The night wind moaned. Yang Heng’s corpse burned on the floor, casting flickering shadows across the room. Wine still trickled slowly from the shattered jar; the hand whose flames had just gone out trembled faintly in the darkness. The two men’s eyes met in the air — even wounded like this, the scholar’s gaze remained cold and sharp, unchanged from start to finish.

“Sometimes, that’s just how it is…” the scholar said, word by word. “One wrong step, and you’re dead.”

That last part was what he’d said himself earlier. Yang Yi looked around — his dying but still-hostage eldest son, his family gone silent with no word, his brother now lying dead like this. He’d taken dozens of hostages like this before, and never once run into anything like this. Frail scholar, frail scholar… that gaze was nothing like any frail scholar’s. Not even in the eyes of the most self-proclaimed reckless, life-throwing thugs had he ever seen such fierce, decisive killing intent — that still-trembling hand paired with that gaze; this man was not only vicious toward his enemies, but at this moment ruthless toward himself to the utmost extreme.

It was as if he’d unknowingly brought home a little white rabbit, only for it, in one unguarded moment, to bare its fangs, and before he could even react it had utterly ravaged his household — and when he turned back, all he could see was a pool of blood and that little white rabbit’s eyes, now blood-red.

He ground his teeth. “Second Brother—” The cry rang out through the whole houseboat, echoing into the night sky, but there was no answer. A moment later he called again: “His mother—” The sound carried out, no reply came. His eyes reddening, he gave a short laugh, and finally roared out the last name: “Big Brother—” His hand let go of the crossbow, his gaze turning viciously toward the steel saber lying on the floor beside Yang Heng.

“I’ll chop you to pieces…”

Teeth clenched, spitting out each word, he started toward that saber — and at that very moment, he saw the iron spike slowly pull away from his son’s throat. With that hand no longer holding him steady, his son’s body swayed and stumbled; perhaps because of that furious roar just now, some faint clarity seemed to have returned to his son’s mind. In his field of view, the scholar untied the rope, swept a hand through the air, and let it fall away.

His focus surged to its absolute peak.

The scholar stepped back, then suddenly kicked with all his strength into his son’s back.

Firelight flickering, his son stumbled forward, footsteps clattering toward him. Across the room, the scholar raised his hand, the iron spike lifted into the air.

“Yaaah—”

“Aaah—”

Amid the shouting, the scholar put every ounce of strength into hurling the iron spike. Yang Yi, too, surged forward at that same instant, grabbing his eldest son and pulling him aside — the flying spike grazed his hand, drawing a spray of blood. The scholar’s figure closed the distance in a flash, swinging up a wine jar in his hand!

CRASH—

Yang Yi didn’t dodge at all, instead barreling straight into the scholar, sending him flying; the jar shattered solidly against his own head. He wiped the wine from his face with a swipe, and the scholar had already been slammed several meters away into a cabinet, spitting blood. All that filled his mind now was killing intent, without the slightest hesitation; he surged forward and swung a punch.

The scholar’s right hand reached back behind him.

“One wrong step, and you’re dead…”

With a thud, Yang Yi’s punch — delayed by perhaps a moment’s hesitation — landed on empty air. A flash of triumph crossed the scholar’s eyes; he practically threw his whole body into arching forward, then dashed off to one side, heading for the door. Yang Yi wasn’t about to let him escape now, and swung a cabinet crashing after him. The cabinet smashed against the door and fell apart; the scholar staggered a few steps and changed direction, the steel saber on the ground now only a few paces from him.

The wine jar came hurtling in, smashing squarely into Yang Heng’s still-burning body; the flames dimmed abruptly as they were doused with wine, and the scholar, struck by a shard, tumbled forward. Yang Yi charged straight ahead, closing half the room’s distance in an instant. The scholar was stubborn too, forcing himself back up, grabbing an empty wine jar behind him and hurling it. Yang Yi didn’t dodge at all — he closed the distance instead, his left hand grabbing for the man’s chest, his right hand swinging back.

In his panic the scholar grabbed for another empty jar behind him, missing the rim the first time, grabbing again on the second try! The punch came whistling through the air!

“I’ll tear you—”

Thud—

His body swayed for an instant; the fist landed on the scholar’s shoulder, still knocking him down onto the ground behind him, sending him tumbling over a meter away.

