The youth watched as the maiden approached, her footsteps light and graceful, gliding along the softly illuminated corridor like a young fawn in the night. Zhu Lu abandoned her usual haughty demeanor, appearing instead as a childhood playmate from the neighboring home, her smile coy and inviting. Chen Ping'an seemed momentarily incredulous, slowing his pace until he nearly halted, eyes wide, fixed intently on the somewhat unfamiliar delicate visage before him.
From behind, Zhu Lu drew back her left hand, waving a greeting to Chen Ping'an as she spoke while advancing: "Chen Ping'an, about what happened on the stone plateau at Qidun Mountain, my father wishes me to tell you…"
Within five paces, the girl—at the peak of the second realm—suddenly surged forward with explosive force. In only two strides, she was face-to-face with Chen Ping'an, their gazes locking with razor-sharp clarity. The complexity etched across her features—ferocity, fury, exhilaration, and release—was profound. The youth's eyes darkened, edged with a fierce sharpness honed like a chopper forged upon the Dragon-Slaying Platform.
Zhu Lu's left fist struck the youth's forehead, a feint executed deliberately with slowed precision. Her true weapon lay in her right hand: lightning-fast, she thrust three slender, sharp bamboo skewers straight toward his chest.
Just as the bamboo tips neared his heart, the girl—on the verge of a deadly strike—uttered the unfinished words she had held back: "Forgive me!" Gone was any trace of innocence; only ruthless resolve remained.
In the next instant, Zhu Lu's face registered shock, sensing danger, and she attempted to retreat. Chen Ping'an's right hand shot up, not only blocking her left punch but seizing the opportunity presented by her deliberate show of weakness. His arm thrust forward, grasping her throat. Simultaneously, his left hand locked firmly around the wrist that wielded the concealed skewers, yanking outward to prevent them from piercing his heart.
With sudden force, he pulled her close, delivering a brutal knee strike to her abdomen. The blow was merciless, nearly forcing the girl to retch bile; her body involuntarily doubled over, surrendering her strength entirely. Yet Chen Ping'an remained vigilant, striking her forehead with his own, driving her backward.
Staggering, Zhu Lu was sent crashing onto the cold stone floor several paces away like a severed kite, struggling feebly to rise but failing, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth, her pallid face like paper, the bloom of her beauty drained. The assault was swift and merciless.
Using her elbow to brace against the ground, Zhu Lu endured the agonizing pain, laboring to retreat, desperate to put even an inch of distance between herself and the youth in straw sandals. Chen Ping'an scanned their surroundings carefully, finding nothing amiss before cautiously approaching the weakened girl, muscles tense.
Overwhelmed by panic, Zhu Lu, neglecting to wipe the blood from her lips, pleaded tearfully: "Don't kill me, Chen Ping'an. I was only joking, truly. If I intended to kill you, why would I use these bamboo skewers? Besides, why would I want to kill you at all…"
Chen Ping'an's words struck like a scalpel: "When we parted on Guanshui Street, you said you and your father were going to browse a weapons shop, presumably seeking daggers or similar concealed arms. I suppose the shop was closed, so you resorted to these skewers."
Suddenly, Zhu Lu laughed, her chest heaving violently as she coughed fiercely, blood still oozing between her fingers. She released her grip as if resigned, tilting her head to gaze upward at the youth who looked down upon her. Her eyes descended to his rough, humble straw sandals. Then she raised her gaze again, as if possessed, laughing instead of crying, fixing her stare upon the approaching youth with hoarse amusement: "I never thought you were as dull as I imagined. But I am curious—how did you realize I meant to kill you?"
Her voice rose, her once delicate face twisted into madness. "Chen Ping'an, before you kill me, can you at least let me die understanding why?"
His footsteps never faltered as he retorted, "Why?"
She tried to sit up, but Chen Ping'an stamped down on her forehead, forcing her back as her head struck the stone floor. Vomiting a mouthful of blood, she abandoned all attempts to rise. Deep inside, her greatest humiliation was standing before this youth in straw sandals while she lay prostrate, unable even to sit up.
Wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, she smiled bitterly: "Do you remember the family letter our second young master sent to the young lady? Our master excels in all arts—music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Especially in semi-cursive script, which reflects his free-spirited nature. Yet before he left for the capital, he suddenly said he wanted to learn regular script because he wished to understand the rules of the outside world and begin to temper his own heart."
Chen Ping'an crouched down, pried open her fingers, retrieving the three bamboo skewers, holding them silently in his palm as he sat on a bench, expression unreadable, eyes fixed on Zhu Lu to prevent any further mischief.
