Yu Weiwei’s throat worked with broken, strangled sounds. She wanted to scream, wanted to howl — but her voice was as if someone had seized it by the throat. She raised her hand and struck herself hard across the face. She wanted this to be a dream, but the sting bloomed into a swollen welt across her cheek, and when she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, the hellish scene before her had not moved an inch.

Her household did not end here. There were more of them, more!

Yu Weiwei crawled on her hands and knees toward the next room, half-kneeling, and shoved open the door with all her strength. The wave of iron-heavy blood that struck her left her mind a blank. Then the next room, and the next — seven rooms in all. A living hell in every one.

She pulled herself up against the wall, her gaze hollow and unseeing, and looked toward Zeng Xiangling. Her voice came out raw and scraped dry: “From the time I was old enough to remember, Mother always told me — it didn’t matter that I was a girl, because the Zeng Family had a very capable elder cousin who would never let me be wronged. But she never told me what I was supposed to do if it was my capable elder cousin who wronged me. Big Cousin — won’t you tell me? What am I supposed to do?”

Zeng Xiangling raised his chin in cold contempt. “If you had obediently waited for your death, none of them would have had to die.”

“Why should my life be yours to control? You tell me to die and I simply must go and die? You want the Yu Family’s holdings and I should offer them up with both hands?” Yu Weiwei gripped the pillar for support and descended the steps, walking forward with complete disregard for the arrows pointed at her. Hua Zhi signaled Bao Xia to stay and watch over the Yu Family’s parents, then moved with the others to close in.

“No matter how much silver you have, you can only eat so much in a day. One body can only sleep in one bed, can only wear so many garments. In death, even a coffin inlaid with gold and studded with jade is still a coffin — and in the end, a handful of yellow earth. Your body will still know sickness regardless of your wealth; time will not pause for your sake. Why did you fill the lives of more than a hundred people of my Yu household to pay for things you do not even need?”

“What would a small woman know of a man’s great ambitions? Those who accomplish great things cannot trouble themselves over such trifles. If you must blame someone, blame your father for being fortunate enough to find a silver mine. To carry treasure and invite one’s own destruction — that is the way of it.”

“My father found the silver mine and came to you to form a partnership — he offered you the benefit on a platter, and even that was the wrong thing to do?”

“Why waste any more words on this? Right or wrong, guilty or not — you will all stay here today.”

Another rain of arrows swept in. The whips struck each one down. Zeng Xiangling waved a hand, and the others closed in. He himself began to retreat toward the back.

Then Shao Yao suddenly launched herself into the air. Her whip cracked out, coiled around Zeng Xiangling, and flung him to the ground at Yu Weiwei’s feet. Without a word, Yu Weiwei yanked the hairpin from her head and drove it at the softest part of his throat.

Zeng Xiangling cried out in alarm and rolled aside to dodge it, but Shao Yao was already waiting. She kicked him back into place.

Yu Weiwei had been poised for exactly this moment. The instant he rolled back within reach, her hand shot up with the hairpin and drove it hard toward his neck.

At that very moment, the Zhaoli tribesmen arrived. They paid no attention to Zeng Xiangling. Enormous fists came hurtling straight at Hua Zhi. Shao Yao and the others rushed to intervene — and in that split second, the Zhaoli tribesmen pulled Zeng Xiangling out of reach. Yu Weiwei’s golden hairpin left with him, buried in his neck.

Though Zeng Xiangling’s scheming was without equal, in terms of physical capability, he was worthless. In recent years he had sailed along smoothly without enduring a single hardship — and yet he had remarkable endurance. Even as the pain contorted his face beyond recognition, he did not let out a single cry.

The close-quarters fighting began.

Shao Yao swept Yu Weiwei up with a deft twist and sent her sailing back under the covered walkway. Bao Xia was there at once to catch her and pull her further back — but to stand out in the open like this with no cover was impossible. Shao Yao glanced to either side, turned her eyes away from what was inside the rooms, wrenched an entire door off its hinges, and propped it up as a barrier in front of the two of them. After more than a year of unwavering practice with her fists, if nothing else, her strength had grown considerably.

Zeng Xiangling retreated into the main hall. Hua Zhi and her companions were surrounded on all sides.

Shao Yao hurled a packet of medicinal powder into the air and sent her whip slashing through it. The powder scattered and billowed in all directions.

Not far off, Bao Xia immediately covered Madam Yu’s nose and mouth. Yu Weiwei saw and without hesitation pressed one hand over her own face and the other over her father’s.

Now!

The dagger in Hua Zhi’s hand swept at the nearest opponent. The man was already swaying on his feet, yet still managed to evade it.

