Chapter 135: with translation of chapter title

"This time we need a very important role; we are seeking her help." Chen Hao laughed as he told Jin Meng, and at the same time stood up, asking the bar owner: "By the way, could you reserve two rooms for us?"

As the owner nodded, Jin Meng's heart began to anticipate; he wondered what Chen Hao would have her—or him—do tomorrow.

"Go to sleep; tomorrow, the answer—you can know part of it." Chen Hao gave a strange smile, extended a hand, clenched then released it, turned around, and went upstairs to rest.

Jin Meng didn't understand what method Chen Hao was talking about, but seeing Chen Hao's confident expression, he knew Chen Hao could accomplish it.

He just didn't know what method to use; Jin Meng saw the discord between Wang Tingwan and Yang Xin—could it be that he should ask Yang Xin for help?

In this quiet night, Jin Meng sat cross-legged on the inn's roof, head tilted back, gazing at the moon in the sky.

He hadn't done this in a long time; unable to sleep because of such a matter, perhaps also due to his benefactor, Jin Meng increasingly hoped Feng Yan would recover soon.

The night wind brushed over Jin Meng's face, bringing waves of cold; he stood up, touched the headband on his head, and realized—he had long hair.

He undid the headband, letting his hair flutter in the wind, then gazed at the myriad stars, exhaled a cold breath, and said: "You—can you really recover? Sir, Chen Hao is also trying very hard."

After speaking, Jin Meng leapt straight down, landing on the ground as dust rose; hearing a faint "boom," he gently pushed open the door to his resting quarters.

Jin Meng felt his way in the dark into his room, then slowly walked step by step to the table by the bed, sat down, and slowly lit the oil lamp on the table.

As the dim oil lamp lit up, Jin Meng took out a small notebook from his bosom, then drew out a pen and began to write slowly.

Today, while observing together with Sir Chen Hao, it's still unclear what method could restore Sir Feng Yan's memory, but I believe the key to memory restoration lies with a girl; Sir Feng Yan bears the memory of being betrayed—does Sir Chen Hao know this?

I have thought of a way to stimulate the sir, but I fear harming his body; the sir saved my life, and now it is time for me to repay the debt.

After writing, Jin Meng closed the notebook, put it back into his bosom, gently blew out the oil lamp, and went to bed to sleep.

Some people slept soundly, some could not sleep peacefully, some tossed and turned in bed, suffering and grieving, feeling the pain of a former close friend; as this began, that person's guilt vanished completely, leaving only hatred—for the one who drove a wedge between him and her.

Yet he never imagined that things would turn out this way—it was all something he had sensed beforehand.

But now, those premonitions have long been cast aside, leaving only anger, hatred, and his doubts about insisting on this matter with Feng Yan.

This also left Yang Xin puzzled: what kind of spirit could keep him from giving up after so long?

In the end, Yang Xin still got up from bed, slowly put on his clothes, got out of bed, took his weapon, half-concealed it in his upper garment, then pushed open his room's door and left.

Yang Xin walked against the cold wind, wanting to call a guard to ask where Feng Yan's room was, but looking around, it seemed only he was present.

This made Yang Xin feel odd; for no reason he felt a sudden chill, and then he noticed Feng Yan sitting on the eaves, a blood-red moon behind him.

Everything seemed eerily terrifying; Yang Xin was about to shout Feng Yan's name when he heard a faint sword hum.

Hum~

The prolonged sound made Yang Xin suspect: was Feng Yan pulling some trick?

Yang Xin quietly drew an arrow from his bosom, quietly nocked it, and fixed his eyes on the person before him.

Hum~ clatter~ swoosh!

He heard only a piercing sound; Yang Xin felt a cold flash before his eyes and, acting on instinct, dodged. After stabilizing himself quietly, he looked at Feng Yan and saw in his hand a sword he had never seen before.

That great sword was neither the black sword nor the red sword he had seen before; it was a black-and-red blade, its middle faintly glowing with a pale red light, like flowing blood.

"This sword I've never seen—who are you?" Yang Xin shouted at the figure before him, "Feng Yan," while his heart pounded; he was already considering how to escape.

