Midnight. Near the small courtyard by the woods, figures flickered in the dim, uncertain light; splatters of blood flew through the air amid a chaos of shouting and screaming voices, overlapping and colliding. Just moments earlier, three men dressed in the manner of martial underworld figures had attempted to infiltrate the lit-up courtyard from different directions, only to be immediately spotted by those lying in wait all around, sparking a violent clash. One was severely wounded on the spot; the other two, pursued relentlessly, fled into the woods.
Then another figure emerged from the darkness, attempting to scale the wall, only to freeze briefly atop it before several ropes shot out from within, snaring him and dragging him inside. A brief scream rang out, then fell silent—this was likely only the opening probe, and in the darkness there was no telling how many people lay hidden on either side.
Clearly, none of these were people of gentle disposition. Near Ten-Step Slope, where the streets grew quiet and sparsely populated at night, such underworld clashes and gang skirmishes were far from unprecedented—typically, no one discovered the aftermath until the early hours of the following morning. From a distance, the sounds echoing through the woods resembled the calls of night owls, while the small courtyard itself remained perfectly still, though there was no telling how many more people lay in ambush inside and around it, lamplight spilling faintly through its windows.
“This isn’t something you did… you couldn’t have gone this far…”
As Xi Junyu processed the contract laid out on the table, Su Tan’er, seated before him, smiled faintly.
“That’s right. It wasn’t me.” She paused briefly. “So you finally admit it.”
“…Then who is it, really? The Old Patriarch? Your father?”
Su Tan’er frowned as she looked at him.
“It couldn’t be Liao Kaitai, and Su Yunsong isn’t even here…”
“You wouldn’t guess.”
The woman folded her fingers together on the table, shaking her head, her voice cool and detached. Dressed as she was in men’s clothing, her features still retained their elegant clarity, though the presence she’d accumulated over these years had now surfaced clearly, mingling with the refined air she’d always carried like the daughter of some great household, forming together a distinctly intimidating chill. As she spoke, the sounds of fighting outside grew noticeably louder. Su Tan’er glanced in that direction—clearly, this sort of thing was still something she wasn’t entirely used to—and frowned.
“When Wu Qilong told me all this, I could hardly believe it at first. But whoever’s fighting back like this, it can’t be anyone from the Wu or Xue families—so you truly do have some connections of this sort behind you…”
“There will always be opportunities to encounter people of this sort.” After a long silence, Xi Junyu finally spoke these words, then glanced back at Guard Geng behind him. “Back at the Su estate, when Old Geng notified me and gave me time to prepare—was that all for this?”
“You assumed I was doomed to lose. Uncle Geng told you I seemed entirely confident, which naturally left you suspicious, thinking the key event of tonight rested with your side. To be safe, of course you’d notify whoever you could actually rely on—which let us trace the thread and find them all, and settle the score for my father’s assassination while we were at it. I simply hadn’t expected they’d truly come to your rescue like this.”
“Clever calculation indeed.” Xi Junyu smiled mockingly. “Four months of patient, hidden planning, a scheme of this scale… who is it, really?”
Su Tan’er drew in a breath but didn’t answer him. “Ten-Step Slope sees underworld clashes month after month—even the authorities can’t be bothered to intervene. Tomorrow, when word gets out that people died here tonight, they’ll simply treat it as one more such incident. Even if some passerby happens to get caught up in it, it’ll only earn a passing word of pity, nothing more. You’ve said yourself before—we merchants fear nothing more than an open breach, a breaking of the unwritten rules; things like assassination and hired killing frighten everyone, because once such a thing starts, there’s no end to it. So once something like this happens, whatever can be recovered, must be recovered. I was originally afraid that when the truth finally came out, if it truly had been the Xue or Wu family behind it, I wouldn’t have known what to do. But since it’s you… this is better, in its own way.”
As she spoke, she pushed back the stool behind her and stood, apparently preparing to leave. Xi Junyu frowned. “…Who is it, really? Du Tingzhong?” This was another steward generally considered quite reliable.
“I already told you, you wouldn’t guess.”
“Don’t you want to know why I did all this?”
Su Tan’er stood there, pausing for a moment. “I’m not made of wood and stone, Steward Xi. I once thought of you as both mentor and friend. Whatever the outcome of tonight, there’s no satisfaction in my heart—only sorrow. The more eloquent your reasons, the more they’d only add to my distress. All I need to know is that my Su family never treated you poorly. Why should I need to hear your justifications on top of that?”
Xi Junyu sat there, frozen. For the first time, he truly understood—Su Tan’er had likely never once thought of him in terms of anything like romantic feeling between “man” and “woman.” What she’d carried in her heart, all along, had been nothing more than the pure, professional bond between mentor and student, superior and subordinate.
“Ha…” He nearly laughed aloud, then suddenly raised his voice. “Then who is it, really?” As Su Tan’er walked toward the door, he remained seated, listing off several possible names. “It can’t possibly have been something your three maids came up with on their own!”
“Ning Liheng?”
Su Tan’er paused at the door. Xi Junyu caught the faint flicker in her expression, and considered for a moment. “You must be joking…”
Su Tan’er pushed open the door. Outside, beneath the eaves of the courtyard, Su Boyong, seated in his wheelchair, was speaking with a tall, powerfully built middle-aged man. From the room behind her, a sudden voice rang out—gritted teeth, disbelief, a demand for confirmation:
“It’s… Ning Liheng!?”
