Chapter 614: Let the Arrow Launched First Fly a While!

The daytime heat was soaked by the dusk and dissipated by more than half.

The evening breeze slipped through streets and alleys, carrying the vendors' shouts as they packed up, brushed the scarlet walls of the Guangling Prince's Residence, and silently slipped through the Shufang's window lattice.

The sky had just turned black, the eaves' lanterns were just lit by a young servant, the dim yellow glow filtered through thin gauze, casting a warm, soft shadow on the Qingzhuan Dimian.

The Shufang was hushed; only the light clack of chess pieces falling could be heard, crisp and pleasant, yet tinged with a silent, scorching tension.

Beside the window, at a rosewood chess table, two scholars in their early thirties sat opposite each other to play.

On the left, Ye Jingjie wore a moon‑white long robe, idly twirling a jade‑bone folding fan in his hand, his brows and eyes bearing a gentle calm.

Opposite him, Chen Zhizhu wore a dark‑blue short jacket, his posture erect, his move of placing a piece crisp, exuding a touch of decisiveness.

On the chessboard, black and white pieces interlocked like teeth, the boundaries clear, the central melee in full swing; a few white pieces were surrounded by black in the centre, appearing precarious yet harboring hidden life at a few gaps.

For a moment, the outcome was impossible to determine.

Chen Zhizhu twirled a black piece, his fingertip hovering over the chessboard for a while, his gaze locked on the crucial point, hesitating to place it.

Ye Jingjie leisurely swayed his folding fan, his eyes on the board, a faint smile curling his lips, as if victory was assured.

On the other side of the Shufang, Murong Yuan stood with his back to the two, by the window.

Clad in a brocade everyday robe, a jade belt at his waist, his handsome face was marred by a knot of inextricable melancholy between his brows.

Watching the dusk deepen outside, the last strand of afterglow at the horizon had already vanished, street lamps lit one by one, casting vague silhouettes on the paper window.

He furrowed his brows slightly, his fingers unconsciously tracing the carved lattice, muttering under his breath, his voice brimming with restless anxiety: "It's already dark, why hasn't any news come from Jin Wang Fu yet?"

His voice was low but clearly reached the chess table.

Chen Zhizhu's fingertip paused, then finally placed the black piece on the crucial spot, emitting a light 'Tap' sound.

Ye Jingjie glanced up at Murong Yuan, his folding fan still swaying, but he said nothing.

Murong Yuan turned, his face full of deep worry.

He paced two steps, stopped by the chess table, his gaze swept the two faces, his tone tinged with helplessness: "I bribed someone at Jin Wang Fu, left the evidence so obvious in the outer courtyard; timing-wise, it should have been discovered by now..."

He paused, his brows furrowing tighter, "I'm not afraid of a cataclysm, I'm afraid of this silent, still situation that makes people uneasy and leaves the details unclear!"

As soon as the words finished, Chen Zhizhu lifted his head, his expression unchanged, still the same carefree demeanor.

He looked at Murong Yuan, his voice steady and soothing: "Prince, stay calm!"

Before the words finished, he raised his hand, twirled another black piece, placed it on the board; that single move revived a Dead End Trap.

Only then did he look at Murong Yuan, a confident smile curling his lips: "Let the released arrow fly for a while first!"

Ye Jingjie timely nodded in agreement, lightly tapping his palm with the folding fan, his gaze still fixed on the board, his tone leisurely yet undeniably certain: "Indeed!"

He paused, slowly swayed the fan, saying word by word, "Prince, in great matters one must keep composure!"

Murong Yuan let out a light sigh, walked to the chess table, placed a hand on the edge, watching the board's melee, his expression still solemn.

He said in a deep voice: "I understand the reasoning..."

Speaking, he raised his hand to his uneasy chest, brows knit, frowning, "But no news has ever come back, it always leaves one without certainty!"

Upon hearing that, Ye Jingjie's fan halted abruptly, then he placed a piece; a 'Snap!' rang, directly cutting off a major line of Chen Zhizhu's formation.

He slightly lifted the corner of his mouth, laughed aloud, eyes on Murong Yuan, his tone a bit impassioned, with cadence, saying: "Prince, the Grand Historian once said: one whose chest holds raging thunder yet whose face is as calm as a lake may be appointed as a senior general!"

Then, closing the fan, he tapped the chessboard lightly with his knuckles, each word resonant: "One must endure, and also think openly, with a belief in inevitable victory!"

Chen Zhizhu looked at the board's situation, shook his head helplessly, rose quickly, walked to Murong Yuan's side, reached out to grasp his arm, smiling: "Prince, would you like to sit first?"

He led Murong Yuan toward the chess table, saying as they walked, "A game against me or Brother Ye?"

"Perhaps in a moment, good news will arrive..."

Murong Yuan stared at the board, his expression still hesitant, his lips moved slightly, uttering a single word: "This..."

Chen Zhizhu would not let his Prince overthink, pressed his shoulder, pushing him onto the chair opposite Ye Jingjie, smiling: "Prince, come!"

