“Slap.”
The slap Jiang Yinyue delivered landed solidly on the side of Wei Xichen’s face.
It rang out crisp and clear, echoing as it pierced through the barrier of years.
Crackling firecrackers resounded for ten li around.
The fifteen-year-old Jiang Yinyue, ill and standing amid the crowd, watched a grand procession.
“The Eastern Palace taking a consort is this grand; I wonder what spectacle it will be when the Crown Prince weds his Crown Princess.”
“It’s quite the rarity, almost rivaling a princess’s procession. Never seen the imperial family take a concubine with such fanfare.”
“It was meant to be a perfect tale of her becoming Crown Princess, but fate twisted it otherwise.”
The ailing Jiang Yinyue, cloaked to hide her pallor, stood alone among the onlookers. Ignoring her family’s objections, she had slipped out alone. Amid the clamor of gongs and drums, her shattered heart turned to utter despair.
Tears brimmed in the almond eyes peeking from her hood.
They streamed down unchecked.
Amid the firecrackers, the girl bid farewell to her former innocent self.
In the wine shop, Jiang Yinyue could no longer recall how piercing the firecrackers had been that day or how raucous the gongs and drums. She gazed coldly at Wei Xichen before her, tears long dried.
Wei Xichen, his face knocked askew, touched his somewhat swollen cheek. The cheek did not hurt; his throat felt parched and swollen instead.
A pure heart was like flawless jade, but even the rarest jade lost its priceless value once cracked.
His affection for her, after the trials of suspicion and distrust, had become quite cheap.
“Niannian, we can’t go back, can we.”
It was not a question, but a statement.
The bright moon once within reach had become a reflection in the mirror—close at hand yet untouchable.
What if he shattered the mirror?
The barrier between him and her was not just the thousand fleeting days and nights, but also Wei Qin.
The mild-mannered man suddenly smiled and took a large step back.
In the end, he could not bear to harm her, unable to enact the forceful seizure Yan Zhuyu had spoken of upon her.
But dealing with Wei Qin—how much effort would that really take?
Wei Xichen examined himself, examined the self whom the court officials called a mild jade of warmth.
Was it that he did not know himself well enough, or were the officials all mere flatterers?
His robe hem was torn by Qi Bao, the moon-white brocade ripped and ruined.
The ink-black night no longer concealed its darkness.
Even jade had its flaws.
“From the moment This Prince first laid eyes on Wei Qin, This Prince has not liked this man.”
Hearing the threat, Jiang Yinyue retreated beyond the wine table. “Wei Xichen, you truly surprise me.”
Suspicious and hypocritical to boot.
Wei Xichen sat back by the table, head tilted against the wall, hands resting on his spread knees—less refined now, more dejected.
The complex aura clashed starkly with his jade-like features.
“No matter how This Prince makes amends, it is futile, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“As long as Wei Qin remains at court for a day, This Prince will not tolerate him for a day.”
Jiang Yinyue wanted to grab a shard of porcelain from the floor and slash that casually indifferent, shadowy calm of his.
A decent quarrel to tear away the facade would be better than threats cloaked in gentle words.
The venomous snake flicked its tongue, slithering into her robes, leaving chills on her skin.
No wonder her father said there was no truth at wine tables, no gentlemen at court—those who played power games had filthy hearts.
Verbal sparring was pointless. Jiang Yinyue turned silently and walked toward the sunlit doorway.
Qi Bao’s ears flattened against its head, tail tucked between its hind legs, head drooping as it followed at Jiang Yinyue’s side.
As she reached the door, blocking beams of summer sunlight, the wine shop grew even dimmer.
Wei Xichen leaned there, shrouded in gloom.
When she and the dog stepped beyond the guards’ perimeter, Du Juan arrived with reinforcements.
The brisk Cui Shihan hurried forward, gripping Jiang Yinyue’s shoulders. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Wait for me.”
Jiang Yinyue took Cui Shihan’s hand and shook her head. “Let’s go.”
The Cui Family would do best to avoid clashing with the Dong Family—it would not benefit the Cui Clan.
Wei Xichen targeted her and Wei Qin; no need to drag Cui Shihan into the mire.
The two girls walked along the path to the Han Family Noodle Shop.
Cui Shihan hesitated several times before blurting out, pounding her palm. “Argh! So infuriating!”
She wanted to punch that man. Coveting another’s wife—where was the honor in that?
The girl’s anger was plain on her face, diluting Jiang Yinyue’s tangled thoughts with this show of loyalty.
She linked arms with Cui Shihan, unwilling to further suspect her attitude toward Wei Qin.
She was overthinking it.
The yamen runners dispatched from the Yangzhou Yamen, led by Wei Qin, had pursued for three days and found the fleeing salt merchants’ hideout.
