Su Tingyun's eyes flashed with momentary fury at being exposed, but then he admitted openly, "Indeed, I resent you for bewitching her. But what of it? A gentleman is judged by his actions, not his thoughts. You colluded with outsiders to rebel against the throne—a crime punishable by all under heaven. Whether I kill you for her sake or for righteousness, what difference does it make?"
Yan Zheng paused briefly before nodding slowly. "True. A man acts with a clear conscience. But what if I never rebelled?"
Su Tingyun let out a cold laugh. "Yan the Third, have you sunk so low as to spin such lies? For wealth and power, you even murdered your own brother. Countless officials have fallen by your hand these past days. Do you truly expect me to believe you?"
Yet Yan Zheng replied calmly, "You do believe me."
"But you refuse to let yourself believe it, Su Tingyun. You know this possibility exists, yet you won’t entertain it, much less accept it—because of Ayan. After all, this is one of the few, no, the only chance you have to defeat me."
Su Tingyun’s composure finally shattered. He couldn’t tell if it was shame from being unmasked or the horror of realizing he wasn’t the upright gentleman he’d always believed himself to be. All his turmoil erupted in a furious roar: "Ignore his nonsense! Attack!"
The Shuntian Prefecture officers surged forward. A flicker of icy disdain crossed Yan Zheng’s eyes as he raised his sword to meet them.
Though he hadn’t fought in years, his blade still cut through them like scythes through wheat.
Moonlit night, the official road, a bloody struggle.
When the last assailant fell, Yan Zheng turned. His white robes were now drenched crimson, yet his cold, composed expression remained unchanged. He tilted his chin slightly, gazing down at his opponent.
"Magistrate Su, shall we continue?"
With a casual flick of his wrist, the blood clinging to his sword tip finally dripped. The remaining officers recoiled as if facing a demon.
"He’s not human!"
"A monster! He’s a monster!"
Su Tingyun’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t anticipated Yan Zheng, now restored, would be so formidable!
Regret gnawed at him—he should have listened to Jian'an Count and brought all two hundred officers from Shuntian Prefecture.
But it was too late. Drawing his sword, he said grimly, "Chief Minister Yan, enlighten me."
Just then, his advisor bellowed, "Men, charge with him!"
The officers, still terrified of Yan Zheng, hesitated.
The advisor roared again, "Have you forgotten? Capturing a traitor guarantees glory! Don’t you all want promotions? Wealth? Titles?"
In the capital, climbing the ranks was near impossible. For men like them, the highest they could hope for was a minor seventh-rank post. But capturing a rebel? That was a shortcut to the heavens.
With greed burning in their eyes, they rushed forward. Yan Zheng clicked his tongue, resolving to end this quickly.
Amid the clash, a sudden whoosh—
The advisor flung a handful of powder. Yan Zheng instinctively held his breath and dodged, but still inhaled a trace.
"Ugh—"
His heartbeat spiked, and old wounds long healed began throbbing anew.
"Cough— What did you throw?" Su Tingyun coughed, waving the dust away.
The advisor hurriedly explained, "Worry not, Magistrate. It’s just ephedra powder—harmless to most, but fatal to those with damaged danfu like him!"
Sure enough, Yan Zheng clutched his chest, leaning against the carriage shaft, pain twisting his features.
Su Tingyun frowned, instinctively wanting to call the tactic dishonorable—but this was no time for scruples. Without the powder, even all of them together might not subdue Yan Zheng.
"Seize him!"
Two officers lunged eagerly, only to have their shoulders pierced before they could get close.
Yan Zheng kicked them away, but the motion sent agony lancing through his chest—like a thousand needles stabbing at once, making even breathing a struggle.
Damn it…
I underestimated them.
Gritting his teeth against the torment, he hauled himself onto a horse and spurred it into a frenzied gallop.
"Magistrate, watch out!"
The advisor yanked Su Tingyun aside just as the panicked horse barreled past. By the time they looked up, Yan Zheng was already vanishing into the distance, slumped over the saddle.
Su Tingyun ground his teeth. "After him! No matter what, he must not reach the Western Mountain Camp tonight!"
Boom!
A thunderclap split the silence, lightning tearing through the dark.
Chu Ruoyan’s heart lurched. "Uncle Liu, how much longer?"
Outside the carriage, Uncle Liu peered ahead. "Should be soon, miss. But what exactly are you searching for, riding out in the dead of night?"
Chu Ruoyan didn’t answer.
She’d left the estate in haste, first securing Uncle Liu’s carriage—the fastest route back to the capital. Though delayed, she’d taken backroads instead of the main highway. According to the Bai Xiao Pavilion’s records, this path would get her to Nine-Mile Pavilion half an hour faster, and from there, the Western Mountain Camp was just twenty li ahead.
Had Yan Zheng arrived yet?
Unable to quell her unease, she said abruptly, "Uncle Liu, there’s no time. Give me the horse."
Uncle Liu startled. "Miss, you can’t! The Old Miracle Physician said you mustn’t exert yourself—"
"Don’t worry. It’s just riding. And I have the pills he gave me." She shook two vials—heart-preserving pills and calming elixirs—before him. When Uncle Liu still hesitated, her voice hardened. "No more arguments. Do as I say."
Reluctantly, Uncle Liu unhitched the horse and handed her the reins. "Be careful, miss!"
Chu Ruoyan nodded. "Hyah!"
Boom!!
A second thunderclap roared, clouds churning like ink spilled across the sky.
Yan Zheng clung to the horse’s mane, consciousness flickering. He barely kept himself from tumbling off.
But even at full speed, the carriage horse was no match for Su Tingyun’s pursuit…
As the pursuers closed in, he seized a sharp turn to roll into the underbrush.
The impact wrenched his chest, pain so vicious he nearly blacked out.
At least the horse kept running, leading Su Tingyun’s men away…
Yan Zheng gasped, clutching his heart—when clip-clop clip-clop.
Hoofbeats, approaching fast.
Assuming Su Tingyun had circled back, he gripped his dagger, resolved to drag the man down with him if this was the end.
Then a familiar fragrance enveloped him, followed by delicate hands turning him over.
His blade shot up, halting just shy of the newcomer’s throat.
"It’s me!"
The dagger stilled—but not before slicing off a loose strand of her hair.
A sliver of moonlight pierced the stormy darkness.
Stunned, he met a pair of eyes—achingly familiar, brimming with worry and relief.
"A… Ayan?"
