Chapter 858: Suicide Warriors Night‑Sneak Zongguan Fu, the Living Yan King Calmly Sits on the Fishing Platform

The night wind in Xiazhou was three parts stronger than before; the gale swept the dark clouds, chewing away the last speck of starlight from the sky, and the whole city was tightly shrouded in a thick, ink‑black veil.

The night‑shift guard on the watchtower at the northwest corner of Zongguan Fu shivered; the lantern in his hand was tossed by the wind, the candle inside flared twice and then went out.

Three hundred paces below the watchtower, on the ridge of a civilian house, a figure cloaked in a black night‑cloaking suit lay on the tiles, its whole body merging into a line with the ridge, even its breathing syncing with the rhythm of the night wind.

His codename was Duxie.

He was one of the top three assassins in the Shule Kingdom's assassination guild of the Western Regions, his hands stained with 147 lives, including two kings of minor Western Regions states and a thousand‑man commander of the Rouran Royal Court.

Duxie's eyes rolled twice behind his black mask, the pupils reflecting the lantern lights of Zongguan Fu flickering in the night wind.

He gestured with his fingers toward his back.

In the shadow behind the ridge, thirty‑five figures likewise cloaked in black night suits silently answered the gesture; each held a curved blade smeared with a dark‑green liquid, the venom of the Tianshan snow toad of the Western Regions, which could paralyze a person within three breaths upon skin contact.

Duxie stared at another half a stick of incense.

His brow furrowed tighter and tighter.

"Something's off."

The assistant crouched on his right side leaned in, his voice thin as a mosquito's whine.

"Chief, what's wrong?"

Duxie's finger pointed toward the east wall of Zongguan Fu.

"Look at that wall; Half Hour Rest ago there were two squads of guards patrolling back and forth, now there isn't a single silhouette."

The assistant's eyes rolled once behind his mask.

"Perhaps they changed shifts."

Duxie's finger pointed again toward the main gate of Zongguan Fu.

"The sentry post at the main gate was also withdrawn; the iron lamp stand originally held six lanterns, now only two remain, and one of those is out."

The assistant's voice carried a hint of hesitation.

"Chief, isn't that a good thing? With the defense slackened, it'll be easier for us to get in."

Duxie did not answer immediately; his fingers tapped the tiles three times, each interval different.

"Too lax."

The assistant's voice quickened half a beat.

"Chief, you mean there's a trap?"

Duxie's eyes swept the four directions of Zongguan Fu again, his voice carrying the seasoned assassin's usual caution.

"A pillar‑state official who commands the Seven Prefectures' troops, and the mansion's defenses suddenly slacken like this—don't you find it suspicious?"

The assistant fell silent for two breaths.

Duxie's finger tapped the tiles once more, the caution in his voice being gradually suppressed by something else.

"But Chairman Qian's price was too high: five hundred taels of pure gold per person, plus another five hundred taels if they return alive; once this job is done, the brothers won't have to risk their lives for the rest of their lives."

His fingers clenched the curved‑blade's hilt, the blue veins on his knuckles bulging beneath the black gloves.

"Moreover, the retreat is cut off; Chairman Qian knows our foothold in Yinzhou. If we do it, he'll be fine; if we don't, he won't let us go either."

The assistant's voice dropped half a tone.

"Chief, make a decision."

Duxie closed his eyes for a breath; when he opened them again, the hesitation in his pupils had been replaced by a cold murderous intent.

"Do it."

He slipped silently down from the ridge, his fingers performing a complex set of gestures toward the thirty‑five shadows behind him.

The thirty‑six men divided into three routes.

The first route: twelve men, led personally by Duxie, targeting the Shufang.

The second route: twelve men, led by the assistant, targeting the bedroom.

The third route: twelve men, encircling the courtyard to block the retreat.

The three contingents scattered in the darkness, moving silently toward Zongguan Fu; their footsteps were so light that even the swifts under the eaves were not disturbed.

Meanwhile, in Yinzhou City, within the Merchant Association Headquarters' secret chamber.

Chairman Qian leaned on a tiger‑skin chair, his hand gripping tightly the Iron Plate engraved with a Wolf Head Pattern; a jade ring clinked against the plate's edge, producing a faint metallic clatter.

His eyes fixed on the flickering oil lamp on the stone wall of the secret chamber, its flame casting a wavering dark shadow on the stone.

Lin Xin sat opposite him, holding a cup of tea; the tea lid brushed his fingertips seven or eight times, the tea having cooled completely without a sip taken.

