Chapter 106

In the locust tree courtyard, several long tables and cushions had been added.

Hai Donglai, Cheng the Blind, and Zheng Hui’s most trusted guards were still waiting there.

Beneath the cold, wind-chilled night sky, a red shadow flashed across the wall.

Chu Tianshu had already leapt over the wall, and as he moved, he casually tore off his cloak, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it onto the long table.

“It seems the plan succeeded.”

Cheng the Blind said, “That shout of yours just now was truly loud—I heard it clearly even from here.”

Chu Tianshu picked up the teapot and drank two mouthfuls.

“But I really am not used to speaking at such a volume.”

He was born in the Jianghuai region, unlike mountain dwellers who grow up singing folk songs and practicing loud calls over distances; though after training in martial arts, his lungs and heart were strong enough to produce very high sounds.

But such sounds are usually shouts or howls—monotonous and crude.

That time on the island, when I tricked Zhu Heng with prolonged shouting, I relied entirely on the megaphone in my hand.

Without tools, maintaining such a high volume while keeping every word clear is truly unnatural to me.

Chu Tianshu cleared his throat, recalling the feeling of shouting at full volume—and yet felt a strange kind of joy.

If I get the chance later, I should train this skill too.

Cheng the Blind sighed softly: “The collusion between the Duan and Yuwen families, and Duan Zhong’s schemes—all have been hidden in the shadows.”

“If he chooses to fight now, it will seem like he’s representing Nanzhao martial arts against Tang martial arts.”

“Many may even see him as a hero—and thus hate Hai Donglai even more.”

After nightfall, Hai Donglai no longer carried his umbrella.

He had changed into a deep red robe with a black sash.

Though still red, it was vastly different from his previous bright, flamboyant attire.

When he sat behind the long table, arranging tea utensils in this guise, he looked like a scholar.

“I already have enough enemies who hate me; adding one more group won’t matter.”

Hai Donglai said, “One reason Chu Physician used my name was precisely because my reputation is so terrible.”

Chu Tianshu chuckled but said nothing.

He had indeed thought so.

A bad reputation has its advantages.

The reputation of the Tang Imperial Secret Service was so vile that even their own citizens feared them.

No one would ever equate Hai Donglai, the head of the Tang Imperial Secret Service, with an ordinary Tang person.

Even if the Duan family tried to exploit this duel to stoke internal division in Nanzhao, they couldn’t succeed.

For over a decade, even decades, they’ve relentlessly spread the lie that “the Secret Service aren’t human—they’re all demons.”

Now, suddenly, you claim that the head of the Secret Service’s actions represent the broader Tang people’s attitude.

Who could possibly believe that?

Zheng the Steward worried: “This plan to confront Yi Wang and his shadow allies—the duel—is indeed an excellent strategy.”

“But this life-or-death challenge carries great risk; even if you win, it will bring serious consequences later.”

“Some officers in the army are still undecided; they still regard Duan Zhong as a great hero and elder among Nanzhao soldiers. If Duan Zhong dies in open combat, it may ignite their collective fury.”

Chu Tianshu paid no mind, walked over to Hai Donglai, and took a cup as soon as he finished brewing the tea.

Seeing how effortlessly Hai Donglai handled the tea, it was clear he was highly skilled.

Since the Tea Sage Lu Yu became famous, tea culture had flourished—tea art had become a refined pleasure.

Hai Donglai devoted half his life to struggle, and the other half to enjoyment; naturally, he had studied tea art with some depth.

Chu Tianshu gulped down two mouthfuls, unable to discern any real difference between this tea and tea brewed by simply tossing leaves into hot water.

“Will defeating Duan Zhong really make them unite in fury?”

Chu Tianshu said after drinking, exhaling steam, “I think it’s more likely to make them fear your power—and then respect your virtue.”

Only after fearing power can one truly appreciate virtue.

If you’re too preoccupied with benevolence, others won’t remember your kindness—they’ll only see you as weak and easy to exploit.

In small groups, it’s possible for someone of true virtue to inspire respect without needing to instill fear.

But before the vast scale of Tang and Nanzhao, relying on personal character is laughable.

Nanzhao’s shift in governance over the years has one major cause: their defeat in the great war ten years ago.

But back then, it was Yi Mouxun who lost—not Duan Zhong.

So now, let Duan Zhong lose too.

“According to your plan, on the day of the duel, you’ll still be the one facing Duan Zhong.”

Hai Donglai’s expression held a trace of regret as he turned his wrist, “I’ve never fought him, but when I assassinated Nanzhao generals years ago, several were his disciples.”

“Their swordplay and palm/finger techniques were quite impressive.”

“Their styles seemed different, but shared an underlying thread—put together, they might approximate Duan Zhong’s fighting pattern.”

“Over the next two days, I can practice a bit and show you.”

Though Hai Donglai couldn’t yet engage in intense combat, practicing techniques with slightly above-average strength posed no burden.

Chu Tianshu nodded.

Too bad—if the enemy’s allies show up, we’ll all have to deal with them together.

We can’t guarantee every head will fall to us.

But with Duan Zhong as the main target, others are being drawn out because of Chu Tianshu’s actions.

In that case, the qi we collect shouldn’t be too little.

At least enough to let me return home after crossing over—and enough to bring back the Three-Seven Divine Sword with its spirit.