It was clear Zhu Lu had no hesitation in attempting to kill him; her resolve was unyielding. Yet for Chen Ping'an to kill her without remorse was difficult, tangled as it was with memories of the little red-coated girl, the straightforward man Zhu He, and the enigmatic second young master of the Li family.
From the moment he saw her approaching along the corridor, Chen Ping'an knew Zhu Lu harbored ill intent. His keen gaze saw through her poorly concealed pretense—the trembling lashes, clenched jaw, sharp, lowered eyes—all unmistakable.
Yet he never imagined she would truly attempt murder.
When she mentioned "our young master," her entire aura shifted. Her glance at the youth in straw sandals was once again that of a person looking down on a dog.
"At Pillow Inn, when the young lady first spoke of the letter's contents, the young master told me about the beacon fires of Dali—millions of miles of peaceful flame, stretching from the border to the capital. But what the young lady did not know—and none of you did—was that before, the young master never told me about this message conveyed through the border's peaceful fires: that the ruler is safe."
"He spoke instead of anecdotes and tales. Since I was young, I remember everything clearly."
"So I suspected something was amiss and demanded the letter. Sure enough, I discerned the scholarly mystery only I, Zhu Lu, could unravel."
Chen Ping'an looked down at the fevered girl; he remained silent.
Immersed in her world, Zhu Lu transformed once more into the proud and arrogant maid of the Li family, a budding martial prodigy.
She continued, "I read the letter twice, only twice, before solving the riddle my young master intentionally left."
Gazing at the cold, dark visage before her, she sneered, "The young lady is a flighty, fickle child and could never grasp our master's intent. Thus, he never pinned his hopes on her, but on me. The letter, over two thousand flowing words in semi-cursive script, contained only seven characters in regular script!"
Nearly laughing to tears, she faltered, "Dali pillar country surname, Chen family eldest grandson, slay horse thief, peaceful fire, report peace, receive imperial decree."
Those seven characters spelled: "Slay Chen Ping'an, receive imperial decree." A scholar's murder requires no blade.
Chen Ping'an frowned.
Clutching her wracked abdomen, drenched in cold sweat, she sneered, "Have you never even heard the words 'imperial decree'?"
Struggling, she leaned against the bench opposite the youth. Chen Ping'an did not stop her this time.
She looked at the youth her young lady called Junior Uncle, and said, "Do you know what I want most besides killing you? You read so well—I want to hand you that letter. Perhaps you'll feel shame, wondering how such exquisite calligraphy and literary grace can be found in just those seven characters. Isn't that ironic? I find it hilarious—almost laugh myself to death!"
Chen Ping'an sat quietly on the bench, nearby lay the untouched candied hawthorns. He glanced at Zhu Lu, curling his lips, "If not for Zhu He, today you'd really have died laughing."
He stood slowly, saying, "I know these words were meant for your father. And your struggle to rise just now was a ploy—to provoke me to strike you, forcing Zhu He's hand: either I kill you, or he kills me. Isn't that right?"
Zhu Lu's face darkened; she fell silent.
Unnoticed, Zhu He appeared in the corridor, fists clenched, veins bulging, face stricken with anguish. The man gazed at the pair—the beloved daughter and the admired youth.
Zhu Lu wiped blood from her mouth fiercely, lowering her head but fixing her eyes on the youth in straw sandals. Slowly turning, she unusually wore a calm expression, addressing the familiar figure: "If our young lady knew all this, even if she survived, her skin would peel off in shame. Her life would be hopeless. Father, I beg you, show no mercy—strike before that Ah Liang at the Wind and Snow Temple returns! The young master said, 'When to cut off is clear, hesitation breeds chaos.'"
Chen Ping'an abruptly turned, bending down to pluck a candied hawthorn, chewing thoughtfully. Then he stood in the corridor's center, confronting Zhu He.
Softly to the girl, he said, "You will die."
Zhu Lu's heart sank.
Her father and
the youth locked eyes, the tension palpable. For a moment, the corridor was silent except for the crackling candle flame.
Then Zhu He's voice, hoarse and low, echoed, "Ah Liang is not coming."
Chen Ping'an's brow furrowed.
Zhu He continued, "I must say, your wit is sharp, but your heart is weak. You always overthink when you need clarity."
The youth said, "The moment you set foot here, fate was sealed. Zhu Lu, what do you truly want?"
The girl smiled faintly, "To live. And to see the dawn of a new era."