“…You.”

The voice, originally furious, suddenly dropped low, trailing off through the room, wavering, finding nowhere to land…

The figure stood frozen. A few seconds later, Yang Yi’s body finally stirred, staggering back two steps, his eyes somewhat dazed. He looked at the scholar on the ground before him, then turned his head as if trying to focus his gaze on his son on the floor. Atop the giant’s head, the sharp-edged iron scale weight had cracked open his skull and now sat embedded there, blood gushing from the wound, sliding down past his ears, his forehead, spreading through every strand of hair and around his ears, seeping down into his neck…

The scholar staggered several times before finally managing to grab hold of a nearby cabinet with his right hand and pull himself up.

The wine jars posed no threat to Yang Yi now, consumed as he was by rage; neither did the empty jar. But that earlier feint toward his own back had already set his fury ablaze. If this blow missed, he himself might well be the one to die — but caught in a tight spot, at a disadvantage, this was all he could do; he had no more options left…

Yang Yi was still standing there, swaying. Ning Yi took a deep breath, feeling the pain now catching up with him, and walked coldly over to Yang Heng’s corpse, picking up the steel saber. Under Yang Yi’s gaze, he brought the blade down in one stroke across the throat of the fallen eldest son, then spun and slashed backhanded straight across Yang Yi’s head and face.

Blood sprayed out in a burst.

“You should have killed me the moment you had the chance…”

He said this quietly, then delivered a second and a third blow, hard and continuous, until finally Yang Yi’s body collapsed to the ground. He landed a few more cuts on each of the people in the room, then staggered back and leaned against the wall, his body trembling, weak and drained.

“Ha…”

Only now did fear and tension come flooding in without restraint. He’d died once already, but that didn’t mean he could simply accept dying again at any moment without a second thought — fear, panic, tension, these things were still there, inevitably. Even in his previous life, he hadn’t often faced this kind of close-quarters, blood-soaked desperation; scheming and planning could only take you so far, and beyond that, it came down to fate, walking a knife’s edge alongside the threat of death the whole way. Thankfully, he’d made it through this ordeal after all — only now could he allow himself a moment, still shaken, to feel some small relief and gratitude…

He walked through the pooled blood in the room, then picked up a wine jar and smashed it against Yang Heng’s body; the wine doused the flames. Then another jar. The light in the room gradually dimmed away…

…

The light rose again — the oil lamp’s bean-sized glow illuminating the corpses, the blood, the wreckage of the room. The figure sat beneath the lamplight, various trauma medicines laid out beside him. He gripped one end of a bandage between his teeth and pulled hard on the other end with his right hand, having already wrapped up his left hand.

Unfortunately, there’d been no chance to ask who was behind this.

In a situation like that, there was no way to account for everything. His goal from the start had only ever been, at most, to kill his captor — and if that failed, at least to hold them off long enough to escape. That the brothers had turned out to be this ferocious had indeed exceeded his expectations; even with the hostage in his grip, they’d kept up such relentless aggression that he’d never had any real chance to use the hostage as leverage to press for information.

A threat with some sign beforehand was manageable. This time, there’d truly been no sign at all.

Someone was watching him from the shadows, and he had no idea who — this was the one thing he found most intolerable.

Pain still throbbed through his arm, shoulder, and chest. He drank a mouthful of wine, stood up, and looked around the whole house once more, then picked up the crossbow, set it on the table, and pushed the door open to step outside. This was a house on a desolate riverbank; the water below looked shallow, and a crude wooden walkway led to the path on shore. There was a stand of trees along the bank, and in the distance a low hill; morning stars glittered in the sky.

Ning Yi stood there, gazing at the distant hills, the nearby water, the trees ahead and the houseboat behind him, lost in thought, for a good long while.

Then he turned and walked back inside.

The door closed, and the light dimmed once more.

The hour of the rat… how much longer until the hour of the rat…

…

As the hour of the pig drew near, a farewell banquet at the post station outside the city gates was winding down. Gu Yanzhen said his goodbyes to a group of friends, then headed with his attendant Old Six toward a small estate nearby.

For this trip to Raozhou he planned to bring few attendants; among his few trusted men, only Old Six knew the most about the matter at hand — the others might vaguely suspect something, but would naturally keep it to themselves.