Hmph, will I have to pay a fee every time I cross over carrying a sword?

When will I be able to train the Three-Seven Divine Sword into something formless and intangible—something I can merge into my body?

Chu Tianshu, relaxed after his battle, let his mind wander into fantasy.

A greeting came from outside the courtyard.

“You’re all staying up late instead of returning to your rooms—I must have prepared this midnight snack perfectly.”

Madam Wenjing smiled as she arrived carrying two food boxes.

“There’s more in the kitchen—I’ll go get some later.”

The kitchen had several assistants, but the Locust Tree Courtyard seemed to be hosting something important.

Zheng’s guards stood outside, allowing only Madam Wenjing to enter freely.

Besides, that loud challenge earlier had left everyone distracted, each eager to peek.

Madam Mo nearly dropped the steamer basket.

Only Madam Wenjing remained calm, focused solely on her task.

The first food box was handed to Chu Tianshu.

“You mentioned this Hu pancake recipe—I tried it. See what you think.”

Chu Tianshu opened it to find a plate of golden, crispy, sesame-coated baked cakes.

At the time, Hu pancake recipes were numerous, but the common versions resembled large flatbreads or lamb-style naan.

Chu Tianshu had mentioned his fondness for Huangqiao baked cakes—and to his surprise, Madam Wenjing had actually made them.

“Excellent!!”

Chu Tianshu took a bite—it was crisp on the outside, layered like a thousand folds inside—and his face lit up with delight.

“Perfect! After I finish fighting, I want more of this!”

CRACK!

The crisp snap echoed through Yi Wang’s mansion.

Duan Zhong stepped on a half-burned lantern.

The bamboo frame, already charred, had dried into brittle fragments.

The sound told you the frame was utterly ruined.

Like the Yi Wang mansion tonight.

Several guard captains trailed behind Duan Zhong, heads bowed, too ashamed to even breathe loudly.

They had survived not because they were especially skilled, but because their posts were farther away—they hadn’t encountered the intruder.

Duan Zhong didn’t rebuke anyone. He walked silently into the central hall, where tables and chairs lay shattered, and six or seven corpses lay scattered among the debris.

One could imagine they had been surrounding someone—only to be flung away in an instant.

Duan Zhong stamped his foot, his body suddenly leaping upward, piercing through the hall’s roof, and in a single bound, landed on the wall of the side courtyard.

In the side courtyard stood a half-collapsed pavilion, with the corpses of the Three Elders of Diancang.

And many guards stood beside the body of Duan Rusu.

“The Three Elders of Diancang fought Hai Donglai first atop the pavilion—they did their duty well.”

Duan Zhong finally spoke, his voice tinged with sorrow.

“But Rusu was just too foolish.”

“Even if he couldn’t hear from the side courtyard the strength behind the man’s stone lion throw that shattered the screen wall…”

“He should have known that if the Three Elders of Diancang couldn’t defeat him, neither could he.”

“Instead of securing his own safety first, he thought to combine forces into a group of four.”

This isn’t bravery; it’s ignorance of when to advance or retreat.

Some things truly cannot be retreated from, should not be retreated from.

But you’re only facing an assassination—you don’t retreat, don’t hide—what are you waiting for?

Duan Zhong let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

Indeed, the Duan family’s hopes could only rest on the next generation, even the generation after that.

But all of this depends on one thing: in this duel, I must win.

Hai, Dong, Lai!

This man truly is elusive—Chang’an had provided the envoy team’s route, yet still couldn’t pinpoint his own.

Yet he was right there among the envoy team.

He must have led the envoy team in fighting off those Tibetans.

He was probably wounded.

Otherwise, given his usual style, he would have gone straight for Duan Zhong himself, not merely killed someone in the Prince’s mansion and then left, issuing a duel challenge.

Duan Zhong opened his eyes: “This is also deliberately giving time, so my allies can prepare their response.”

Duan Zhong had already seen through the intent behind the duel.

But Duan Zhong felt this intent was good.

It’s never just the Duan family that needs these people—these people also need the Duan family!

Whether the Military Governor of Huaixi or that man in Chang’an, both are already old; the things they wish to accomplish may have only this one chance left.

The Great Tang seeks to reclaim lost lands; Tibet seeks to resist fiercely—they both must seize this opportunity to succeed.

The upheaval in Nanzhao must be brought about.

“Then come. I’ve already lost a nephew—now you must bring your strength to help me avenge this public grievance and private grudge.”

Duan Zhong gazed at the moon; the beads in his hand suddenly frosted over with ice.

Not only the beads froze—the golden thread binding them hardened like metal rings.

But in the next instant, flames erupted violently around the golden ring, crimson glow seeping through each bead.

The sudden shift from cold to heat caused the beads to burst apart before they could fully burn.

Duan Zhong’s hands fully emerged from beneath his half-revealed sleeves, facing the moonlight.

On each finger of his right hand sat a silver-white ring, forged like fine steel, fitted near the base of the finger.

On his left index finger, there was also a ring.

Normally, the six rings were dull, nearly hidden by his skin tone and the shadows of his sleeves, utterly unremarkable.

Now, their radiant glow perfectly matched the moonlight.

As if each ring contained the very spirit of a weapon, alive and stirring.

(End of Chapter)