Xu Fengnian let Han Fang and Zhang Xiucheng, two clever men, pack their belongings at the Loyal and Righteous Outpost, and then he descended the mountain alone. He arrived at the tavern and saw Qingzhuniang sleeping soundly there. If she had been spotted by someone as impatient as the skinny monkey, wouldn’t she have been dragged into the depths of the forest or into the fields and treated like a mare? After sitting down, Xu Fengnian reached out and gently patted her cheek. She shuddered slightly, instinctively wiping at the corner of her mouth, fearing she had embarrassed herself. Women are often like this—fond of beauty, protective of their reputation, afraid of pain, and even more afraid of death. Of course, there are exceptions. Xu Fengnian had encountered many women who could rival men, and he dared not underestimate any woman. Besides, for any woman whose beauty he rated at no less than seventy coins, age didn’t matter much. As long as they weren’t deadly enemies, he always treated them with kindness.
Still drowsy, Qingzhuniang instinctively clutched at her collar, not sensing anything unusual, and quietly exhaled in relief. That expression made Xu Fengnian feel a little hurt. As a woman experienced in the ways of men and women, Qingzhuniang caught the young man’s helpless gaze with a sidelong glance and smiled playfully. Little rascal, she thought, you don’t even dare knock on a widow’s door. I’ll make you mad!
Xu Fengnian spoke plainly, “The Loyal and Righteous Outpost has angered the devils of Shen’s Hermitage. Han Fang and Zhang Xiucheng and the other leaders will take you south to Jizhou to escape. The journey might be rough, but it’ll be better than staying here to be bullied and abused. It’ll also be more comfortable. But whether you go to Jizhou or not is your choice. I won’t force you. Let me also mention beforehand, Zhongli Handan of the Changle Peak Hermitage is dead. You’ve lost your patron.”
Qingzhuniang looked stunned, then murmured, “Dead? Finally dead?”
Xu Fengnian nodded, “Dead beyond any doubt. I’m not lying to you.”
Qingzhuniang rested her head on the table, lost in thought. Her ample bosom was threatening to spill out again—wasn’t she afraid of breaking the table? Xu Fengnian openly glanced at her a few times and smiled, asking, “Can you ride a horse?”
Qingzhuniang gave him a flirtatious look, “This old girl can even make human meat buns. How could I not know how to ride a horse?”
Xu Fengnian looked amused and nodded, “So you can ride a horse.”
Qingzhuniang’s eyes sparkled with allure. Under the table, she gently placed her foot on the foot of this swordsman traveler. Softly, she said, “Isn’t that right? If you don’t believe me, Young Master…”
Xu Fengnian shook his head, “I’m not that kind of man.”
Qingzhuniang ceased her teasing, lowered her eyelids, and softly said, “But I am that kind of woman, right?”
At the end of her sentence, there wasn’t even a hint of a question.
Xu Fengnian was momentarily taken aback, then extended his finger and lightly flicked her forehead. She looked like a girl who had been scolded by a strict elder for misbehaving, her hands covering her forehead, her eyes never so pure. Xu Fengnian pinched her cheek, smiled after withdrawing his hand, and said, “You’re more innocent than any decent girl.”
Qingzhuniang didn’t seem to take it too seriously. With a worried expression, she asked, “What can I do in Jizhou?”
Xu Fengnian gently caressed the empty wine jar with two fingers, speaking softly, “Continue being the tavern mistress. Remember to sell good wine, and don’t open a black shop or make human meat buns.”
The sound of horse hooves approached.
Han Fang and Zhang Xiucheng arrived with fewer than twenty riders descending the mountain. They dismounted and came to the table respectfully. Qingzhuniang, seeing the two outlaw leaders acting like mice in front of a cat, was completely confused.
Xu Fengnian counted the number of riders and smiled, “Including you, there are only twenty riders. Did the second-in-command stop you from bringing the whole outpost along?”
Han Fang looked embarrassed.
Zhang Xiucheng’s lips curled upward, hitting the nail on the head. If he hadn’t strongly opposed and insisted on bringing only eighteen elite men to Jizhou, Han Fang would have taken everyone south.
Only then did Xu Fengnian slowly rise, circling the table to stand beside Qingzhuniang. He suddenly scooped her up and placed her on his horse. Looking up, he said, “Qingzhuniang, go to Jizhou. In the future, find a man you like and marry again. If anyone dares to gossip about you, I’ll have these two leaders rip their mouths open.”