The cluster of salt merchants huddled in a wooded depression.
Supported by colleagues from the Salt Transport Office, Wei Qin reached the edge of the depression’s highest point and overlooked the lush, tangled valley below.
The official supporting him was named Tang Zhan, one of the few former classmates who could chat with Wei Qin back in the day—they had even sat front and back.
They shared another classmate now serving in the Salt Transport Office.
Both admired Wei Qin to the utmost, especially Tang Zhan, who boasted of their trio’s bond to anyone who would listen.
With no outsiders around, the round-faced Tang Zhan grumbled about the Crown Prince. “His Highness is really something, tormenting the wounded like this! Easy there, Brother Wei.”
Wei Qin draped one arm over Tang Zhan’s shoulder, the other hand clutching his abdomen at the “wound.” To the other yamen runners, he seemed somewhat frail.
But the frail man’s lightly tossed words struck the hidden “prey” like a thousand-jin blow.
“Have you all heard of the fire attack on connected camps?” Wei Qin leaned on Tang Zhan’s shoulder, leaning forward, one long leg planted on a rock at the depression’s peak. “It’s midsummer, the heat thick, grasses and woods dense yet parched—good for hiding, but also for perishing.”
Wei Qin raised a finger, gauging the wind. “The moon wanes when full, water overflows when brimming. Ride the wind too long, and you’ll invite fire upon yourselves. Think it over, gentlemen. Once the wind shifts, This Official will give you no chance to flee.”
He disliked fire but did not mind using it.
The salt merchants, families, and retainers hiding in the undergrowth looked up at the dense canopy, feeling as if they had walked into a trap of their own making.
No, it was not an illusion.
The leading salt merchants exchanged glances.
Wei Qin ordered the yamen runners to light torches and spoke coolly into the wind. “The wind has shifted, gentlemen. Have you considered clearly? Show yourselves within ten counts.”
“One, two, three… nine. Light the fire.”
“Wait!”
One salt merchant rushed into the open, looking up at the pursuers above, gritting his teeth in helpless fury. “Wei Qin, you’re bullying us too far!”
A trace of contempt curled Wei Qin’s lips. “You brought this on yourselves—blaming others now? Take them!”
Waves of yamen runners descended the winding mountain path.
The prey did not even resist.
The pursuers held the terrain advantage; under fire attack, they stood no chance!
Businessmen were accustomed to weighing pros and cons, let alone choices between life and death.
The procession escorting the prisoners snaked grandly through the woods.
Tang Zhan, on horseback, laughed. “We’ve earned merit this time—will we get a reward from Crown Prince Your Highness? Some wine as a bonus would be nice!”
Wei Qin, also mounted, hand over his “wound,” eyed the two ranks of bound prisoners ahead. Had Prefect Lin Yu led them, the runners might earn rewards from the Crown Prince. But under him, they would feel they gained nothing by following.
That was one of the Crown Prince’s aims too.
Others targeted might sulk or lose spirit, but Wei Qin, impervious, paid it no mind.
Winds shifted in an instant—from tailwind to headwind, sand stinging the eyes.
“Whoosh!”
“Whoosh whoosh!”
Volleys of white-feathered arrows flew, piercing prisoners’ chests and runners’ throats.
The oriole lurked behind!
Tang Zhan cried in alarm, “Assassins!”
The yamen runners drew sabers, blocking arrows from all sides.
Blood sprayed in arcs, splattering the noonday grass.
Wei Qin dodged a hidden arrow sideways, leaped from his horse onto the panicking Tang Zhan, tumbling them both down. He sprang up, snatched a sheathed longsword from the ground.
“Hide!”
Tang Zhan fled cowering into the bushes, watching the carnage in terror.
Dozens of black-clad men landed, slashing at all they met.
Several salt merchants fell in moments.
Battle erupted; the runners retreated step by step.
The black-clad attackers were few but ferocious, each worth ten foes.
Wei Qin was entangled by one, blade clashing blade, strength against strength.
He did not bother asking who they were or their purpose—answers would not come.
With full force, he parried the foe’s steel blade, twisted his wrist into a blur of knife flowers swift as purple lightning. From retreat to advance, defense to offense, he drove the opponent back repeatedly.
From a branch overhead came a voice.
“Kill Wei Qin. Leave no survivors.”
Wei Qin glanced up, spotting afar a black-cloaked man—the apparent leader of this assassination.
Yamen runners fell one by one; prisoners fared no better.
Wei Qin, beset from front and rear, face streaked with whosever blood.
Cornered against a poplar by three assailants, he blocked their blades horizontally with his own, used the force to step up the trunk, then flipped midair onto a horse’s back.
“Hyah!”
Hooves trampled blood; he galloped off alone.
They were after him. Only by drawing them could the remaining runners and prisoners possibly survive.
