A thin mist lingered over the treetops of the mountain forest; in the cool morning air, unseen insects chirped softly, and as the morning dew fell, early-rising birds took flight from the woods, crisscrossing the sky above the wilderness.
Night had passed; day had come.
As early-rising farmers pushed open their doors, the soldiers and constables of the nearby prefectures and counties were gradually filing out of the Dabie Mountains. Not a few martial-world wanderers had quietly chosen to slip away in whatever direction had fewer people watching.
After a night of chaos, this side of the Dabie Mountains remained far from calm. Fang Qifo had been beheaded, Fang Baihua executed—the constables had even managed to retrieve part of her shattered body from below the cliff—and once the primary target of this whole manhunt was gone, the situation grew subtly delicate. Sikong Nan and the Mani Sect forces under her no longer dared make contact with the Ministry of Justice’s people—who knew whether those madmen at the Secret Investigation Bureau had genuinely managed to stir up the chief constables against them or not. As for the crowd of martial-world figures who’d come along for the excitement, their standing now grew even more precarious.
Some among them, already possessing status and good standing with the authorities, might still manage some dealings with the constables and soldiers. But as for those already wanted criminals with charges against their names, the Ministry of Justice, which had initially turned a blind eye to them, now had nothing left to hold back for—and showed no mercy at all. Blades were raised without hesitation, and a sweeping purge began across the mountains.
This operation, months in the planning and days in the execution, had in the end killed Fang Baihua but lost the living Fang Qifo—whose severed head, at present, remained in the Secret Investigation Bureau’s hands. All things considered, an enormous mobilization had ended in a net loss. The chief constables, furious, could only vent their frustration on whatever fierce bandits and outlaws they could find, and no small number of unlucky souls promptly paid the price.
Amid this sweeping manhunt, the Ministry of Justice sent only a small, perfunctory force after the already-fled Chen Fan and the others—the main pursuit still fell to Sikong Nan’s faction. Ning Yi and his group of Secret Investigation Bureau members trailed along behind, harassing them for a while, but seeing the Ministry’s strength in the area gradually thin out, they abandoned the provocation and withdrew quickly.
That night, in the mountain forest, several fierce and rather strange skirmishes broke out as well, all centered around several ledgers found on Deng Yuanjue’s body. It was hard to say for certain which side had sent the participants—some knew each other, some didn’t, and even a few Ministry of Justice insiders took part. One of the ledgers was torn apart, scattering several loose pages, though even then it remained difficult to say for certain which of the accounts were genuine.
Everyone involved seemed to reach a tacit, unspoken agreement on this matter: none of it appeared in any report sent upward, and none of the parties involved would ever bring it up again afterward. Ning Yi kept himself entirely out of it—he understood well enough that if these ledgers fell into the hands of those great clans, it would only spark infighting among them, but if they fell into the Right Chancellor’s residence, it would ignite a covert campaign of vengeance instead. Though before setting out, Qin Siyuan had mentioned wanting to use the ledgers as leverage against these clans, Ning Yi chose to stay out of it entirely—it wasn’t a mandatory task after all, and he could simply report that the operation had failed.
As for the relationship between the Secret Investigation Bureau and the Ministry of Justice, the two sides had already begun keeping their distance. Among the three chief constables, Fan Zhong—who’d had the least dealings with Ning Yi—came over to play the peacemaker, hoping to reclaim the severed head, but Ning Yi naturally refused, and the two parted on bad terms. Still, generally speaking, falling out and reconciling were both ordinary enough occurrences in official circles, and so long as no one was pushed to the point of no return, Ning Yi didn’t much mind having a falling-out with a few chief constables.
By the time the pale light of dawn appeared on the horizon, five carriages and eight or nine riders were making their way slowly along the post road. On this crisp, breezy morning, there were slightly more travelers on the road than usual—though the two or three figures visible here and there mostly looked like ordinary farmers, with little air of the martial world about them, the riders on horseback still kept their guard up.
Ning Yi sat in the second carriage, his gaze slanting through the gap in the curtain toward the fields, the river, and the slowly turning waterwheels not far off. Zhu Biao sat up front in the driver’s seat, still alert, though noticeably more relaxed than he’d been back in the mountains.
What the Secret Investigation Bureau guarded against now wasn’t only the Ministry of Justice, who might try to come steal back Fang Qifo’s head, but even more so the possibility that Sikong Nan and Lin Echan, whom they’d already offended, might circle back for revenge. A couple of days earlier, upon hearing the name Lin Zongwu, Ning Yi and the others had even joked about giving the man a beating—but now, looking back, with two grandmaster-level masters on the other side, fighting wasn’t really an option anymore; just keeping their lives intact would do. Thinking back on it now, Ning Yi found the memory almost funny.