"Chairman Qian, judging by the time, the Suicide Warriors should have already reached Xiazhou, right?"

Chairman Qian's double‑chin trembled, his voice emerging from his throat with an uncontainable agitation.

"It should be there; Duxie never drags his feet. We act at midnight, and we should have word back before dawn."

Wu Hongyuan rose from the corner, his fingers rubbing the hilt of his side‑blade, his voice deepening half a tone.

"What if we fail?"

Chairman Qian's palm tightened on the Iron Plate two notches, his voice rising a level.

"There will be no failure! Thirty‑six elite Suicide Warriors, each having slain hundreds; Chen Yan, no matter how skilled, is still flesh‑and‑blood. Surrounded by thirty‑six poisoned blades in the dead of night, could he sprout three heads and six arms?"

Wu Hongyuan's voice dropped another two tones.

"I'm not asking whether Chen Yan can fight; I'm talking about that Hongye beside him, rumored to have extraordinary martial skill, and also Ye Zhuxi…"

Chairman Qian slammed the Iron Plate onto the table hard, the clash of iron against rose‑wood echoing through the secret chamber.

"It's just a woman! Duxie has even killed the thousand‑man commander of the Rouran Royal Court; why fear a woman?"

Lin Xin's tea lid lingered on his fingertip, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

"Chairman Qian, do you think Chen Yan might get the information early? His Mingjing Office…"

Chairman Qian's voice sharpened two tones.

"Impossible! The Suicide Warriors came from the Western Regions, they have no connection with Yinzhou; even if the Mingjing Office turned Yinzhou upside down, it couldn't find them."

He leaned his body against the back of the tiger‑skin chair, his fingers rubbing the iron plaque back and forth, the agitation in his voice being slowly pressed down by something even stronger.

"After tonight, Chen Yan's New Law will be just a scrap of paper."

Yang Huairen stood in the far corner of the Secret Chamber, silent, his fingers clenched into a fist inside his sleeve, the knuckles on his finger joints cracking twice.

His gaze shifted from Qian Wansan's round plump face to the direction of the Hidden Door, his lips twitched, but he ultimately remained silent.

Xiazhou General Command, Shufang.

The candle flame leapt twice on the bronze lamp stand, reflecting on the black and white stones of the rosewood chessboard, light and shadow interwoven.

Chen Yan sat on the Grand Preceptor's chair, his finger holding a black stone, lingering before setting it down.

Across the board, Hongye sat on a low stool, a refined steel short sword placed beside his knee, the copper ring on the scabbard shining a dark luster in the candlelight.

Her finger lifted a white stone from the chess box and set it beside the star position at the lower right of the board, her voice steady.

"Prime Minister, your Qi has been cut off here."

Chen Yan's finger rotated the black stone half a turn, his voice bearing a trace of leisure.

"No hurry; sometimes a severed Qi is more useful than a continuous one."

In the corridor outside the Shufang, the clatter of armor plates sounded so rapidly it irritated the mind.

Zhang Wenqian's silhouette appeared at the Shufang doorway, his forehead slick with sweat, his fingers clutching the knife hilt at his waist until his knuckles turned white, his voice hoarse but each word enunciated with great weight.

"Prime Minister, the outer dark sentries report suspicious personnel activity to the north of the city; Shuyi recommends immediately strengthening the inner‑court defenses, sending two hundred Suicide Warriors into the inner courtyard!"

Chen Yan's finger lingered on the black stone for a moment, then raised his eyelid to glance at Zhang Wenqian.

"How many did the dark sentry see?"

Zhang Wenqian's voice quickened by three degrees.

"At least thirty, all clad in black night‑cloaks, moving extremely swiftly; their leap from roof to roof is more than twice that of ordinary armored soldiers, Shuyi judges them to be professional assassins!"

Chen Yan withdrew his finger from the black stone, placed it on the edge of the handrail, his voice neither hurried nor slow.

"Zhang Wenqian, how many patrol units did you just say were withdrawn from outside?"

Zhang Wenqian's voice bore a trace of puzzlement.

"According to the Prime Minister's command, Shuyi withdrew six patrol units, leaving only two on the outer perimeter as a display, and the inner‑court armored soldiers were also reduced by half……"

His voice suddenly caught, the anxiety swirling in his eyes gradually giving way to something else.

"Prime Minister, you did it on purpose?"

Chen Yan spun the black stone on his fingertip once more, gently setting it on the Tianyuan point of the board.

