Facing the black-clad man, Ziqing’s waist was locked in a tight grip; her throat was pinned beneath his crushing claws. Yet her hand still clenched tight around the dagger buried in his abdomen, refusing to let go.
This was her last chance.
He was dragging her north through the pitch-black forest at a rapid pace. She had no intention of letting him take her much farther. Suddenly she pushed the dagger, twisting it deeper, driving it in!
As expected, his claws instantly tightened around her neck. She let go at once, and only then did he release his grip as well.
He said nothing, seemingly intent on getting her far from the hunting grounds as quickly as possible.
Ziqing understood perfectly well — once they got far enough, given her current state, if reinforcements arrived, she’d be finished.
If she fought, her life would be in danger — his claw strike earlier had shown no mercy, matching her own ruthlessness stroke for stroke.
If she didn’t fight, where was he taking her?
And who exactly was this man?
She’d recognized the voice earlier — that same deliberately hoarse tone — but something felt off, and she couldn’t be certain anymore.
Jun Beiyao’s martial skill, while decent, was nowhere near enough for this kind of endurance. That stab to the abdomen hadn’t been for show — for this man to still be holding her hostage after that was no small feat.
Ziqing chose not to fight.
She was stubborn, but not reckless. She fought with everything she had, but never gambled with her life for nothing. This man clearly had no intention of killing her — why would she go looking for death herself?
A cold smile curved her pale lips. Without warning, Ziqing yanked the dagger free — and in that instant, she felt a rush of warm blood spray against her abdomen.
The black-clad man let out a muffled grunt of pain, caught off guard by her sudden release, but still wary of her — he didn’t loosen his grip.
“Do you think holding me hostage will actually threaten Prince Yao?” Ziqing sneered coldly, testing him.
But the man was too clever to answer. Silent, he slowly settled onto a fallen tree trunk to rest, raising a hand to send a signal calling for his companions.
To her shock, the moment the signal went out, a white figure materialized out of thin air at the far end of the trunk — startling not only the black-clad man but Ziqing as well.
This man’s face was veiled in white gauze, revealing only a pair of clear, cold eyes utterly devoid of warmth. His frame was slender and tall, his white robe and silver hair whipping wildly in the wind — carrying both the refined elegance of a banished immortal and the wild audacity of a demon.
He came bare-handed, carrying no weapon at all.
“Who are you?”
The black-clad man immediately tensed, clutching Ziqing tighter. This newcomer was clearly no ally.
The white-robed figure watched him from a distance, saying nothing. His long, elegant hand rose slowly, graceful and unhurried.
Precisely because of that calm, the tension only grew unbearable. What exactly was he planning to do?
The black-clad man couldn’t help but retreat, wounded as he was, forced to give ground.
Then, suddenly — “Bang!” — a burst of pressure erupted from nowhere, and a blade of wind shot forward, striking directly at the hand clamped around Ziqing’s throat. Blood sprayed instantly from the back of his hand, and without warning, the black-clad man’s grip released!
Ziqing had seen it clearly in that instant — the man had done nothing more than snap his fingers in the air.
A wind blade! The very thing Jun Beiyue had once spoken of!
Arrows could be shot from a bow, the Wuzheng could be played without touching its strings — but she’d never imagined someone could possess hands so skilled, so powerful, that a mere snap of the fingers could conjure a blade of wind out of thin air!
The black-clad man saw it too and immediately turned to flee. The white-robed man stood perfectly still, but both his hands rose, ten fingers plucking at the empty air as though playing an invisible zither.
In an instant, wind blades rained down like a thousand arrows, striking the black-clad man again and again — every single strike landing on a vital point!
So the white-robed man hadn’t come to rescue anyone — he’d come to kill.
Gravely wounded already, the black-clad man had no way to counter. He shoved Ziqing forward, using her as a shield — but the white-robed man shifted position instantly, sending the next wind blade in from the side!
The black-clad man used Ziqing as a shield again, and again the white-robed man shifted. At first the black-clad man could keep pace, but after several exchanges, the blood from his abdomen worsened, and his movements began to slow.