The cloaked man bellowed, “Pursue! Do not fail!”
The dozens of black-clad men whistled shrilly, summoning their mounts.
But at another melodic, eerie whistle, the mounts panicked like headless flies, scattering wildly.
The once-serene woods shattered under thundering hooves.
Wei Qin, who had whistled, spurred his horse onward and loosed a Signaling Arrow.
The arrow pierced the layered branches, exploding in the sky.
The black-clad men steadied their horses and pursued along Wei Qin’s hoofprints.
From noon to dusk, Wei Qin, repeatedly ambushed, tumbled from his horse.
His mount tripped by ropes.
The cloaked man appeared again atop a tree. “Kill!”
A black-clad man leaped down, blade rising and falling toward the prone, rolling Wei Qin.
“Bang!”
Wei Qin, on his back, raised the fire musket; smoke curled from the muzzle.
The black-clad man crumpled, steel blade flying free.
The blade reflected a ray of sunset glow.
“A fire musket?” The cloaked man, eyes dazzled, turned his face away.
Wei Qin gripped the fire musket Jiang Yinyue had secretly slipped him, swinging the muzzle toward the leader in the tree.
“Bang!”
Pain tore through flesh; Wei Qin rolled aside, spitting sweet blood.
The foe had a fire musket too.
Court men!
Wei Qin clutched the musket in one hand, used his blade tip as a prop in the other, staggering to his feet. Bloodied and filthy, he stood like a scorched pine amid flames—ashen yet unbowed.
The black-clad men charged with blades; the cloaked man raised his fire musket, aiming at Wei Qin.
“Bang!”
“Bang bang!”
In a blink, several foes ahead toppled.
Wei Qin blinked blood from his phoenix eyes, watching the cloaked man plummet from the branch.
The remaining black-clad men scattered in the thunderous blasts.
None survived.
In the endless woods, a “wild beast” prowled.
Wei Qin clutched his abdomen, approaching the cloaked man.
“Careful!”
A burly man steadied the swaying Wei Qin. “They are the Crown Prince’s men?”
“No.”
Not the Crown Prince’s trusted agents—the Crown Prince would not slaughter the captured salt merchants or innocent runners.
Wei Qin endured the pain, stepped forward, and under the cloaked man’s furious glare, yanked off his mask.
The burly man peered closely, then whipped his head around.
Sent by Tao Qian!
Wei Qin kicked the struggling man unconscious.
If he could not have it, destroy it—that was Tao Qian’s style. Evidently, in the contest for new appointee, Grand Secretary Dong had outmaneuvered Tao Qian.
Tao Qian, dressed by others, harbored grudge and sought to kill him, then pin it on the Crown Prince to sow discord between the Crown Prince and Jiang Song.
The burly man gnashed his teeth. “Hand him to the Crown Prince; His Highness will sort the pros and cons.”
“All the runners and salt merchants were killed.”
Another youth rode up on horseback and interrupted their conversation.
Wei Qin closed his eyes, his finger bones crackling. “Where is Tang Zhan?”
The youth fell silent.
The small round-faced man hiding in the bushes did not escape unscathed.
A fishy sweetness surged up his throat, but Wei Qin used his knife as a crutch and endured the wound in his abdomen as he turned back.
“Pass down the order: use their plan against them.”
It was better to let Wei Xichen personally experience the danger than for him to figure out the cause and effect.
Only by experiencing it firsthand could he truly feel it, and even his anger would burn more fiercely.
That night, the sound of musket fire echoed near the post station.
The startled tabby cat jumped onto Wei Xichen’s leg.
By the time Wei Xichen got up, a large group of guards surged into the small room to protect the Heir Apparent.
Blades clashed outside the post station.
Under the moonlight, knife light and sword shadows flashed.
The burly man leaped onto the highest roof of the post station, picked up an arrow, and stabbed it into the chest of the dying cloaked man before tossing him into the small courtyard.
The cloaked man still had a fire musket hidden in his lapel.
The scarred-faced youth took advantage of the moonless, windy night to discard several black-clad men who had just breathed their last.
A silver-robed man raised his sleeve under the moonlight, signaling everyone to withdraw quickly.
Waves of guards pushed past the archers, chasing after those figures darting over eaves and walls all the way to the canal.
The boat sails fluttered in the wind like the silver-robed man’s sleeves.
The large ship carried vague silhouettes away from the shore.
Hundreds of white-feathered arrows were slanted into the stern.
Wei Xichen, who had personally ridden after them, held a spyglass and gazed into the distance. He saw a tall man in a gold-threaded black cloak standing at the stern.
The hood covered most of his face.
The white-feathered arrows attacking him unfolded like swallow tails, instead becoming the boost that propelled him into the clouds.
