less fight back.”

Prince Yu looked at him, and closed his eyes.

Military Governor Zeng Ling understood Prince Yu’s meaning at once. He extended his hand and pointed forward: “Exterminate them.”

“Kill!”

A great swarm of armored garrison soldiers poured into Yiji Hall. Crossbow bolts and arrows fell like a downpour. The hall’s people had not at all anticipated another slaughter — and this time it was a true slaughter.

Countless armored soldiers pressed forward. Arrows led the charge, blades swept in waves. The assassins fled in every direction, but how could they flee? Yiji Hall was entirely surrounded, water-tight. Those who leaped over the walls were cut down by arrows before they even hit the ground.

The soldiers began killing anyone in sight — assassin or servant, even the kitchen staff. Not one person escaped the massacre.

A full hour passed. The garrison soldiers swept through Yiji Hall again and again, searching every corner, until they confirmed there was not a single survivor before assembling and withdrawing.

Prince Yu rose, glanced at Steward Song — now bristling with arrows like a hedgehog — and murmured to himself, “My son does things that are not thorough enough. If you do it, do it to the roots. Otherwise leave it alone.”

He turned to go, speaking as he walked: “Lord Zeng, this land where Yiji Hall stood — take it. All account books and silver stores, send them to the Prince’s residence.”

Zeng Ling inclined his head. “By your command, Your Highness.”

—