Chapter 857: Moon‑Black Murder Night, Dimensional Collapse Shatters the Merchants

At the foot of the Great Wall, Heifeng Pass.

Moonlight is tightly blocked by heavy clouds; fierce wind rushes in from the grassland beyond the pass, hurling shards of stone and dry grass onto the Great Wall's blue‑brick wall, producing a series of muffled thuds.

Heifeng Pass is a small fort abandoned for over a decade; most of the tower tiles are broken, two‑thirds of the gate's iron plating has peeled off, making it look like a forgotten dead city.

But the secret tunnel inside the gate that leads outside the pass is still active.

The tunnel's entrance is hidden behind a false wall on the inner side of the gate; the false wall is built of blue bricks and mud, indistinguishable from a real wall from outside, but its base has a movable brick that, when pressed, retracts the wall half a foot inward, revealing a passage just wide enough for a carriage.

Just after the hour of the Rat, the tunnel entrance is pushed open from inside.

Twelve heavy carriages stream out of the tunnel, their compartments packed tightly with goods wrapped in oilcloth; the axles creak heavily on the stone slabs, each carriage's body tilted two inches from the weight.

Guarding the carriages are over thirty men in short black‑brown robes, short knives at their waists, lanterns in hand, the lantern light flickering as the wind blows.

The lead escort captain rides a short‑legged horse, gripping the reins, his gaze constantly scanning the darkness around the pass.

"Hurry, the Rouran contact is waiting five li outside the pass; the cargo must be delivered before dawn."

The carriages quicken, wheels striking the rubble road in a rapid rhythm, rolling toward the outside of the pass.

On the other side of the gate, three Rouran men in leather robes lead horses, the leader carrying two heavy leather sacks filled with the gold of the trade.

The escort captain reins the horse and shouts toward the Rouran.

"The goods have arrived; inspect them."

A Rouran steps to the first carriage, lifts a corner of the oilcloth, revealing neatly stacked pig iron ingots beneath, their surface glinting a dark teal under the lantern light.

The Rouran's mouth twitches, showing teeth yellowed by wind‑blown sand, his voice thick with a grassland accent.

"Fine iron, better quality than last time; the money chief indeed keeps his word."

He hands over the sack.

The escort captain reaches out to take it.

Then dawn broke.

It wasn't sunlight.

It was torches.

Hundreds of torches flare up simultaneously inside and outside the Great Wall, bathing Heifeng Pass in daylight, tearing the darkness, illuminating every carriage, every escort man, and every Rouran face in stark detail.

The escort captain's hand freezes mid‑air, his pupils shrinking to needle points in the torchlight.

He saw.

On the Great Wall's ramparts, countless iron‑clad figures rise from behind the embrasures, their powerful bows and crossbows snapping in unison at every living thing inside the pass; the twang of strings blends into a hair‑raising metallic symphony.

On both east and west sides of the pass, black iron‑clad cavalry surge from the night, hooves thundering, sealing the pass completely.

The three‑by‑three formation's spear‑arrow array converges from the wings; every three riders form a deadly fan, shredding the twelve carriages and over thirty escort men into countless disjointed fragments.

The escort captain's hand snaps back, a short knife drawn from his waist, his voice strained to the throat's limit.

"Ambush! Charge out!"

No one can break through.

A rider cuts out from the center of the Iron Armor Square Formation; the figure in dark battle garb on the horse is sharply outlined by the flames, the cold gleam of his long spear tracing a straight silver line through the night.

Gu Yu Ci.

His voice emerges from the front of the Iron Armor Square Formation, not loud but louder than all the hooves and wind.

"Xiazhou Iron Cavalry, under the Colonel‑General's secret order, capture traitors colluding with the enemy; those who surrender live, those who resist die."

After those words land, short knives fall from the hands of over half the escort men, clattering onto the broken stone as they kneel, hands clasping their heads.