"Betrayal, deception, finally knowing the truth and seeing hope destroyed—I suppose I am no longer myself, and you are no longer you, just as our friendship will inevitably turn to hatred?" The figure before him, speaking in a mechanical tone, answered Feng Yan's words, while his body gradually changed.

"Ah!" Feng Yan shouted, "Now, only at this night can I wield this fragment of power; then I will take revenge for my benefactor!"

As the figure's words fell, Feng Yan raised his sword with his right hand and thrust fiercely at Yang Xin.

The wind howled; Feng Yan saw the distance to his opponent shrinking, yet Yang Xin remained motionless, wearing a strange smile, and softly said: "I always like ambushes; this time, Feng Yan, do you think you'll be out?"

Then Yang Xin pulled the trigger.

Whoosh—an arrow shot from Yang Xin's hand and pierced straight into Feng Yan's chest!

Only a thud was heard; Feng Yan, struck by the arrow, fell to the ground, bright red blood flowing from his chest; he turned his head, watching the person approach step by step, and then smiled.

Ding~~

At this point Yang Xin didn't care anymore; he walked straight toward Feng Yan and said triumphantly: "How about it, Feng Yan? Last time you got help—now who will come to save you?"

"I don't need saving." Feng Yan's tone remained icy, and he spat harshly at Yang Xin.

"Accept death." Yang Xin's steps grew quicker.

Then a gust of wind came, and a red great sword was placed against Yang Xin's neck.

Yang Xin felt the hand of Death already resting on his shoulder; he could no longer think of this as a game—it was utterly real, real enough to feel the cold metal against his neck, real enough that the next moment he would be reduced to zero, becoming a cold corpse.

"Do you remember? We were once the best of friends." Yang Xin said tentatively, very much wanting Feng Yan to lower his weapon.

"Has that ever happened? Charlatan, get ready to bluff me?" Feng Yan spoke mechanically, then flung his black sword into the air; it fell beside Yang Xin's left arm.

"Clang!"

The sword's body emitted a loud sound; just then the surroundings suddenly lit up, and a great noise rang out all around.

"Assassins!"

After those words, only the sound of footsteps thudding could be heard, growing nearer; Feng Yan turned his head and saw a troop already behind him.

"Ha, how interesting—why do you come out with a whole troop, afraid someone will kill you?" Feng Yan sneered, lifted his chin, nostrils flaring at Yang Xin, and burst into loud laughter.

Ha ha ha ha ha...

"I thought— I thought that so-called adventurers, or Adventurers, were fearless souls who pressed forward despite fear. Turns out we're just timid worms!" Feng Yan laughed as he slowly turned toward the soldiers, and only then did they see the person before them.

"It's you, but why are you here?" The soldiers, seeing a familiar face, relaxed and asked tentatively.

"Nothing much; I couldn't sleep at night, so I'm practicing my skills with my companions—is that not allowed?" Feng Yan answered casually, then waved his hand, signaling them to disperse.

"Well..." The soldiers glanced at each other, nodded, gave a salute, and slowly withdrew.

And that farce ended.

Yang Xin had just wanted to shout or draw the soldiers' attention, but the moment he was about to speak, he felt a sharp object lightly pricking his back.

Yang Xin dared not speak; he could only watch the soldiers leave, hoping Feng Yan would consider old ties—perhaps he could still continue the game.

"Only when facing death do you grasp survival?" Feng Yan questioned Yang Xin, his eyes icy, fixed on him.

At this moment Yang Xin suddenly felt himself diminished, the person before him able to take his life at any moment.

Many escape methods suddenly sprang up in Yang Xin's mind, but the next second Feng Yan turned, sheathed the sword behind him, and slowly left.

The Blood Moon had disappeared, revealing the moon's original purity; silver light spilled onto the ground, imprinting Feng Yan's shadow. Yang Xin remained in place, watching Feng Yan leave, and an idea began to arise in his mind.

I want to practice close combat…

Yang Xin's left arm was gashed by Feng Yan's sword, a large wound, but fortunately not deep.

Yang Xin then came to, feeling a headache in his left arm, seeing the dried dark-red bloodstains on the ground, he turned and returned to his room.

"Ah, better to rest; otherwise, who knows what that madman might do."

Also at that moment, everything returned to calm.