He went to the estate to check over what needed to be brought for the journey — three carriages in all. He inspected the middle one briefly; opening the curtain, inside was essentially a large cage, the kind that looked fit for holding a prisoner.

He glanced it over and nodded, his expression indifferent.

“Keep her at the house near Xinlinpu for a month first, then set off for Raozhou. After that, just consider her mad, or dead — pay her no more mind.”

Then he went to check the other items needed for Leping, the gifts to be delivered. Though he’d only just set out, most of his thoughts were already on Leping and his future plans.

As for what had already been decided, there was no need to dwell on it further — it was already a small matter.

“Let’s go, it’s about time — let’s go see whether the Yang brothers have gotten the job done.”

“Should be fine. Those two brothers have never failed before.”

“Anything needs to be seen with my own eyes before I call it a success.”

Gu Yanzhen shook his head. “I don’t act on assumptions.”

Though he said this, in truth there was nothing weighing on his mind. Confirming things was simply his habit; once confirmed, he could move ahead with dealing with Yunzhu. If this attempt had failed, and he simply had her seized himself, the result would likely only be a great loss of face — and that kind of mockery was something he couldn’t stand, just like that slap on the street. As for what came after, everything else was already settled — scholar, romantic talent, whatever he called himself, under the blade everyone was the same. He’d let that woman see it, and after that he’d feel not the slightest pity for her either. A month later… the whole matter would be entirely finished, and he’d go to Leping, cut off this obsession of the heart, leaving nothing behind to dwell on.

Along the way, he discussed matters of Leping with Old Six — who to give gifts to, how much, what to do to win over the local hearts. Old Six walked ahead holding a torch; as they neared the hill, he stopped — there was a torch up on the hill too, circling three times left, three times right; a response came from this side as well, and then the torch on the hill signaled backward.

Gu Yanzhen watched all this; he’d been here once before and knew the routine well. He had much to consider, and at this moment he simply walked with his head down, lost in thought, planning out the year ahead and beyond — perhaps next time it would be better to go through Chancellor Li’s connections; Chancellor Li was, after all, a military official, and if he wanted to set aside the pen for the sword, the chancellor likely wouldn’t refuse — though of course, he’d still need outstanding achievements in his post to back it up. As for Leping, he already had a complete plan laid out — in his three years there, he meant to boost the people’s livelihood by leaps and bounds, pushing forward boldly and decisively. Three years from now, the friction and conflict between Liao, Jin, and the Wu court would likely reach its peak — no way to reach a resolution within three years — and that would be exactly the time for a hero to make his mark.

If only he could have started three years earlier — if he’d already had some achievement to his name by now, catching the very start of hostilities this year or next, that would have been far better. But there was no use complaining about such things; the timing was simply a bit off, nothing that couldn’t be made up for with a little extra effort… Three years spent in the capital working various connections had wasted some time, but if he could rise to a position of power later, he’d come back and thoroughly clean out such corrupt practices.

Passing through the small path in the woods, past the bamboo grove by the riverside, ahead the lights of the house on the water glimmered faintly. Old Six walked in front, head down, following behind. Truthfully, facing those two brothers made him somewhat uneasy, and thinking of other matters helped him appear more composed. The wind moaned past, the river water murmured. As they neared the door, something inside him rose to its highest pitch, but he made an effort to ignore it — the smell of wine drifted out from inside: they were probably drinking, understandably enough.

Old Six pushed open the door, which had been left ajar. Inside came a loud crash, then a series of snaps and hisses, and the lights went out — he couldn’t make sense of what kind of reaction this was.

The next instant, a tremendous boom — the door panel shattered right in front of him, a roof beam came whistling out from inside, slamming straight into Old Six’s face, then swinging back; a second later, the roof of the house ahead of him collapsed with a thunderous crash, and amid the massive shaking, the beam dragged the roof down with it.

Old Six fell into the shallow river water beside him, several arrows embedded backward through his chest jutting out from the riverbed, thick blood swirling and spreading with the current. The bodyguard who, moments before, had been full of life beside him, was now nothing but a corpse.

A splintered fragment of the door frame struck him in the face and fell into the river. All thought came to an abrupt halt. Gu Yanzhen stood there, stunned, frozen for a long moment.

The night wind howled past, and beneath the starlight, before the houseboat, a solitary figure stood — with nowhere left to belong.