…
At the same moment, within the city.
The aftershocks of the clan assembly had not yet fully settled; the atmosphere throughout the Su estate, inside and out, remained somewhat chaotic. In the courtyard near the side gate, the light was dim, and distant, scattered sounds drifted in from far away, only deepening the stillness of the surrounding air. The scholar, watching the two servants approaching from behind, suddenly relaxed his posture. “Which section are you two assigned to!”
His voice carried a note of genuine anger. The two servants froze slightly. The scholar pointed down at the body lying on the ground. “Someone’s snuck in—don’t you understand? Go get help, now! You, watch over him—I’ll go find some rope!”
In the dim light, his words came sharp and urgent. From the moment the two men had entered and seen their fallen companion on the ground, to this scholar finishing his instructions and turning to leave, only a brief moment had passed—the two of them still weren’t entirely sure whether he genuinely believed them to be household servants, or whether he was simply pretending to. But regardless, if he truly went and summoned help, everything could go badly wrong. The two answered “Yes, sir” and hurried after him, their bodies still tense with suspicion and wariness, hands resting on their sword hilts, ready to draw at any moment.
The distance between them closed quickly, but the scholar had only taken two or three steps before he turned back. “Go get help already, quickly!”
The servant on the left, the one he’d been addressing, hesitated, glancing at his companion beside him. In that brief instant there was little time to think it through—even if both suspected the other side might be putting on an act, the choices before them boiled down to two: either play along and say “Yes, sir,” or drop the pretense immediately and draw their blades. As this hesitation flickered through their minds, the scholar suddenly waved the blade in his hand. “Oh, right—here, take this.”
Both men had been wary of the weapon in the scholar’s hand, but what happened next was genuinely unexpected: he tossed the blade directly to the man on the right, who was walking slightly ahead. Both men’s guards dropped a fraction—the man on the right reached out and caught the blade, the man on the left nodded slightly, the word “Yes” already forming on his lips. It was in this exact instant that the tension coiled in the air, having briefly slackened, suddenly snapped taut to its absolute limit, and shattered with a speed that left almost no room to react!
Their relaxed guard fell into empty space; the whistling sound of an incoming strike tore through the air, and the figures collided in an instant with a thunderous crash. The man on the left cried out and drew his blade, its edge catching the starlight like a sudden ripple sweeping across a still lake, and with a sharp CLANG, sparks streaked through the air in a long line. The recoil from the impact sent him staggering backward, unable to steady himself; his companion on the right was sent flying sideways, crashing with a thud into a small stone table beside the courtyard.
What filled their vision was the scholar’s figure, closing in suddenly, then just as suddenly pulling back—by now, there was nothing scholarly left about that silhouette at all. Blade in hand, having exchanged one blow with the man on the left, he pressed forward directly toward the wounded man who’d fallen amid the stone table and stools.
The man on the left, having drawn his blade and been forced back, had barely caught his breath, still not fully grasping the situation unfolding before him.
The scholar’s earlier display of complete, unsuspecting trust had, of course, never truly convinced either of them—no one would believe such a thing so easily. But since the scholar was walking away, they’d been happy enough to follow along, keeping their guard raised, watching for any sudden outburst or shift in his demeanor. But everything had unfolded so quickly that most of their reactions had been purely instinctive. They had remained on guard, paying close attention to the scholar’s every movement—and it was precisely in this state of heightened alertness that when he tossed them the very blade they’d been most wary of, that brief flicker of surprise had inevitably caused a momentary lapse in their vigilance.
In that instant of surprise, the man on the right had reached out instinctively to catch it, while the man on the left felt his guard drop, if only for a heartbeat. The blade was still in midair when the man named Ning Yi had already launched his attack. He struck the man on the right clean off his feet, snatched the blade out of the air, parried the blow swinging in from the other side, and without pausing for even a moment, pressed his advantage straight toward the man he’d just sent flying.
Sparks from clashing steel still hung in the air, and Ning Yi himself felt a flicker of genuine surprise. Lu Hongti had told him at the time that what he’d been taught was only second-rate internal technique—useful for boosting explosive strength in a fight, but far from top-tier, and potentially even harmful to the body if overused. He hadn’t been training long, and today marked the first time he’d truly put it to full use in earnest—he hadn’t expected a single kick to carry this much force. It seemed the concept of “second-rate” as most people understood it and the concept of “second-rate” as understood by a true master were somewhat different things? The thought flickered through his mind for only an instant before he switched the blade from his right hand to his left without pause, bent down, snatched up a loose brick from the ground, and slammed it against the back of the head of the man still stirring weakly amid the fallen table and stools.
Turning around, he found the servant he’d just crossed blades with charging toward him, blade raised—only to stop short. Both of his companions now lay on the ground. He glanced ahead, then to the side, breathing hard. “You, you…”
“Well, would you look at that, you two really are something…” In the dim light, the scholar clasped his hands together in a martial salute, smiling in the manner of a seasoned underworld figure. “I’m Ning Liheng—out on the streets they call me the Bloody-Handed Butcher. Too many enemies to keep track of them all, so tell me, which of you gentlemen sent you here?”
Whatever else might be said, “Bloody-Handed Butcher” really did have a rather impressive ring to it, once he’d actually said it out loud…