On the horseback, the wine-flushed young woman suddenly burst into tears, bending down to hug the scholar’s head tightly, unwilling to let go.
For a long, long time.
Finally, with great difficulty, Xu Fengnian managed to say, “I can’t breathe.”
The men of the Loyal and Righteous Outpost were stunned, especially at the sight of Qingzhuniang blushing like a young girl.
Xu Fengnian whispered softly, “Live well. There is no greater truth in this world.”
She nodded, wiping away her tears.
The twenty-one riders gradually rode into the distance.
Xu Fengnian waved his hand, touched his head lightly, and murmured, “So fragrant, so heavy.”
※※※
Du Qinglou’s name might have been amusing, but his face was otherwise quite ordinary. Among the many non-clan members of Shen’s Hermitage, his martial skills were mediocre, and he was not involved in any important matters. About five or six years ago, he ascended to Changle Peak. Because of his skill in a ruthless sword technique not commonly known in the martial world—his sword moves were not flashy but filled with killing intent—he was often summoned by Zhongli Handan for sparring to hone his swordsmanship. Du Qinglou was not the kind of person who isolated himself from others. He got along well with many of the hermitage’s guests, willing to lower his status to build relationships. He was one of the few esteemed guests in the hermitage who were willing to give a warm reception to bandits from the mountain outposts and often went down the mountain to drink and chat with them.
On this day, when a thrilling fight broke out in the main plaza, he rushed to the scene immediately, though he only watched from a corner without revealing himself. A fellow guest who passed by even sneered at him, but Du Qinglou was not bothered by being despised. After witnessing the exciting fight of the sword-carrying scholar, he silently memorized the techniques and returned to the second floor of his small, isolated building. Instead of picking up his usual bamboo-tube frosty brush, he chose a rarely used spotted bamboo spring sprout brush with a soft goat-hair tip, good for writing tiny characters like mosquitoes and flies. He concentrated, quickly sorting through what he had memorized, and then began writing furiously on a small piece of prepared Xuan paper. After drying the ink, he rolled it into a cylinder with his fingers, inserted it into the short brush cap, sealed it with inkstone mud, stood up, opened a ventilated camphorwood cabinet, and took out a bamboo birdcage covered with black cloth. Removing the cloth, he revealed a pigeon with a crest and eyes like green water—known as the Green Droplet, a top-tier short-range carrier pigeon. Especially within a five-hundred-mile radius, it was renowned for its explosive speed, surpassing even hawks and falcons. He tied the lightweight brush cap to the pigeon with a silk thread and, under the cover of night, threw the unremarkable Green Droplet out the window.
After releasing the pigeon, Du Qinglou went downstairs, took a pot of wine, and sat on a Nanmu wooden chair, pouring himself a drink. One hand unconsciously stroked the handle of the chair. Shen’s Hermitage did not favor the northern Meng royal woods like rosewood, boxwood, or red sandalwood but had a particular fondness for collecting large Phoebe nanmu trees for decoration. Nanmu wood was the finest among the four famous woods of southern China, and it was said that its fragrance could prolong life. Within the hermitage, the Shen clan’s direct descendants mostly used the precious golden-threaded Phoebe nanmu, while minor guests like Du Qinglou had to settle for lower-grade yellow-core nanmu furniture, which still had beautiful patterns and a pleasant fragrance. For a martial artist living on the edge of a blade, having such a chair beneath him, with no worries about food or women, was nothing to complain about.
Unfortunately, Du Qinglou was no ordinary martial brute. He was a “Dragonfly Catcher” of the Northern Liang’s Zhu Wang, infiltrating major martial sects like his colleagues. He was ordered to remain hidden within Shen’s Hermitage, and every detail, no matter how trivial, had to be reported truthfully by carrier pigeon. Normally, he sent reports once every ten days, but in emergencies, he could act at his discretion. As for filtering and screening the intelligence, that was not the concern of a mere Dragonfly Catcher like him. Du Qinglou believed his identity was well-concealed and had not been discovered by the hermitage. Even if the old foxes of the Shen clan had seen through him, what could they do? Would they dare to expel him from the mountain? That would be tantamount to challenging Zhu Wang and tearing up their relationship, bringing an end to the peace of the Changle Peak Hermitage.
As his mood improved, Du Qinglou drank more joyfully, savoring the lingering taste on his tongue. Suddenly, his pupils constricted violently. He stood up and loudly asked, “Who’s there?”
