The sun had completely set. The oppressively dark sky pressed down overhead, making people feel stifled and flustered. Sannan sat barefoot and cross-legged under a large banyan tree beside the official road, his lips already somewhat cracked. The fat monk who had been following him bent down, looked at the sky, and said to him: “Looking at the sky and calculating their pace, they should have truly taken that small path not far away. Should we go take a look, or continue guarding here?”
Sannan didn’t open his eyes. His master used to often say he had spiritual sensitivity—he was sensitive to all things in this world. His ears twitched in the wind, and he said softly: “A convoy is coming. The number of people is considerable.”
Because the weather was dry and he had waited too long without drinking water, the fat monk’s reddened face burned fiercely. He tiptoed out from behind the banyan tree and indeed heard the flying sound of horse hooves. He couldn’t help but widen his eyes and turn his head to look at Sannan: “There really is a convoy coming. Could it be they’re actually taking this route?!”
In an instant he calmed down again. Fortunately, to be safe, they had already set traps and ambushes on all three possible routes. No matter which one they took, as long as they were returning to Jinzhong, they couldn’t escape.
Sannan had also stood up, his expression bland as he watched the clouds of dust rising in the distance. His eyes were brimming with coldness, showing not a trace of a monk’s compassion—all these people deserved to die, all deserved to die.
The convoy gradually approached. His gaze changed from its original calm, waveless, and extremely cold state to one of shock and doubt. In just a moment, before he could react, the death warriors lying in ambush over there moved first—it had been agreed beforehand that if they saw Imperial Guards with embroidered spring sabers wearing flying fish robes, they would strike. But Sannan’s expression suddenly changed—though there truly were Imperial Guards, the Ye brothers and Commander Zhou were nowhere to be seen. Escorting the current Crown Prince, these two who possessed martial skills actually had the gall to shirk their duties? Not to mention they were the Crown Prince’s people to begin with—even if they weren’t, at this moment they absolutely shouldn’t be missing.
He smelled danger. Looking at the fat monk, he shouted sternly: “Leave quickly, don’t go over there!”
After speaking, he turned and fled wildly. The sand, stones, and mud on the road were no obstacle to him whatsoever. Since he learned to walk, he had never worn shoes. The calluses on the soles of his feet were already thicker than ordinary people’s shoe soles. He ran faster and faster, until at last he seemed almost to be flying.
Actually, he also knew that striking on any of these three routes wasn’t a good opportunity. But he had no choice. If he wanted to kill Zhou Weizhao and fulfill his master’s dying wish, this was his only chance. As expected, this route was much more difficult to navigate than he had imagined.
He ran barefoot wildly for who knows how long, finally arriving at the small path beside them. The mountain had already half-collapsed, rumbling and tumbling down with sand, stones, and mud clumps. Pine trees crashed thunderously to the ground one after another. In the dust flying everywhere, he strained his eyes to look into the distance. Similarly, he didn’t see the figures of Lai Chenglong, Ye Jingchuan, and others. None—not a single one.
Yet two hours ago, he had clearly received news saying Zhou Weizhao had already boarded the carriage and left the city gate. People had been guarding along the route. There was no reason they would have switched routes midway or slipped off to another place. His face pale, he looked at the Imperial Guards and death warriors fighting in a tangled mass below, then at the craftsmen scrambling to flee for their lives. His eyes were full of bewilderment and panic.
Where exactly had these people gone? Had that spy deceived him and given false information? These thoughts flashed rapidly through his mind. His hand resting on the tree trunk suddenly exerted force, and that wrist-thick tree was actually pinched by him into a circle of cracks.
No, that person didn’t have such audacity. He was Imperial Concubine Fan and Prince Dongping’s man—he couldn’t possibly give false information. Unless someone had deliberately leaked false information to him. But if the information Zhou Weizhao had leaked to him before was false, what did that mean? It meant that Zhou Weizhao and the others had simply used a counter-espionage stratagem.
They had thought they made thorough and meticulous arrangements, thought that all three routes had pits dug according to local conditions to bury people. They didn’t know that this pit had long been seen by the others, and that not far away, an even bigger pit had been dug for them.
Rage and unwillingness surged in his heart. That rage burned fiercely, almost consuming him entirely. After a moment, he closed his eyes, then closed them again, finally managing to calm his emotions. The more critical the moment, the less he could lose his composure. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to use his brain to think—if he were Zhou Weizhao, what would he do? Use the planted spy’s hand to send out information, perfectly avoid all three routes, interrogate the traitor, obtain information about the hiding place of these people who wanted to kill him… the hiding place… Sannan’s eyes suddenly widened—because he knew Second Master Fan was someone who accomplished nothing but ruined everything, he had left Second Master Fan on the mountain!
If Zhou Weizhao and Ye Jingkuan hadn’t taken any of the three routes, but they had left the city, then they should now be on the road to the mountain in the neighboring county!
If they caught Second Master Fan at the temple, Sannan closed his eyes, hardly daring to imagine the consequences. He no longer dared to linger and flew away at high speed, his toes touching the ground.
He could make it in time, definitely make it in time… He took all the small paths. He was already very, very familiar with this area and knew from where the return journey was shortest. Zhou Weizhao and his group still had to first reach the neighboring county, then avoid those formations to go up the mountain—enough to delay them for a while.
Having gone too long without water, and with Jinzhong being so dry, his cracked lips merely needed the wind to blow before they oozed the taste of blood. Sannan couldn’t worry about these things. He rapidly crossed one mountain after another, finally arriving at the foot of the mountain gasping for breath. Almost simultaneously, he heard the sound of horse hooves again—Zhou Weizhao and the others had also arrived.
He hesitated no longer, fleeing up the mountain regardless of everything. Kicking open the temple door, he saw Fan San and a group of people they had brought from Xingyang surrounding Second Master Fan in the middle. Seeing him arrive, Second Master Fan’s face showed terror as he shrank inward.
He had finally made it in time. Sannan breathed a sigh of relief, turned behind the Buddha statue, and knocked on the iron ring behind it—beneath this was the cellar where the temple monks stored grain. Usually, the death warriors rested inside.
Fan San and his group gaped at him doing these things, looking at each other somewhat at a loss.
Until Sannan turned his head to stare at them, asking with extreme coldness: “Do you have anything on your persons bearing your family’s insignia? If so, take them all out first.”