The remaining dozen or so try to flee toward the tunnel, but three three‑by‑three squads cut in from the flank; short swords and long spears form an airtight steel wall, sealing their retreat.

After two breaths, everyone is on their knees.

The three Rouran react fastest, flipping onto their horses and galloping outward.

Gu Yu Ci lifts his arm, now holding a horn bow; the string is drawn to a full moon, three arrows nocked.

Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh.

The three arrows streak out like meteors; the first nails the rear heart of the foremost Rouran, the second pierces the neck of the second, the third pierces the leg of the third's horse, the warhorse whinnies and its front leg goes limp, throwing its rider off.

Gu Yu Ci slings the horn bow back onto the saddle, rides to the fallen Rouran, the spear tip pressed against his throat.

"Rouran Royal Court's contact?"

The Rouran's face is pressed to the broken stone, his voice squeezed from his teeth, thick with a grassland accent and fear.

"Spare me, spare me!"

Gu Yu Ci pulls the spear tip half an inch away from his throat.

"Tell everything you know; when you're done, I'll give you a quick death."

The Rouran's breath hitches near breaking as he recounts, in detail, the six‑year smuggling trade between the Yinzhou Chamber of Commerce and the Rouran Royal Court.

After listening, Gu Yu Ci sheathes the spear, turns, and nods toward the deputy commander behind him.

"Capture both the criminals and the loot, escort everything back to Xiazhou; not a single survivor may die en route, the Colonel‑General wants them alive."

The deputy commander punches his chest armor.

"Understood, sir!"

Gu Yu Ci rides to the two gold‑filled sacks, glances down, a slight curl at his mouth.

"The traitorous gold makes a fine war fund."

He ties the sacks to the saddle, rides eastward out of the pass, the spear standing on the saddle's left, its tip glinting coldly in the torchlight.

Next morning, Yinzhou City.

On Zhuque Avenue, the townsfolk, as usual, shuffle out, weary, ready to protest in front of the yamen or try their luck at the Heishi to see if they can buy a few taels of salt.

Then they see a convoy.

Five hundred heavy carriages stream in through Yinzhou City's west gate, each bearing the Xuanhu Banner of the Xiazhou General Command; the banner flutters in the morning breeze, shading half the sky over Zhuque Avenue.

The carriage stopped at the four largest squares in the city, and the drivers leapt out, pulling the oil‑cloth covering the carriage off.

Beneath the oil‑cloth lay piles of burlap sacks, each sack bearing two large characters written in cinnabar.

Official salt.

The carriage beside it was stacked with bundles of pig iron ingots, their surfaces glinting a dark‑blue metallic sheen in the morning light, neatly arranged.

Zhang Wenqian stood on a carriage in the center of the square, holding a Gong aloft; its clang rang through the morning wind, startling all the townsfolk within a half‑li radius.

His voice rose to a level that the whole square could hear.

"People of Yinzhou, the Minister has issued a decree: government‑run Salt and Iron is on sale from today!"

He lifted a notice high above his head.

"Refined salt, fifteen wen per catty! Cast iron, twenty wen per catty!"

The square fell silent for two breaths.

Fifteen wen per catty.

Before the Chamber's market halt, salt cost thirty wen; after the halt, black‑market prices surged to twelve hundred wen, and now the government price is only half of the pre‑halt price.

Then the roar exploded.

"Fifteen wen! It's really fifteen wen!"

"Heavenly Lord, cheaper than before!"

"Line up quickly! Line up quickly!"

The townspeople surged from all directions, the black sea of bodies packing the four squares so tightly that not even a needle could be inserted, and the long queue stretched from the square's center to the ends of the streets, still swelling.

Some who bought salt knelt and wept loudly, some clutched their salt bags and kissed them, some shouted a cry toward the sky.

"Minister Qing Tian! Lifesaver!"

The roar surged out of the square, across Zhuque Avenue, across every alley of Yinzhou City, washing away the rumors of "overthrow the New Law" from three days ago, leaving no trace.