Fortunately, the twenty-odd crossbows and the elm-wood cannons had only just shown their strength, and with the other side not fully certain of their capabilities, they probably wouldn’t act rashly. On another note, after this battle, if word were properly spread, the name Demon of the Heart might not be far behind grandmasters like Iron-Armed Zhou Tong—and given the backing he had, might even prove more formidable still.
“I really never expected—back then, Brother Ning, that you’d actually go through with it.”
As the carriage rolled on, Zhu Biao, sitting by the curtain, let out a sigh and glanced this way. Beside Ning Yi sat the box containing Fang Qifo’s head. Ning Yi, lost in thought, took a moment to register the words.
“Killing Fang Qifo—wasn’t that the best possible outcome?”
“Ah…”
Ning Yi gazed out the window. “This operation of the Bureau’s, dealing with the Mani Sect—it’s defensible enough on the surface, but dig deeper and it’s still standing on shaky legal ground. The Ministry of Justice losing Fang Qifo’s life, that alone wouldn’t have been such a big deal. But if they’d lost the head too, that would have been the real trouble. So I forced the Ministry to acknowledge that I was the one who cleaned up their mess for them. Once they admit that, the whole matter gets settled in our favor. I don’t mind at all if it’s framed as the result of close cooperation between our two sides…”
He paused, still gazing out the window, his tone even. “With the Ministry backing down, we can drive a wedge between them and Sikong Nan… and that’s not even the only benefit. However you look at it, Fang Qifo’s head ending up in my hands was the best possible outcome… a real opportunity…”
Zhu Biao sat there, pressing his lips together. “What I meant was… I never thought Brother Ning, you’d actually be able to go through with it…”
Hearing the emphasis in those words, Ning Yi understood well enough what he meant. He turned his head and smiled.
Zhu Biao gave his whip a flick. “But regardless, Brother Ning, you’re a real man! I admire you… Say, do you clever types really just think of all this stuff on the spot like that?”
“Of course not. It’s just instinct built up from experience.” Ning Yi smiled, then, recalling something, added, “Speaking of which, when the cannons first fired, I think I saw Monk Tunyun there… What happened to him? Did he die?”
“I saw him too,” Zhu Biao laughed. “That guy got knocked senseless by the blast, but he didn’t die. Not sure if he managed to run off afterward—it was too chaotic, I didn’t really keep track.”
“That bastard—if a cannon shot had actually killed him, that would’ve counted as doing the world a favor…” Ning Yi laughed too, then rubbed his forehead and remarked offhandedly, “Though, come to think of it, there is one thing that’s a bit strange.”
“What’s that?”
“That kid Chen Fan—how exactly did he manage to get Fang Qifo out…”
He said it half-idly, with only mild curiosity, but with so little information to go on, there was no way to think it through any further for now.
…
The wind moved, the clouds shifted, and the sun rose higher, gradually growing more intense. In the afternoon, in a room at a small-town inn, Zuo Houwen flipped through the ledger in his hands, nodded calmly, and after a moment spoke in a low voice: “So, this means that Demon of the Heart, Ning Yi, got involved in this affair…”
Across the room, Fan Zhong nodded. “That’s right.”
“And this Ning Yi—is he truly formidable?”
Fan Zhong considered this carefully for a moment before finally nodding. “Somewhat… frightening, actually.”
“Oh?” Zuo Houwen raised an eyebrow. “I hear he’s got some cunning about him, but however clever a scholar’s schemes may be, they’re no match for a single blow from a real fighting man. Does he have martial skill?”
“They say… his skill is quite high. Possibly a match for Sikong Nan, Lin Echan, Wang Nantuo, and the like…”
“Oh? And how formidable are those men, then?”
“On par with Grandmaster Zhou Tong, Iron-Armed himself—probably not inferior to anyone this official has ever personally seen.”
At these words from Fan Zhong, the room fell briefly silent. Zuo Houwen looked at him, and after a moment picked up on a particular word: “You say… ‘they say’? Have you actually witnessed him fight yourself?”
“This official has not personally witnessed it. This news only came by way of Tie Tianying’s subordinates, who reportedly said…”
Fan Zhong hurried to explain further. Once he’d finished, Zuo Houwen smiled and waved a hand. “Enough, enough. I don’t understand martial matters myself, I was only asking out of idle curiosity—no need to take it so seriously, Chief Constable. As for the matter of the ledgers, I’m grateful for your trouble. Should you find yourself in the capital someday, I hope you’ll do this old man the honor of a visit, so I may properly express my thanks.”