Murong Yuan, forced to sit, looked at the alternating black and white pieces, then at the smiling Ye Jingjie opposite, recalled their earlier words, let out a light sigh, and nodded: "Eh, alright!"

Ye Jingjie, seeing this, immediately cleared the pieces from the board and set up a new opening.

Murong Yuan twirled a white piece, his gaze on the board, concentrating on where to place it.

As the game unfolded, his attention gradually shifted to the board's melee, and the worry in his brows faded considerably.

At that moment, the steward of the Guangling Prince's Residence hurried in, flinging the door curtain, beads of fine sweat on his forehead, his voice urgent and excited, shouting loudly: "Prince! Prince!"

"News has come from Jin Wang Fu!"

That shout rang like a thunderclap, shattering the Shufang's tranquility.

Murong Yuan was twirling a white piece suspended over the board when he heard it, snapped his head up, his eyes blazing at the steward, his finger trembling.

The white piece fell with a 'Tap' onto the board's edge, completely deviating from his original calculation.

He blurted out, his voice brimming with uncontainable urgency: "How!"

"Speak quickly!"

Chen Zhizhu and Ye Jingjie both turned their gazes simultaneously to the steward, the composure that had lingered over the board instantly replaced by a tense anticipation.

Ye Jingjie's fan snapped shut, his knuckles paling slightly.

Chen Zhizhu straightened up, his back rigid, eyes sharp as an eagle, waiting silently for what came next.

The steward leaned on the doorframe, huffing heavily a few times; after his breath steadied, an excited expression spread across his face, and he reported at a rapid pace: "Prince! The witch‑craft puppet buried beneath the peony tree in Jin Wang Fu's outer courtyard was discovered by a cleaning servant!"

"The Grand Preceptor, upon hearing this in Tian Guan Fu, turned ashen, unable to attend the council, and rushed into the palace with Personal Guard!"

"Good! Excellent!" Murong Yuan, after hearing, slapped the table hard and sprang up.

A burst of ecstatic light flashed in his eyes, his mouth unable to keep down, his voice trembling with a hint of quiver.

He paced briskly around the Shufang twice, feeling a surge of heat in his chest rush to the top of his head.

Days of anxiety and unease were completely washed away by this sudden good news.

Ye Jingjie clenched his fan, his fingertip rubbing the fan ribs, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes, he said gravely: "It's done!"

"The great matter is settled!"

Just six short characters, yet they carry a resounding certainty.

As if already foreseeing the upcoming twists of fate.

Chen Zhizhu also rose, bowed deeply and clasped his fists before Murong Yuan, his tone full of congratulations: "Congratulations, Prince! Congratulations, Prince!"

"This arrangement hits the mark in one strike, clearly showing the Prince's strategic prowess!"

Murong Yuan's smile deepened, yet he still forced down the turmoil in his heart, raised his hand to press it, and said with a feigned calm prudence: "It's still too early to speak of this now!"

"Yuwen Hu is old, treacherous and cunning; the palace situation is complex, and we must still watch how things develop…"

Even so, the smugness at the corners of his eyes could not be concealed.

Ye Jingjie, however, was confident; he slowly unfolded his folding fan, the landscape ink painting on it blurring into faint light under the candle, his tone soaring with a determined edge: "Prince, you're overthinking!"

"From bribing the Jin Wang Fu servants to plant a puppet, to choosing such a conspicuous spot under the peony tree, and then using the palace's old brocade to lure the Son of Heaven, every step follows the plan!"

"This is beyond human capability; clearly Heaven itself is favoring the Prince!"

"Exactly!" Chen Zhizhu, brimming with confidence, echoed, his eyes flashing, "When the Grand Preceptor storms into the palace in thunderous fury, he will inevitably clash with Your Majesty!"

"This is a good omen for shaking up the court!"

"We only need to watch calmly and reap the fisherman's profit!"

The steward, standing nearby, nodded repeatedly, his face full of admiration, and hurriedly added: "Both gentlemen are absolutely right!"

"I also heard that after the cursed puppet was discovered, the entire Jin Wang Fu fell into chaos!"

"The servants were uneasy, and the women of the inner court wept in a heap; the mansion was as chaotic as a pot of porridge!"

Ye Jingjie, hearing this, brightened, rubbed his chin, a sly glint flashing in his eyes, and, half‑smiling, judged: "Oh? Such panic…"

"It must be Du Shi, Yuwen Ze's wife; hearing that someone used witchcraft to harm her, she was frightened and her fetal qi was disturbed!"

"Du Shi was already nine months pregnant, her body delicate; this fright will likely force her to bed‑rest to nurture the fetus!"

"Ideally a difficult birth, so both mother and child are lost!" Murong Yuan, hearing this, a harsh light flashing in his eyes, clenched his fist, his tone icy, "Then Yuwen Ze will lose his wife and child, Yuwen Hu will lose his grandchildren; the father and son will be greatly provoked!"