The thugs hired by Qian Wansan blended into the crowd, their faces growing increasingly sallow, quietly shrinking their necks and pushing outward, fearing recognition.

Yinzhou Chamber of Commerce Zongguan Fu, Zheng Hall.

Qian Wansan sat on the Grand Master's Chair, clutching a walnut‑sized jade sphere in his hand; the sphere spun rapidly in his palm, and as it spun his finger twitched, the sphere slipped between his fingers and smashed onto the Blue Bricks ground, shattering into three pieces.

He did not look down.

His gaze fixed on the steward kneeling before him, his voice rasping as if his throat were being strangled.

"Say it again."

The steward's forehead pressed against the Blue Bricks, his voice trembling like dry leaves in the wind.

"Chamber Head, the Xiazhou General Command's carriages have entered the city—five hundred of them, all carrying Salt and Iron, refined salt fifteen wen per catty, cast iron twenty wen per catty, the four squares opening sales simultaneously, the people have queued all the way to the City Gate."

Qian Wansan's fingers clenched the armrest until his knuckles cracked, a series of "ka‑ba" sounds; his round, chubby face's three‑layered chin trembled twice, and his voice rose a notch.

"Fifteen wen? He sells at fifteen wen?"

The steward's forehead bumped the Blue Bricks again.

"Yes, fifteen wen, half the price before our market halt."

Qian Wansan's body sprang up from the Grand Master's Chair, his palm thumped heavily on the rosewood desk, the tea cup on the desk jumped up then fell back, tea splashed over half the tabletop.

"Where did he get the Salt and Iron! All the salt pans and iron mines of Yinzhou are in our hands, where did he conjure them from!"

The steward's voice lowered another two degrees.

"My Shuyi has inquired; it was shipped from Xiazhou, they say there are newly opened salt pans and iron mines over there, using some new method, the output is huge, the cost is extremely low."

Qian Wansan's pupils shrank to two needle points after the words landed.

New salt pans. New iron mines. New method.

He spent six years monopolizing Yinzhou's Salt and Iron lifeline, spent countless silver to open every joint on the Trade Route, believing he had clamped the entire Northwest's economic throat.

In the end, Chen Yan circumvented all his schemes, starting a new line from the source.

His knees softened a bit, and he fell back onto the Grand Master's Chair, his fingers clenching and releasing on the armrest repeatedly.

Lin Xin rose from the chair beside him, his face as white as paper, his voice forced out from between his teeth.

"Chamber Head Qian, he sells at fifteen wen, what about the Salt and Iron we stock? We bought at a cost of thirty wen, now even if it drops to twenty wen no one buys, everything is a loss!"

Wu Hongyuan's fist pounded his knee, his voice trembling with an uncontainable tremor.

"It's over, completely over, my Wu family threw three years of savings into it, twenty thousand taels of silver, all turned into scrap iron!"

Yang Huairen sat in the corner, silent, his fingers slowly clenched in his sleeve, his voice so low only he could hear.

"I have long said, Qian Wansan's trump card may not be harder than Chen Yan's blade."

The atmosphere in the Zheng Hall turned from agitation to fury within a few breaths.

Lin Xin turned, pointing his finger toward Qian Wansan, his voice rising to a level that shook the entire Zheng Hall.

"Qian Wansan! You said that Chen Yan's blade couldn't cut the Salt and Iron! You made us pour all our silver into stockpiling! Now it's all lost, what will you compensate us with!"

Wu Hongyuan also stood, hand on the dagger at his waist, his voice rough as sandpaper grinding iron.

"Qian Wansan, if you don't give an explanation, I will fight you today!"

Qian Wansan's fingers clenched the armrest until his knuckles cracked a series of "ka‑ba" sounds, sweat beads on his forehead ran down his temples into the collar of his Brothel.

"What are you panicking about!"

