Two figures in black, one tall and one short, slipped past the guards at a corner of the grand inn at the front of the complex and made their way up to the second floor.
According to their reconnaissance, the inn’s main guards were stationed mostly around the outer perimeter of the whole compound.
There were also guards posted between each zone, meant to keep anyone with ill intent from pushing ahead and breaking the rules.
In practice, though, even sneaking into the next zone over wouldn’t accomplish much.
Every contestant had registered under a recorded name; anyone found without one would face a far heavier charge than one might expect.
As for the contestants actually residing here, the inn offered them little protection.
The philosophy was simple: the capable claimed their place. If someone couldn’t even manage basic self-defense, their death would be of little consequence.
So it wasn’t unusual for people in the inn to be ambushed from time to time, injured or even killed.
The guards didn’t entirely turn a blind eye to such things, but they didn’t interfere much either.
Jian Yi and Feng Jiu’er waited on the rafters until the last patrol of guards moved off, then dropped down and vanished swiftly into the corridor.
Arriving outside the window of one of the side-chambers, Feng Jiu’er and Jian Yi hung lightly from the beam above.
Jian Yi pried the window open, and the sounds of a man and woman in playful laughter drifted out.
“My lord, don’t be like that! Don’t!” Inside the chamber, a woman sat astride a man, coyly pushing away the wine flask in his hand even as she leaned into him.
“Come on, have another drink!” the man’s laugh came out low and rough.
One listen, and it was clear he was a martial artist.
In front of them, two women dressed in very little were dancing gracefully.
As one song ended, one of the dancing women pouted and threw herself down beside the sprawled-out man.
“My lord, you can’t only dote on Yuyan—Xiaoqing wants some attention too.”
The moment she finished speaking, she pressed in closer.
The other dancing woman also drifted to the man’s other side and leaned against him.
The man glanced left and right at the women pressing in on him and laughed heartily. “I dote on you both! Both of you!”
Feng Jiu’er watched for a moment, then turned her head—only to see Jian Yi the renowned hero deliberately looking away, his gaze fixed on the night sky outside.
Even with the human-skin mask he wore, she could still tell his face had gone red, all the way to his ears.
Feng Jiu’er glanced once more into the chamber, then flicked her short blade and pulled the window shut.
The two of them leapt back up onto the rooftop and continued on.
“Jian Yi, do all men like this kind of thing?” Feng Jiu’er asked softly, hoping to put the hero at ease.
“Like what?” Jian Yi cleared his throat.
“Beautiful women,” Feng Jiu’er said, turning her head to meet his eyes, one eyebrow raised.
Jian Yi looked away again, his expression growing even more solemn.
This question had truly stumped North Mu’s foremost assassin.
In the end, he arrived at a conclusion.
“They’re not even beautiful!” Compared to Jiu’er, they fell far, far short.
Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and nodded. “Then someday, if you succeed—worshipped by countless people, with more money than you could ever spend—”
“Would you do the same as that man back there? Surround yourself with a few beautiful women and live like that?”
“No!” Jian Yi shook his head. “If I had more money than I could ever spend, I’d use it to buy you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Jian Yi turned to look at Feng Jiu’er, his expression utterly earnest.
Feng Jiu’er looked back at him, reached out a long arm, and patted his shoulder.
“If I had more money than I could ever spend, I’d buy you everything you wanted too.”
Jian Yi smiled faintly, looked away, and lifted his eyes to the bright moon hanging in the sky.
Feng Jiu’er gazed at his brilliant eyes and, without meaning to, simply tuned out the ugly human-skin mask covering his face.
First there had been Zhao Xiaoxiao, then Yue Qinchun—Feng Jiu’er could understand exactly why they had both fallen so deeply for this foolish Jian Yi.
He wasn’t foolish at all. He was simply good—he had a pure, sincere heart, brighter than the moonlight above.
A man like that truly had what it took to drive countless young women to distraction.
The two of them returned to the second floor and passed several more side-chambers. Without exception, every room held, besides a Thunder King, fine food, fine wine, and beautiful women.
By now it was well past the third quarter of the Hour of the Pig, yet these men were still indulging themselves, thoroughly enjoying their revels.
This so-called immortal’s life these men spoke of was something they’d won with their lives on the line; no one had any right to judge. Everyone simply pursued different things.
Feng Jiu’er had observed all five Thunder Kings—their appearances, their internal energy—paying particular attention, and had found nothing suspicious about any of them.
Finally, the two of them arrived at the eastern side of the inn’s second floor.
It was said that the chamber here, larger than the other three, belonged to none other than the foremost of the Thunder Kings.
Even before they drew close, Feng Jiu’er and Jian Yi both sensed, almost simultaneously, an unusually powerful aura of internal energy.
The foremost Thunder King truly lived up to his reputation as the strongest person in this inn.
Feng Jiu’er and Jian Yi exchanged a glance, reined in their own internal energy, and continued approaching.
Tonight, no matter what, Feng Jiu’er was determined to get a close look at exactly who this foremost Thunder King really was.
The chamber was large; Feng Jiu’er and Jian Yi tried several windows before finally spotting a figure.
Unlike the other Thunder Kings, the man seated at the table had no one else around him.
Not just in the inner room—Feng Jiu’er found no one else anywhere in the chamber at all.
It seemed this particular Thunder King wasn’t quite so coarse in his tastes after all.
Then again—hadn’t she heard that Black Panther had personally selected three beautiful wives for him? Perhaps he simply wasn’t in the mood to entertain a fourth or fifth woman tonight.
Hanging upside down from the rafters, Feng Jiu’er finally got a clear look at the man inside.
He was dressed neatly, with a refined, scholarly bearing, fair skin, fine features, and slender, jade-like fingers.
Just as in the portrait, this man could in no way be described with such a crude term as “a mere brute of a warrior.”
The man was sipping tea, offering only his profile to those outside.
His deep eyes gave nothing of his thoughts or feelings away.
He held the teacup between long, well-defined fingers and took another sip.
Suddenly, he flung the cup down with force; it struck the window sill with a sharp clink.
In that brief moment when his brow had furrowed, Feng Jiu’er noticed that he, too, wore a human-skin mask.
“You’re here. Come in and sit,” the man’s low voice called out.
The window swung open, and Feng Jiu’er flipped down and into the chamber.
A gust of wind followed her in, stirring her hair and the hem of her clothes, and Jian Yi landed steadily beside her.
Jian Yi took a step forward, placing himself between Feng Jiu’er and the man.
But Feng Jiu’er reached out, grasped his arm, and stepped out from behind him.
“You’re not Bao Lei,” she said, studying the still-seated man, her brow furrowing.
Bao Lei rose, looked at the two black-clad figures before him, and let the corner of his mouth curl up slightly.
That such a gentle, refined-looking man could be the foremost of the Thunder Kings was, admittedly, beyond what Feng Jiu’er had expected.
In the portrait, she had already noticed he didn’t look like an ordinary warrior—it was only that the painting had no color, so she hadn’t realized he possessed such fair, fine skin.
“You came in just to tell me this?” Bao Lei asked, arching a brow.
“Who exactly are you? Why are you here?” Feng Jiu’er stepped forward.
“Could it be… you’ve come to deal with Lei Shenbao?”