As Wei Xichen tried to make out his features, the man in the spyglass held a bow and arrow, and with a whoosh, shot an arrow that arced through the night sky.
“Your Highness, watch out!”
The Deputy Guard Commander swung his blade to intercept the incoming cold arrow.
Wei Xichen did not retreat. He stared fixedly at the departing large ship.
“Pass down the order: seal off all the ferry crossings and prepare to intercept them.”
The Deputy Guard Commander hesitated. “I’m afraid it will be too late.”
The enemy had come prepared, while they were completely caught off guard.
Wei Xichen took the broken arrow from a guard and clenched his fist.
Fu Zhongcai, who arrived shortly after, was gasping for breath. “Reporting to Your Highness, among the assassins who were shot, one of them… one of them was…”
“What is it?”
“Minister Tao Qian’s… retainer!”
Aboard the large ship, the silver-robed man removed half of his silver mask and cupped his hands toward the crowd. “Long time no see, old friends.”
Counting the days, it had been seventeen years since he had parted with some of them.
These people hid in inconspicuous corners, their identities ranging from carpenters and tilers to butchers, physicians, merchants, tutors, and retainers of prestigious families. More or less, they had all aged.
Unless it was a critical moment, the silver-robed man dared not use the Roaming Scale Jade Pendant to summon them.
At the stern railing, the burly man handed over a medicine pouch. “Young Master.”
“No need.”
“You still need to treat the wound promptly.”
“This way, those people won’t suspect anything.”
“We only have one Young Master.”
The young man in the hooded cloak stood with his hands behind his back. Beneath the cloak billowing in the wind, a exquisitely crafted Roaming Scale Jade Pendant gleamed.
It was not the work of an ordinary jade artisan.
“At each checkpoint, I only have one chance.”
The next evening, the sunset dyed the sky red, evoking a tragic sorrow.
Carriages pulled by yamen runners dragged the corpses of prisoners into the city.
All the city’s officials, yamen runners, guards, and attendants bowed with the Crown Prince.
The families of those who died miserably wailed uncontrollably, filling the city with mournful cries.
Jiang Yinyue squeezed through the crowd, her heart aching like a knife twist. When she saw Wei Qin at the end of the procession, not only did she not breathe a sigh of relief, but she felt lingering fear.
She ran forward but was stopped by the officers.
She watched the bloodstained Wei Qin walk up to Wei Xichen and bow his head as he said something.
Wei Xichen nodded, as if agreeing to some proposal.
It was probably a proposal to compensate the families of the sacrificed yamen runners.
Separated by the wall of officers, Jiang Yinyue wove through the commoners. From dozens of steps away, she stayed inseparable from Wei Qin in form and shadow. Every step he took stamped on her heart.
When the crowd dispersed, the man left in the long street’s sunset suddenly knelt down.
Blood seeped from his wounds.
Jiang Yinyue pushed past the Wei Family members and was the first to rush over.
“Wei Qin!”
The Wei Family accompanied him from a distance, not daring to approach his grief.
Cui Shihan, who had originally come to complain to Wei Qin, stood with her arms crossed under a drooping willow by the roadside, her nails digging into her arm.
Jiang Yinyue knelt beside Wei Qin, her trembling hand not daring to touch his dirtied face.
Wei Qin rarely showed sadness, but at this moment, he did not conceal it—for the innocent dead and for his old classmate.
In their youth, Tang Zhan was one of the few who willingly approached him.
During those years studying in the private school, the small round-faced child often held a bag of sugar-fried chestnuts and grinningly shared half with him.
“My mother stir-fried them. Eat them while they’re hot.”
“Hey, wait for me. Let’s walk together.”
“Why are you always dressed so thinly? Let me lend you some clothes for winter.”
“Great Bangyan, you’ve really made it—you’ve become an imperial transport judge!”
Wei Qin could not hold back his grief and smeared the dirt on his face.
Jiang Yinyue wiped it away with her sleeve, and his tears overflowed from her eyes.
Some passersby were discussing how Wei Qin had survived, and Jiang Yinyue dazedly recalled the scene when she herself had been questioned.
Why hadn’t the assassins killed her?
She covered Wei Qin’s ears. The always fastidious young lady pressed her forehead against his temple.
“Don’t listen. Ignore them.”
Beneath her tender fingertips, the man’s skin burned like fire.
His wound was inflamed, and Wei Qin’s three souls and seven spirits were on the verge of scattering with the wind.
It was precisely the gunshot wound in his abdomen that dispelled the suspicions of the generals around Wei Xichen.
They imagined that Wei Qin had also gone through a fierce battle and barely survived with his life.
Under Jiang Yinyue’s soothing, Wei Qin regained a bit of awareness. He leaned against his wife’s shoulder and finally caught his breath.