He rose from the Grand Master's Chair, his voice rose a notch, but the breath behind it had already weakened by three points.

"He has five hundred carts of Salt and Iron, so what? Once sold out, they're gone; our stock remains, and when his runs out, the price will rise again!"

Lin Xin's voice cooled.

"Rise again? Qian Wansan, open your eyes and see, he said they're newly opened salt pans and iron mines, shipping continuously, our goods will never sell!"

The arguing in the Zheng Hall grew louder, Lin Xin's and Wu Hongyuan's fingers nearly poked Qian Wansan's nose tip, the three faces flushed bright red, spit droplets splattered each other's faces.

At that moment, hurried footsteps sounded again outside the Zheng Hall.

Another steward burst in from the doorway, his complexion three shades paler than the first, his voice hoarse to the point of breaking.

"Chamber Head! Something terrible has happened!"

Qian Wansan's body froze for a beat after that shout, his voice squeezing out from between his teeth.

"What now!"

The steward's knee slammed onto the Blue Bricks, his throat strained to the limit.

"Our smuggling convoy outside the pass was intercepted last night at Heifeng Pass by Xiazhou Iron Cavalry! Twelve wagons, over thirty men, all captured, none escaped! Two of the Rouran contacts were shot dead, and one was taken alive!"

The air in Zheng Hall solidified into a slab of iron after those words landed.

Lin Xin's hand recoiled from Qian Wansan's direction, his face turning from flushed to a sickly pallor that choked the heart.

Wu Hongyuan's hand on his sidearm loosened, and he collapsed onto the chair as if his spine had been pulled out.

Yang Huairen stood in the corner, his lips quivering twice, not managing a single word.

"Treason and betrayal."

"Both the traitor and the loot captured."

Those four characters were like four knives, each stabbing into the hearts of everyone in Zheng Hall.

Qian Wansan's knees gave way completely, he slid off the Grand Master's Chair, his rear slamming onto the Blue Bricks floor, his triple chin trembling as if struck dozens of times, the jade rings on his fingers clinking delicately.

"It's over."

His voice rasped from his throat, carrying genuine despair.

"All over."

Lin Xin's voice came from beside him, tinged with sobbing.

"Treason is a crime of slow torture, a crime that annihilates nine families; Qian Wansan, you have doomed us!"

Wu Hongyuan's fist pounded the chair's armrest, the tremor in his voice being crushed by an even stronger fear.

"Run! Run right now! Take the silver, head south, run to Liang Kingdom; Chen Yan's reach can't extend to Liang Kingdom!"

Yang Huairen's voice echoed from the corner, cold as ice.

"Run? Can you outrun the Carrier Pigeons of Mingjing Office? Can you outrun the hooves of Xiazhou Iron Cavalry?"

Zheng Hall fell silent for three breaths.

Qian Wansan sat on the floor, his fingers slowly clenching on the Blue Bricks; in his fear‑soaked eyes, something churned upward.

That thing was neither reason nor calm, but a poisonous brew of fear and madness fermented at a dead end.

He rose from the ground, palms braced on the table, his voice still trembling as it left his throat, but each word grew heavier.

"Why run? Even if we flee to the ends of the earth, he can still find us."

Lin Xin's voice quickened threefold.

"What then! Wait to die?"

Qian Wansan's palm struck the table hard, the jade rings clashing against rosewood rang through Zheng Hall, and his voice, after that blow, suddenly shifted into a tone that made Lin Xin and Wu Hongyuan feel a tightening in their spines.

"Chen Yan is coming to Yinzhou to cast his net, right?"

Lin Xin's lips moved slightly.

Qian Wansan pointed his finger toward the exit of Zheng Hall, his voice laced with a reckless, all‑or‑nothing madness.

"If he comes, don't even think of walking out alive!"

Wu Hongyuan's voice grew hoarse for a beat.

"Qian Chamber Head, are you mad? He has five thousand Iron Cavalry; what can we match him with?"