No one answered. The door bolt, which had been secured, was cut by something sharp and then gently pushed open. Du Qinglou kicked the Nanmu chair, and a figure in brocade robes, as beautiful as a butterfly, flew in. Without any visible movement, the chair landed silently, and the door closed. Du Qinglou leaned against a beam, about to draw his hidden blade, when he looked up and saw two swaying sleeves circling the beam.
Like a cluster of blooming hibiscus, circling the beam and blooming.
The next moment, he was grabbed by the throat. Du Qinglou felt regret surge within him. According to Zhu Wang’s internal “secret code,” Dragonfly Catchers carried a secret poison capsule under their tongues, to be used for self-destruction if their cover was blown. However, Du Qinglou never believed that anyone from the hermitage would kill him, and over the past two years, he had grown lax. Since joining this web, he had never heard of a colleague forced to bite the poison and die. He had only heard of one unfortunate soul who accidentally killed himself due to excessive drinking. Du Qinglou quickly realized how foolish he had been. The intruder not only grabbed his throat but also severed the meridians in all four limbs with the other hand. Even if she let go, he could only collapse like a pile of mud, unable to move. This technique was as smooth as a skilled cook slicing vegetables.
Yet, the woman before him was so enchanting!
Most thrilling of all was her lips, vividly red and striking. Du Qinglou, knowing his fate was sealed, could only wonder what kind of rouge she used to make her so seductively cold and alluring.
She whispered with a smile, “I intercepted the secret letter you sent to another Butterfly Catcher in Xiongji Town, three hundred miles away.”
Du Qinglou, only able to make a hoarse sound, asked, “Who are you?”
She had no intention of answering at first, but then she narrowed her eyes, as charming as a crescent moon, and coquettishly said, “I’m your long-lost mother. Is that a beautiful answer?”
Du Qinglou, defeated in such an undignified manner, almost choked on his own bitterness. Being part of Zhu Wang meant he did not fear death or even torture, but being cornered without the slightest ability to fight back, and by a young woman like this, as if she were a fox spirit who had cultivated for a thousand years into human form, left him somewhat bewildered. He couldn’t even summon the courage to be fierce. As for the widely spread saying in the martial world—“Cutting off your head is just a bowl-sized scar; eighteen years later, you’ll be a hero again”—he found it impossible to utter. It was too foolish. Du Qinglou stared at the assassin, knowing only that she had come alone, an envoy from Dunhuang City. These details were in the letter. Because sending carrier pigeons during the day was too conspicuous, Du Qinglou usually sent secret messages around midnight. Just now, he had been secretly pleased that sending the message a little later had its advantages, allowing him to include news of that young swordsman. But now, all his efforts had been in vain.
She asked, “That Green Droplet hasn’t died yet. Do you want to write another secret letter to send out?”
Du Qinglou’s eyes remained calm, and he asked calmly, “Would doing so let me live?”
She replied naturally, “No.”
Du Qinglou sneered, “Then why should I write?”
She blinked her eyes, smiling seductively, “I’ve always thought that being able to live a little longer when you’re young is a lucky thing.”
Suddenly, Du Qinglou said, “I’ll write!”
She shook her head, “A few words, and since you’re not afraid of death, I won’t give you the chance to play tricks in the letter.”
With a crisp crack, the poor Dragonfly Catcher died with his eyes wide open, slumping down the beam, his head tilted to the side as he sat on the ground.
The woman didn’t even glance at the corpse. Her brocade skirt swayed as she ascended to the second floor. She looked at the ivory brush holder and immediately picked out the spring sprout brush with long goat-hair bristles. She used her fingers like a knife, bending down to cut a piece of prepared Xuan paper exactly the same size as the secret letter. She did not rush to write a forged message. Instead, she moved several books that Du Qinglou often read onto the desk, carefully browsing through some of his handwriting samples. Only then did she reach into her collar and pull out the Green Droplet pigeon from between her ample bosom. If Du Qinglou had seen this scene, he would probably have popped his eyes out. The woman casually placed the carrier pigeon on the desk, untied the silk thread, removed the brush cap, and peeled off the seal. She took out the secret letter and compared the handwriting. Indeed, there were noticeable differences. She lightly tapped the Green Droplet pigeon with her finger and softly laughed, “Just like you, a slippery fellow who refuses to behave.”
Suddenly, she put down the goat-hair brush, her eyes burning with passion. One hand reached between her bosom, her gaze dreamy, her voice soft and weeping. After a long time, she finally stopped her sultry moan, suppressing a long sigh, and whispered, “Prince… Your Highness…”
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage