Chapter 103: The Ordinary Path

The moon set and the sun rose, signaling the break of another day.

At the end of the Yin hour, in front of the Princess Yiyang’s mansion, Shazha Fu and Juedi, accompanied by several attendants and guards, stood waiting early with the horses—the Wan-Xun-Shuang—all saddled and bridled. Usually, the road was deserted at this hour, but today was different. People carrying burdens, riding horses, or brawling with one another passed by, circling back and forth in front of Juedi.

Shazha Fu raised an eyebrow at Juedi, as if questioning the scene. Juedi did not meet his gaze, only shaking his head slowly, his face full of gloom.

Before long, voices echoed from within the mansion. The heavy gates swung open, and Quan Ce stepped out, dressed in his official robes. His expression was as cold as water.

He mounted the Wan-Xun-Shuang, paused in silence, offered a bitter smile, and flicked his whip. "Let us go."

Around the same time, the courtiers of the Eastern Capital were setting off for the morning court, their departure times staggered by the distance of their homes from the Taichu Palace. Yan Baili owned an expensive, luxurious residence near the palace, but he dared not live there. Instead, he rented a two-courtyard house at the edge of the Eastern City, a dwelling more in line with his official salary.

As he stepped out, a single-horse carriage with green-curtained windows was already waiting. He glanced at it, and his brow, already permanently furrowed, tightened further. He stepped onto the footstool to enter the carriage, then turned back to instruct, "Keep the gates tightly shut. Tell the mistress not to go out for any reason."

The head steward, knowing his master’s temperament and that he never spoke without cause, immediately ordered the gatekeepers to bar the doors once the carriage had departed. "Mind yourselves. If any of you low-born wretches dare to act out or wag your tongues, watch your own hides."

"Awoo..." A shrill cry erupted from the second gate. The steward hurriedly led several stout men toward it. The inner courtyard beyond the second gate was locked from within. He pounded on the door with his fists, shouting, "Who is inside? What has happened?"

The maidservant guarding the door replied, "Master Steward, nothing is wrong. I was dazed and kicked over a flowerpot. The pain made me cry out. I apologize for disturbing you; I shall open the door for you now."

The steward narrowed his eyes, listening closely. Hearing the jingle of keys, he felt relieved and chided, "Be more careful with your duties. The mistress and the young lady are not yet awake. Why are you opening the door? Have you no sense of propriety?"

"Yes, yes, I understand," the maidservant replied repeatedly, then fell silent. Once the steward’s footsteps faded, her legs went weak and she collapsed onto the bluestone floor, trembling violently and biting her lip so hard she dared not make a sound.

Standing before her was a masked assassin in black, a short dagger pressed against her throat. Down the corridor, another figure in black stood holding a refined hand crossbow, its bolt glinting with a cold, lethal light.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh." The sound of wind being broken echoed repeatedly as countless assassins swarmed in. A warm wetness spread between the maidservant’s legs, and the stench of urine filled the air. The assassin in black frowned in disgust and waved a hand, knocking her unconscious.

In the inner courtyard’s main bedroom, two women, dressed only in their undergarments, were bound tightly with ropes and gagged with cotton cloth. They were tied back-to-back. One was in the prime of her youth, the other in her early teens.

"I have long heard that the honorable Yan Baili and his wife are deeply devoted, and that his wife has a secret to preserving her beauty, remaining stunning even past the age of forty. Seeing her today, the rumors are true," two masked figures in black strolled into the room. The one who spoke was short, with a feminine voice. "However, while men may enjoy such things, women do not always feel the same."

*Slap.* A sudden, vicious blow sent the older woman’s head reeling, her eyes swimming with stars.

The taller assassin’s brow twitched. "Neither of you needs to be afraid. Just tell us who Yan has met in the last few days, and you may avoid physical suffering."

Madam Yan sneered, holding her head high in cold defiance. The young daughter, in the bloom of her youth, looked around in terror, shaking her head—she clearly knew nothing.

The assassin’s face darkened with anger. He gestured for a bloodthirsty brute to step forward, carrying various blades and hooks to begin his work.

"No, no," the short female assassin stopped him. "It is rare to see such true devotion from a wife to her husband. If she were to become a tattered rag, used by thousands, surely Master Yan would pity her all the same. That would truly prove that genuine love exists in this world. We walk in the darkness, yet we too must serve the light."

She turned, her eyes radiating a cold, tangible malice that chilled Madam Yan to the bone. "Come, strip her clothes. Treat this delicate, tender skin well. Hehehe."

She laughed in a low, sinister tone—not shrill, but far more malicious and bordering on madness.

"Mmm-mmm-mmm!" Madam Yan shook her head and kicked, struggling violently. The assassins ignored her. With a series of tearing sounds, her thin undergarments were shredded to pieces. Their hands roamed over her, pinching and twisting her soft, fragrant flesh until it was covered in bruises.

After a full quarter-hour of torment, the female assassin kicked her subordinates away and asked unhurriedly, "Will you speak, or not?"

Two streams of tears slid down her cheeks, and Madam Yan nodded repeatedly.

The female assassin, feigning composure, took a deep breath.

At the first light of dawn, Quan Ce walked along the river. The pale morning sun shone on his face, which looked as yellow as paper. As he neared the Changxia Gate of the Taichu Palace, the courtiers grew denser. Under the watchful eyes of many, regardless of their personal ties, most only offered nods or bows. Only Wu Youxu, the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Justice, disregarded the gossip and walked straight to Quan Ce, asking how his self-defense memorial was coming along.

Quan Ce was touched but could not say much. He joked, "It is much like the poetry I write."

Wu Youxu was stunned for a moment before realizing that Quan Ce’s poems were always just a line or two, never the full picture. He laughed, patted his shoulder, and said, "A straight body does not fear a crooked shadow. You have always been kind to others. Such sinister villains are, in the end, a minority. Those who do much evil will surely be struck down by heaven."

Quan Ce smiled and bowed in thanks, but suddenly, the hair on his arms stood up. *Kind to others?*

Back at Yan Baili’s residence, Madam Yan and her daughter stood in their clothes, looking at each other in a daze. Madam Yan hugged her arms; the past half-hour had been a nightmare.

On the main street of the Eastern City, a rider galloped toward the Taichu Palace in the northwest.

*Swish.* A large net was cast from the roadside, ensnaring the rider and dragging him from his horse.

In a small building nearby, an elderly voice let out a triumphant cold snort. "No matter how discreet you are, you will eventually show your tail. Go seize him; I shall interrogate him myself."

Footsteps echoed as men came and went. "Old Gongfeng, the man has already taken his own life."

"Dead? No matter. Even the dead have their uses," the Old Gongfeng said, unfazed. "I have operated in the shadows for many years; no one has ever been able to move under my nose for so long."

"Old Gongfeng, my subordinate recognizes this man. He is one of the shadow agents under Princess Taiping."

"Hmm? Scoundrels! Quickly, go watch the pleasure boats on the Yi River!" The Old Gongfeng suddenly realized he had fallen for a diversionary tactic.

When his men had cleared out, the Old Gongfeng rubbed his neck and flicked his sleeves in frustration, not bothering to wait for a report. By the time they arrived now, they would likely be watching nothing but air.

By the Luo River, a small, warm sedan chair sped toward the Changxia Gate. By the time it arrived, the vermilion palace gates were already slowly closing. Shazha Fu and Juedi approached with grim faces, bowing and addressing the occupant as "Lady Fuqu."

After the exchange of greetings, silence fell between them, as if frozen in ice.

As the morning breeze whipped by, the curtains of the sedan chair fluttered miserably.

Inside, sitting alone, was none other than Yu Nu.