On a small hill no more than ten-odd zhang high, over twenty figures stood scattered across the slope. Their garments varied in style and color, yet their expressions and eyes seemed carved from the same mold—grim, sharp, and unwavering. A burly man knelt on one knee, carefully examining two corpses that had gone rigid. He used his fingers to pry open the eyelid of one, revealing an eye like a shard of ice-cracked porcelain.
A petite woman, now donned in the plain cotton garb of a common city housewife, slowly ascended the hill. Behind her followed a sword-bearing maiden and an elderly man with a pallid face. She did not approach the corpses, merely covered her nose and asked in a heavy nasal tone, "Wang Yifu, what's the verdict?"
Wang Yifu sighed. "Both men were slain by a single stroke from a master. Their bodies remain intact, but their meridians are shattered, and their organs reduced to pulp."
The woman's expression grew dark and unsettled. "Such a formidable martial grandmaster emerging in our Great Li—and not just one, but two working in tandem. Our Prince, who claims vigilant watch over the borders, failed to catch even a trace? Are we to believe he simply let the fish slip through the net?"
Wang Yifu hesitated. "Your Highness, if I am not mistaken… it was the work of a single individual."
Her eyes narrowed like slits, her aura surging. "What did you say?!"
Wang Yifu pointed to the faint red line across the victims' necks. "This line between them—its force seamless and connected. It is clearly the handiwork of one man, using a blade in a single horizontal sweep."
The woman took a deep breath, restraining her killing intent, her voice laced with mockery. "Since when has Snowfall Temple become invincible? A random stranger steps out and slaughters people as if he were butchering chickens? You don't know who these two were, Wang Yifu—but Xu Hunran does. Speak. Let us hear names worthy of shaking the heavens."
Xu Hunran, visibly awkward, mustered his courage. "One had recently ascended to the seventh realm of martial cultivation, a master of fist and close combat. The other, an eighth-tier cultivator skilled in both flying swords and Daoist talismans. For twenty years, the two worked in tandem, never failing in their six assassination attempts. Now, they were elite agents under Your Highness's Zhuyeting Pavilion, ranked Grade A."
The woman's fury had long simmered, only barely suppressed. Now it erupted as she lashed out at Great Li's first swordmaster. "Xu Hunran! Give me their names! Even the dead deserve names!"
The old man shuddered inwardly, bowing slightly. "The martial man was named Li Hou. The cultivator, Hu Yinglin. Both served Your Highness faithfully, risking their lives time and again, earning great merit for Great Li."
Her expression softened slightly, but soon gave way to despondency. In a lifeless voice, she murmured, "Yes… Li Hou and Hu Yinglin. It was they who slew Ye Qing, the pillar of the Lu royal court's frontier defense. Not in enemy lands, not on a distant battlefield—but here, on our own soil."
Perhaps realizing her lapse in composure might be mocked by Wang Yifu, she lashed instead at his former allegiance. "How ironic. We thought Ye Qing, such a crucial figure, would surely be guarded by numerous powerful Qi cultivators. To eliminate him, I even had to join forces with my own uncle. Yet from infiltration to the final retreat, the Lu Dynasty showed no reaction whatsoever. Ye Qing had merely angered a few border sects—how had he become so isolated in court? Didn't the Lu Emperor revere mountain immortals above all else? Why then, in the end, did only one sect accompany him into the grave?"
Having said all this, a strange satisfaction blossomed in her heart. Indeed, suffering was tolerable—so long as others suffered more. Luxury was permissible—but never if others enjoyed greater luxury. Perhaps that was why she entrusted one child to Grand Tutor Cui Chan instead of the scholar Qi Jingchun of Cliffside Academy. Less worry, less risk. No need to fear the child growing up a victim, crying for his parents.
A trace of sorrow flickered across Wang Yifu's face.
General Ye Qing—loyal and steadfast, a pillar of the realm—had held the border for thirty years, repelling three major offensives from Great Li's army. Song Changjing, who once nearly perished in battle, had cursed him countless times as a stubborn old fool. Yet in the end, when Ye Qing died, the Lu court bickered for ten days over a posthumous title—and even then granted nothing too grand. The sixty thousand elite border troops, still combat-ready, saw their morale crumble.
When Song Changjing marched past, it was like a blade through butter. His first act? To pour wine and burn incense at Ye Qing's grave. The Ministry of Rites protested, only to be silenced by a single memorial from Song: "Is Great Li the only land with heroes?" The emperor approved it thrice, roaring with laughter. But afterward, he quietly told a eunuch, "That line came from my dear brother's heart. As for the memorial—clearly ghostwritten."
The woman had been watching this once-feared general's expression the whole time. She nodded inwardly. Though not yet at ease, she noted: a man devoid of human emotions surely harbors an unyielding resolve. And what else could that resolve be, if not the dream of restoration? If so, Wang Yifu was courting death. But if this so-called brute could act with such subtlety, playing his part so flawlessly, then he truly was capable.
Not that she was afraid.
Swordmaster Xu Hunran asked in confusion, "But didn't Your Highness already make arrangements with Master Ruan, promising no action within Longquan County? We even warned Li Hou and Hu Yinglin to lay low until reaching the border. Shouldn't Master Ruan honor that promise? Surely even someone from Snowfall Temple would respect your and Master Ruan's face?"
Wang Yifu asked, "And that sword-bearing man—his identity still unknown?"
The young woman shook her head. "No leads yet. We cannot directly question Master Ruan, nor the Snowfall Temple's cultivators. We can only rely on our intelligence network. But matters of the border—Your Highness is not at liberty to intervene…"
She trailed off, saying no more. For this touched upon the highest currents beneath Great Li's court.
Wang Yifu asked, "Could he be that Zhu He—Li family's retainer—concealing his true strength?"
The woman scoffed. "That mere fifth-realm martial artist? Not worth mentioning. The Li clan hasn't the gall to stir trouble under my very nose."
The old swordmaster sighed. "Then this becomes… troublesome."
The woman smiled enchantingly. "Troublesome? Quite the opposite. Let's return to the capital. I shall cry before the Emperor."
After all, it was others who first broke Great Li's rules. The Emperor would surely take her side.
Meanwhile, Li Baoping had a new little book box. All the odds and ends in her basket now needed relocating. The little girl and the teenager took this chance to sneak away during a break, finding a secluded spot far from Li Huai and the others to quietly inventory their belongings, lest something be lost or damaged.
Chen Ping'an also removed his own basket.
Inside was an old locust wood sword, likely a gift from Mister Qi—especially since, at the time, Chen Ping'an had inexplicably found a jade hairpin in his hair. He and Li Baoping both believed this was Qi's doing. Chen usually kept the sword angled in his basket, only taking it out at night, placing it across his knees to find peace and calm.
A yellow snakescale stone shone with delicate golden veins under sunlight. The other twelve smaller stones, though faded in color, remained fine in texture and quality. Li Baoping adored these trinkets, cradling the yellow stone in her palm.
"Little Uncle," she said, "let's never sell this one. The others… maybe someday…"