Shao Yao pressed her lips together. This was her newly reformulated compound — three times the potency of the previous version. And yet the Zhaoli tribesmen still had not gone down. This was the gap in constitution between the people of Daqing and the Zhaoli Tribe.

But it still had an effect. The Zhaoli tribesmen were plainly sluggish, their reactions falling behind. Hua Zhi landed one hit for every three strikes — and her dagger was coated with poison. Between the two effects working together, it was actually she who brought down the first enemy.

The archers on the walls responded to the shifting tide by sending arrows flying in faster and thicker. Several people in the group kept their whips moving in an impenetrable curtain to shield Hua Zhi from harm, but focusing on the whips inevitably left them exposed to those already inside the courtyard. Even the Seven Constellation Bureau’s people were strained against Zhaoli opponents; those fighting with swords were beginning to look pressed.

Hua Zhi’s body was not what it had once been, yet months of daily practice with her fists had done something to remedy her lack of raw strength. Combined with the near-indestructible edge of her weapon, the Zhaoli tribesmen feared her more than anyone else present. It was precisely because of that poison-laced weapon holding the enemy’s caution at bay that they had managed, barely, to hold the line.

But this was not a situation that could be sustained.

Nor did it need to be sustained for long.

The men on the courtyard walls were swept off by whips from outside. The gate was kicked open with force. Gu Yanxi’s long whip shot out like a serpent, lashing straight at the face of the man bearing down on A’Zhi, forcing him to fall back and dodge.

Hua Zhi let out a breath, and pointed at the main hall. “Zeng Xiangling!”

Gu Yanxi understood at once. He threw a signal back over his shoulder, and someone immediately sprinted in that direction. Gu Yanxi pulled A’Zhi behind him, cast a glance at Shao Yao, then stepped forward.

Shao Yao took up her whip and returned to Hua Hua’s side. Yu Mu and Jia Yang also withdrew to join them. Only when Gu Yanxi had no more concern for those behind him did he throw himself fully at the enemies still fighting.

“You don’t need this many people guarding me. Go see if there’s anyone hiding elsewhere.”

Yu Mu took four of them and went.

Hua Zhi raised her head, about to speak, when she saw Zeng Xiangling being dragged forward and brought to her. At the thought of the horrors inside those side rooms, Hua Zhi’s expression went hollow and cold as she looked at the man who was no longer able to keep his smile in place.

“When you killed those people, Young Master Zeng — did your heart soften even for a moment?”

Zeng Xiangling raised his head. “It is nothing but the victor and the vanquished. Why waste breath?”

“When you raised your blade against those countrymen who had placed their trust in you — not even a flicker of hesitation? Among them were people who had served you, who had guided you on your way, who had poured your tea, who had congratulated you in moments of triumph. They counted you as one of their own, and you drove them into hell.”

“I did not drive them. Sooner or later, we all end up in hell. Better to go early and be free of it.” Zeng Xiangling’s features twisted. “You speak of debt in blood — let me tell you about blood. I once went to Yuan Shifang to expose it. The result? Two months in their hands — two months of being dragged between life and death. Two months! Your court was filled with men who could not recognize worth, who wallowed in corrupt infighting, not a breath of awareness among them — while in the capital, they enjoyed every luxury. The Zhaoli Tribe came to me when I was a fool who thought this was a great meritorious act, rushed to Yuan Shifang to report it, and what did I get for it? Why should I be the one to go on suffering and enduring? Do not speak to me of dying to preserve one’s integrity — there is no one worthy of such a sacrifice from me!”

Hua Zhi was silent for a moment. So this man had not always been like this. He had once harbored goodwill toward Daqing — it was that goodwill that had driven him to report to Yuan Shifang. Only, that goodwill had never been repaid in kind.

PS: To all my readers who wish there were more updates — Kongkong understands that feeling deeply. I’ve been a reader myself for many years and I know it well. But right now I cannot even guarantee two updates a day; this arc is genuinely difficult to write, and starting over from scratch is a constant reality. I’m not complaining — I’ve actually been writing with great joy, because this story is one I’ve been able to carry through to this point, and it has been loved by so many of you. I only ask for a little more time, so that I can bring this story to a better, more complete ending. When you press me, I feel a tremendous rush of anxiety.

I want to be an author whose name you remember. One where all you need to see is my pen name and, without reading the synopsis or knowing the genre, you’re willing to click and read. One where when your friends ask what author is worth reading, you think to say my name. One where every coin you spend reading my work feels worth it.

No author doesn’t want to earn a living — but I first became a professional writer because I love to write, and that has never changed.

Love to you all.