Chapter 227

The banks of the Imperial River were unusually quiet, something never seen before; even at midnight, those patrolling the banks came and went without cease.

In the past, whenever evening fell on the Imperial River, various flower boats with brilliant red lanterns would appear; patrons would hire the whole boat, some singing, some dancing, making it especially lively.

These past few days, something happened to the Third Prince; the flower boats on the Imperial River have almost vanished, and can no longer be seen.

This made the river surface look even more deathly still; only some fishermen, forced by necessity to make a living, had to pole their boats out in the dark to catch a few fish and earn a little money.

Even so, various government official boats would come over to extort money, often demanding cash on the spot, sometimes even tying people up and claiming they were accomplices of assassins; in the blink of an eye after this chaos, the fishermen on both banks suffered.

Fortunately, after several days of searching with no news, the officials on the riverbank hunting the assassin were utterly exhausted.

Those officials, having taken money from the fishermen, would turn a blind eye; after all, everyone is just trying to make a living—surely we can't let the riverside fishermen starve just because this case isn't closed.

The boatman who had just tipped a few officials some money then pulled a full basket of fish and rowed downstream.

The small fishing boat pulled up directly into the reeds at the bank; shortly after, several people darted out from the reed beds, as if they had been waiting here for a long time.

The boatman directed these people to lift the two large baskets from the boat; the baskets were obviously heavy, and lifting them was extremely strenuous.

The few people exchanged glances in secret, dared not light a lamp, and slipped into the reed thicket as tall as a person, disappearing quickly.

The boatman then rowed the fishing boat back to the river surface and continued toward his own ramshackle thatched hut.

Those people in the reed thicket kept carrying the baskets deeper into the reeds, finally arriving at an inconspicuous wooden hut.

The surroundings looked desolate; this place was already beyond the suburbs and probably not under the jurisdiction of Shang Jing.

At that moment, a bean-sized oil lamp was lit inside the wooden hut, its glow casting a halo over the face of the young man sitting at the table.

That young man was handsome and beautiful, but his complexion was perpetually dark and gloomy, giving off an indescribable chill.

At that moment, a cuckoo's call rang out from outside.

Zuo Feichen furrowed his brows slightly, his gaze darkening; these people are still careless—it's not yet the Origin Festival, spring hasn't even begun, where would a cuckoo's call come from?

These fools still need to be slowly trained.

Zuo Feichen rose, walked out, and pushed open the door; the dim yellow light inside seeped out, and several sturdy men hurriedly carried the basket into the wooden hut.

Zuo Feichen took out a packet of silver, tossed it into their bosoms, and said slowly: "Take it, be careful, don't give anyone a handle; these days Shang Jing is under tight scrutiny—if you're caught, I can't save you."

"Yes, yes, Master Zuo, you're absolutely right; we won't return to the capital either—we'll take the silver and hide elsewhere for a few days, then go back when things cool down."

"Master Zuo, are you going to eat all this fish? Shall we help you clean it?"

These people are fishermen on the Imperial River; these days, because of the crackdown, they can't go fishing.

They have received Zuo Feichen's favors before—he treats their minor ailments and gives them money, so they naturally call him their benefactor.

They didn't expect their benefactor to come today asking them to move a basket of fish.

"They thought Master Zuo wanted to eat the fish, to send it to his residence, but he said just moving it here would suffice—mysterious, and they don't know what he's up to."

"But whatever the benefactor says goes; they're just providing manual labor."

The group quickly departed, carefully closing the door behind them.

That basket of fish had almost all rotted; the strong fishy smell gave them headaches, and they couldn't fathom why the big shots in Shang Jing would like it—do they actually enjoy eating spoiled fish?

A few of them chuckled softly, then dared not say more, scattering into the reeds, punting their own boats and leaving separately.

After those people left, Zuo Feichen slowly raised his hand and made a gesture.

Instantly, a soft rustling sounded all around, and another layer of protection was established in this reed bed.

These people are the dark guards Zuo Feichen has cultivated over the years; outside them are the Princess Consort's own people—even if something happens, they're enough to fight, and he also has a chance and time to escape.

Zuo Feichen looked at the basket of rotten fish, then suddenly lifted his leg and kicked it over.

The fish instantly spilled across the ground, the stench grew stronger, and it even hid a strong smell of blood.

Along with the rotten fish tumbling out of the basket came a woman almost completely naked.

Her eyes were tightly shut, her face deathly pale; Zuo Feichen bent down to check her breath, his brows knitting tightly.

He saw that the woman's chest had been haphazardly wrapped with some gauze, barely covering the wound, yet some blood still seeped out; without that gauze layer, she would likely have already bled to death, dead beyond revival.

Even so, Zuo Feichen's heart gave a slight jolt—this woman probably won't live much longer, she's lost too much blood.

He helped her up and laid her on a small bed nearby, tending to her wound, but her breathing grew ever weaker, clearly showing the signs of departing on a crane westward (i. e., dying).

Zuo Feichen took a Blood Ginseng Pill from the medicine box, pried open her mouth and stuffed it in, merely to help cling to life.

This divine medicine cannot raise the dead; it can only sustain her life for an hour or two at most.

Zuo Feichen's face grew ever graver; in this state, Princess Yalan definitely won't survive—right now, only the Princess Consort might be able to save her.

But the Princess Consort is pregnant, with such a big belly—how could she rush from Jing Cheng here?

Even if she made it here, the Princess Consort would need to perform surgery on this woman, but the operating room is still in the medical house—what then?

Nowadays, the capital is under strict surveillance; trying to send Princess Yalan back intact to Shang Jing is simply impossible.

The urgent course is to ask the Princess Consort to come out from Jing Cheng; even without an operating room, see if she has any other means to save a life.

Zuo Feichen lowered his head, wrote a line on a cloth strip, then took a pigeon from the cage, tied the strip to its leg, and released it.

At this moment, Gu Jiu Ling had already rested, preparing to read a bit more before sleep, when a bang came from the window, as if something had struck it.

Jiu Yue hurriedly opened the window but saw a pigeon had landed on the sill; the pigeon seemed a bit dazed from the impact, lying stiffly there.

Jiu Yue couldn't help but chuckle softly; the carrier pigeons raised by the Princess Consort really have a cute disposition.

She took the pigeon inside and brought it to Gu Jiu Ling's bedside.

Gu Jiu Ling set down the storybook she was holding, took the cloth strip from the pigeon's leg, lowered her head to look at it, and quickly sat up.

"Prepare the carriage; I need to go out of the city for a trip."

Jiu Yue froze at once—it's so late, the outside is already under curfew, and with the Third Prince having had an incident these days, the mistress wants to leave the city?

Moreover, the mistress is currently big‑bellied with twins; if anything goes wrong on the road, what could be done?

"Perhaps if the mistress has something to say, it could wait until tomorrow morning; given your condition, it's better to be cautious."

Gu Jiu Ling wouldn't listen; she had already gotten out of bed and started putting on her shoes: "A matter of life and death cannot be delayed."