"When the time comes, Yuwen Hu will surely vent his anger on others; on the court, a storm of blood and carnage will erupt!"

Ye Jingjie's eyes sparkled with excitement; he slapped the fan hard and laughed aloud: "Prince, you are absolutely right!"

"In great fury, a person can do anything!"

He grew more excited as he spoke, his voice tinged with uncontrollable excitement, his gaze fixed on the dark night outside, as if already seeing the drama about to unfold in the palace: "If, after entering the palace, Yuwen Hu is blinded by rage, loses control and goes on a killing spree, even …"

"Murder the Son of Heaven in the palace …"

He deliberately paused there, his eyes blazing as he looked at Murong Yuan.

The air in the Shufang instantly stilled, the candle flame leapt sharply, casting the four shadows onto the Qiangbi, stretched long and dark.

Murong Yuan's breathing suddenly quickened, his chest heaving violently, he stared fixedly at Ye Jingjie, a flash of incredulous rapture in his eyes.

That rapture spread like a wildfire, instantly scorching his limbs and bones.

He clenched his fist hard, his knuckles whitening, and shouted loudly: "Then I, this Prince, can, under the name of avenging the Son of Heaven, raise troops to serve the throne and restore the Great Zhou lands and state!"

Before the words finished, the light in his eyes grew fiercer, excitement barely concealed, his voice trembling with eager longing: "When the time comes, we will enthrone a young Imperial Clan son as heir!"

"Then the military and civil power would not be entirely in my hands…?"

Prince, you are of the Murong Imperial Clan's direct lineage; when that moment arrives, you can directly restore Great Yan!

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the hanging landscape painting in the Shufang, and declared with confidence: "Your current feat is to recreate Great Yan's state, fully comparable to Emperor Guangwu of Han, establishing an immortal legacy for the ages!"

"Well said!" Chen Zhizhu took up the thread, adding timely, his tone bearing harsh resolve: "Once the great matter is accomplished, we will eradicate the Yuwen imperial clan completely, cutting the roots and eliminating any future trouble!"

"Thus, Great Yan's vast lands will be passed down through generations, never to be shaken again!"

The three, in the midst of their scheming, felt the great undertaking within easy reach, the very air suffused with a sense of triumph.

But at that moment, a crisp clapping sound came from outside the Shufang: "Clap clap—"

The sound, sudden and abrupt, shattered the fervent atmosphere inside the Shufang.

Murong Yuan seemed as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head, his whole body jolted, and he snapped back to his senses, the ecstatic joy on his face instantly replaced by astonishment, and he exclaimed hoarsely: "What is that sound?!"

"Where is it coming from?!"

Chen Zhizhu and Ye Jingjie also looked at each other, their eyes full of startled doubt.

The earlier vigor had vanished, replaced by an inexplicable chill.

Immediately after, a young teasing voice came through the window lattice, with a playful smile: "You all really are good at making calculations!"

"Admiring, admiring!"

"Who?!" Murong Yuan blurted out, his voice tinged with panic.

He furrowed his brows, instinctively stepped back, muttering, "This voice… why does it feel so familiar?"

Under tension, his mind a mess, he couldn't recall the owner of the voice for a moment.

The voice came again, with a slightly mocking tease: "How could it not be familiar?"

Before the words finished, the Shufang's door was gently pushed open from outside.

A young man dressed in a dark-colored Brothel stepped in slowly.

The Brothel was embroidered with dark‑gold clouds, a jade belt cinched at the waist, his posture upright, face handsome, his brows exuding a composed heroism—it was Chen Yan.

Behind him followed a retinue, first the cold‑faced Yuwen Ze, then two burly guards…

One stood holding a sword, its scabbard simple, it was Zhu Yi.

Another cradled a heavy blade against his chest, it was Lu Cangfeng.

Further back were the Zhuque Mirror Master Hou Mo Chen Xiao, and behind him a group of embroidered messengers clad in Flying‑Fish robes, jade‑inlaid spring swords at their waists.

Each had sharp gazes and imposing aura; upon entering, they sealed every exit of the Shufang tightly.

Chen Yan sauntered into the Shufang, steps light, as casually as returning to his own residence.

He glanced over the landscape painting in the Shufang, then back at Murong Yuan, teasingly remarking: "Prince of Guangling, didn't we just chat a few words outside the palace gates after the court session not long ago?"

"Truly, the noble one forgets often!"

Mu Rongyuan looked at that handsome face, heard that familiar tone, and felt a chill surge from his feet straight to the top of his head, as if all his blood instantly solidified.

Immediately, his lips trembled, his voice quivered, full of incredulous astonishment: "Chen… Chen Zhuguo?!"

The moment he recognized the person, Mu Rongyuan only felt his spine grow cold in waves, cold sweat instantly soaked his inner garment.

He forced down the fear in his heart, steeled himself, and with a harsh outward tone but trembling inside, loudly demanded: "You entered my residence without notification; what do you intend!"