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Fan Zhong finally took his leave. Zuo Houwen sat there, flipping through a few more pages of the ledger, then tossed it casually onto the table. “If he were truly such a figure, why would he have married into another family as a live-in son-in-law?” He shook his head. “Gossip taken as gospel—common folly.”
…
Not long after, night fell, black and heavy—a fine, peaceful day, as if no one could sense anything of what had happened the night before. The next day dawned equally clear, and along one of the ridgelines of the vast, sprawling Dabie Mountains, more than a dozen figures were making their way forward.
Sunlight fell over them, and the woman named Xigua lifted her head slightly, still walking on in silence. The group, all carrying wounds of one kind or another, mostly in poor shape, occasionally exchanged a few words among themselves. Only Xigua had gone more than a day without speaking. A few of the Hegemon Blade members murmured quietly to each other, and Luo Bingren fell into step beside her.
After walking alongside her for some time, Luo Bingren finally spoke, seemingly offhand: “I think… he had no choice either…”
Xigua kept walking, then turned her head to look at him, her gaze lifeless. In the next instant, having not been watching her footing, her body stumbled; she raised a hand toward her forehead, and before it even touched, her whole body pitched forward and collapsed…
The others cried out and rushed over.
Though a woman, Xigua had been trained personally by Liu Dabiao since childhood, her foundation unshakeably solid; her physical condition, in truth, surpassed that of most in the group. Some among them assumed she’d simply collapsed from weakness, but only those who knew her well understood: unless her emotions had been thrown into such extreme disorder that her qi and blood had gone haywire, she would never have lost consciousness like this.
Something like this had happened only once before, over a year ago, on the night she’d “married” a certain man. But as time went on and fate played its tricks, no one could quite say what feelings might arise if she were to recall that memory again now…
…
“I’m leaving.”
“Where to?”
“Going back. There’s something I need to take care of.”
Amid the mountain ravine, the faint sound of Chen Fan and Luo Bingren’s conversation carried through. Having just watched Fang Qifo—a man who had been like a father to him—die before his eyes, Chen Fan had spoken little over the past day or more. But now, it seemed, he had quietly come to some kind of decision.
On the shaded side of the ravine, Xigua opened her eyes, gazing coldly up at the sky above. As the Hegemon Blade members drew near, she lay on the great boulder, turning her head to the side, facing the rock wall, so no one could see her expression.
Chen Fan approached from not far off, and the Hegemon Blade fighters instinctively drew back a little.
This was the first time the two of them had spoken since Fang Qifo’s death.
“I’ve got something to take care of, and I need to go back. Take everyone back to the Miao territory. Once things are settled, I’ll come. I’ll make good on my promise.”
Xigua didn’t look at him. After a moment of silence, she spoke, her voice flat and cold: “If you’re going for revenge… don’t worry about me. Just kill him.”
“I will.”
Chen Fan answered simply, bending slightly to look at Xigua’s face. With her lying down and him standing, the angle made things somewhat awkward. After just one glance, Xigua turned her head back, her gaze sharp as she fixed it on Chen Fan, showing her anger—but in the very next instant, Chen Fan’s expression turned grave, and his hand swung out suddenly. There was a loud crack—Xigua had been slapped across the face, backhanded.
The sound of that slap startled the nearby Hegemon Blade members; a little further off, those unfamiliar with the Hegemon Blade circle looked equally puzzled. Xigua turned her head to look at Chen Fan but didn’t immediately strike back. Slowly, she rose, slowly stood upright, looking down at him from above, her gaze waiting for an explanation.
Chen Fan pointed a finger at her, waving it once or twice through the air, and said in a low voice: “You’re his woman. Hitting you is hitting him!”
More than half the group had little real connection to the Hegemon Blade circle, and Chen Fan had kept his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear it. But upon hearing this, Xigua’s gaze suddenly turned savage; she bit down on her lip, and her left fist swept out in a wide arc. Chen Fan’s right fist swung to meet it head-on!
Both of them possessed formidable skill to begin with, and after this life-or-death battle, their abilities had broken through to new heights besides. The two fists collided with a heavy, muffled boom. Xigua, striking with her left, was forced back two steps; Chen Fan’s body only swayed slightly.
He waved a hand carelessly, then turned and walked off the way he’d come. The sunlight was warm and pleasant; before long, he had vanished among the spring hills.
Xigua pressed her lips together, her gaze complicated—cold, yet sorrowful. In the end, she said nothing more…