Finally, the white-robed man soared upward in a breathtaking arc, sending a wind blade slashing down from above. Startled, the black-clad man shoved Ziqing away, pressing one hand to his stomach while raising his sword with the other to block. At that exact moment, black-clad assassins surged out from every direction, forming a protective ring around him — all of them crossbowmen! Reinforcements had arrived!
The black-clad man snarled furiously, “Kill him!”
At once, arrows whistled through the air like a sudden downpour. Ziqing, slumped on the ground, immediately threw herself flat — her life hanging by a thread!
Yet at that very moment, the white-robed man charged straight into the hail of arrows, sweeping his arm through the air — and a massive wind blade tore through the storm, shattering a swath of arrows in one stroke!
The black-clad assassins scattered instantly into an encircling formation, and amid the rain of arrows, several more assassins closed in from all sides with short crossbows, pressing the attack at close range!
How precisely trained would crossbowmen have to be, to fire through an arrow storm without ever hitting their own allies?
Crossbows — from Western Chu! Chu Tiange’s proudest weapon!
The thought flashed through her mind just as the white-robed man yanked her up in one swift motion. At the same instant, a short blade whistled past her shoulder, slicing clean through her clothing!
The white-robed man pulled her close, spinning sharply in one fierce motion — a blade of wind swept out in a full circle. The black-clad assassins fell wherever blood was drawn, the wind blade clearing a path as the white-robed man surged forward, finally breaking free of the arrow storm and escaping into the distance!
“After them!”
The black-clad man roared furiously, tearing the veil from his face — and it was none other than Prince Xiang of Western Chu, Chu Tiange.
He was furious — furious with himself for hesitating over Han Ziqing, furious that he couldn’t bring himself to kill her, furious that he’d even considered bringing her back to Western Chu.
The returning cavalry caught up with him. Chu Feiyan, watching her bedraggled brother from atop her carriage in the distance, sneered coldly. “Prince Xiang, it’s just a woman. Is it really worth all this? Careful you don’t end up a ghost beneath her skirts.”
With that, the cavalry turned and rode north… Great Zhou’s political turmoil left no one to properly see off Western Chu’s envoy as they departed…
At this very moment, in the Xuanwu Hall, every door and window stood sealed shut.
Jun Beiyue had dragged General Ouyang straight into the palace, and before the shocked eyes of the court, had shoved him into the Xuanwu Hall. He, Emperor Tianhui, and General Ouyang had remained inside ever since, none of them emerging.
Yingzi waited anxiously outside the hall, unable to report anything, seeing no sign of anyone coming out.
Inside the hall, Emperor Tianhui sat upon the golden dragon throne, unable to hide his agitation. General Ouyang lay sprawled on the floor, having been thrown down hard, desperately pleading his innocence. Jun Beiyue stood battered and bloodstained, yet upright and unshaken, his cold eyes fixed accusingly on the general.
“Your Majesty, you must believe this old servant! The archers were Chancellor Han’s men — it was Chancellor Han who conspired with the Xijing tribes! This old servant only mobilized troops out of necessity, to protect Great Zhou’s territory!”
“Your Majesty, now that Prince Yao has returned, this old servant will naturally return command of the troops. This old servant is willing to fully assist Prince Yao!”
…
He never could have imagined Jun Beiyue would actually make it back alive. Such a meticulously planned assassination — he’d even deployed the wolves of Xijing, and stationed three thousand assassins in ambush just outside the capital!
Was this man truly some war god risen from hell itself?
Emperor Tianhui said nothing, only watched. The weight that had hung over him for days finally lifted — his Fourth Son wasn’t dead. As long as Beiyue had returned, nothing else mattered, no matter how grave.
“Bang!”
Suddenly, a military dispatch was hurled hard, striking General Ouyang square on the head. Jun Beiyue’s fury boiled over. “Spare me your whimpering in my Xuanwu Hall — look at this yourself!”