Qian Wansan turned, strode toward the hidden door behind Zheng Hall that led to the Underground Vault, pressed the concealed latch on the doorframe, and the door slid inward half a foot.

"Follow me."

The three followed him into the hidden door, descended three zhang down the stone steps, and arrived before a massive cast‑iron gate.

Qian Wansan took a key from around his neck, slipped it into the iron gate's keyhole, turned it three times, and the gate emitted a heavy thud as it opened inward.

Beyond the iron gate lay a vast underground chamber, filled with wooden crates whose lids were open, each containing neatly stacked ingots of scarlet gold; the golden light under torchlight turned the whole space into a blinding gold.

But Qian Wansan paid no attention to the scarlet gold.

He strode to a stone wall at the deepest part of the chamber, pressed a protruding brick, and the wall silently slid inward half a foot, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside the compartment lay a black lacquered wooden box, its surface engraved with a pattern that sent a chill up Lin Xin and Wu Hongyuan's spines.

A wolf head with a gaping blood‑red maw, its eyes set with rubies that glimmered like blood in the firelight.

Qian Wansan lifted the box, opened its lid, and found an iron plate bearing the same wolf head pattern, beneath which lay a yellowed bamboo silk scroll.

He pulled out the scroll, unfolded it, and saw a line of Western Regions script and a line of Central Plains script.

The Central Plains text read: "He who holds this plate may summon thirty‑six Suicide Warriors from the Western Regions."

Qian Wansan retrieved the iron plate from the box, clenched it in his palm, ran his fingers over the wolf head design, and his voice grew so cold the temperature of the underground chamber seemed to drop two degrees.

"This is the life‑saving trump card I bought ten years ago for two hundred thousand taels of gold from the Western Regions; thirty‑six Western Regions Suicide Warriors, each a top assassin who has slain over a hundred, and I have never used it in ten years."

He turned, the three‑layered chin on his round, plump face no longer trembled, replaced by a feral snarl that only emerges when one is driven to a dead end.

"Today, we use them all."

Lin Xin's voice came from beside him, trembling.

"Qian Chamber Head, you intend to assassinate Chen Yan?"

Qian Wansan raised the iron plate high, the torchlight catching the ruby eyes of the wolf head pattern, reflecting two drops of blood‑red light.

"If Chen Yan dies, the New Law becomes a scrap of paper; Mingjing Office will be leaderless, and even with evidence, no one can adjudicate the treason case."

His voice rose a pitch on the final sentence, and his round face forced out a grin uglier than crying.

"Isn't he the living King of Hell? Tonight, I will send him to meet the true King of Hell!"

He tossed the iron plate toward the steward beside him.

"Go, go to the rendezvous point Outside City right now, gather all thirty‑six Suicide Warriors, and act at midnight tonight!"

The overseer caught the iron plaque, clenched his fingers two points on the Wolf Head Pattern, turned and sprinted toward the exit of the underground space, his footsteps striking the Stone Steps into a rapid drumbeat.

Yang Huairen stood in a corner of the underground space, his fingers slowly tightening inside his sleeve, his voice dropping to a level only he could hear.

"Crazy, completely crazy."

His gaze shifted from Qian Wansan's snarling face to the direction of the underground space exit, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

Qian Wansan didn't notice Yang Huairen's expression; he returned the wooden box to the secret compartment, turned, and strode toward the pile of red gold, his fingers tapping the edge of a wooden crate.

"Move all these gold ingots out, distribute them to the thirty‑six Suicide Warriors—five hundred liang of red gold each, and after killing Chen Yan give another five hundred liang; anyone who returns alive will never have to sell their life again in this lifetime."

His voice echoed through the underground space, carrying a resolve of a desperate, all‑or‑nothing gamble.

"Tonight, either Chen Yan dies or we die; there is no Third Path."

The torchlight flickered on the stone wall, stretching the four people's shadows long and short, like four puppets making their final struggle.