"Gao Jiong's secret letter yesterday stated clearly that Qian Wansan purchased thirty‑six Suicide Warriors from the Western Regions; they will act tonight, do you think this guild is unaware?"

Zhang Wenqian's voice stuttered for half a beat.

"Then why does the Prime Minister still withdraw defenses……"

Chen Yan's mouth twitched, that curve in the candlelight carrying a meaning that tightened Zhang Wenqian's spine.

"A snake won't leave its hole; what will you strike with? With the patrols withdrawn, the bright sentry reduced, they dare to come in; once inside they can devour everything cleanly without a single slip."

Zhang Wenqian's Adam's apple rolled, his voice forced out through his teeth.

"But what if their men rush to the Prime Minister's side……"

Chen Yan lifted his finger toward the beam above the Shufang.

"Look up."

Zhang Wenqian's gaze rose an inch along the direction of Chen Yan's finger, his pupils contracting a circle in the candlelight.

In the shadow of the beam, six Beiwei Dead Guards lay, their bodies wrapped in black armor, each bearing a heavy Crossbow, the crossbow's sight trained on every door and window of the Shufang, the bolt chambers loaded with specially crafted triangular steel arrows.

In the shadow behind the screen, four more lay.

Between the gaps of the highest shelf of scrolls on the bookcase, two crossbow bolt chambers were visible.

Zhang Wenqian's mouth opened slightly, his voice rose from his throat, bearing an indefinable quality.

"Prime Minister, this… Shuyi worries too much."

Chen Yan withdrew his finger from the board, gestured toward the doorway.

"Withdraw the last two patrol units inside the courtyard as well."

Zhang Wenqian's body swayed at those words.

"All withdrawn?"

Chen Yan gave him a look, his voice lightened by half a degree.

"All withdrawn, the gate stands wide open; let them come in, the deeper they go the harder it is for them to escape."

Zhang Wenqian's fist tightened slightly at his side, his teeth snapped, he turned and strode in large steps toward the far end of the corridor, the clatter of armor plates twice as rapid as on his arrival.

Hongye's finger lifted another white stone from the chess box and set it on the board, his voice bearing no extra ripple.

"Prime Minister, they're approaching quickly."

Chen Yan's finger traced an arc on the handrail, his voice carrying a chill that made the spine tingle with leisure.

"Understood, bring the sword a little closer."

Hongye shifted the refined steel short sword from beside his knee three inches to his right hand side, the tail of the scabbard resting on the edge of the low stool.

Outside the Shufang, the night wind blew out the last lantern.

The entire inner courtyard of the General Command fell into total darkness.

Duxie led twelve Suicide Warriors over the inner‑court wall; when their feet landed on the blue‑brick floor, no sound was made.

His pupils turned once in the darkness, his gaze sweeping over the silhouettes of the rockeries and plants in the courtyard, settling on the window facing the Shufang that glowed with candlelight.

There was light, indicating someone inside.

He gestured to the eleven people behind him; the twelve bodies spread out in the darkness, advancing toward the Shufang from three directions.

Duxie moved to the side of the Shufang's window frame, pressed his side against the Qiangbi, and swept his gaze through the slit into the room.

He saw.

A young man in loose everyday clothes sat on the Grand Master's Chair, a chessboard laid before him, his fingers resting on the armrest edge, his back to the window.

Beside him was only a woman in moon‑white sleeves, a short sword resting at her side.

Two people.

Duxie's pupils lingered on the young man's back for two breaths, and his mouth twitched beneath the black mask.

His right hand drew two daggers from his waist; the blades, coated with dark‑green poison, emitted a fine glow in the darkness.

He inhaled deeply.

He swung his right hand forward.

The twelve Suicide Warriors, at the instant of the swing, all exerted force simultaneously: six burst in through the main door, four slammed in through the side windows, and two plunged straight down from the skylight.

The sound of the door panel shattering and the window frame breaking exploded in the same breath; twelve curved blades, quenched with lethal poison, traced twelve pale‑green arcs in the candlelight, their cold glints weaving a tightening death net aimed at the silhouette seated on the Grand Master's Chair.

Chen Yan sat on the Grand Master's Chair.

He did not turn his head.

He flicked his wrist, and the black piece between his fingertips clicked onto the board; the crisp clack of the piece against the board stood out sharply amid the metallic clangor.

His voice drifted from above the chair back, light enough that only those in the Shufang could hear.

"It's coming."

The shadow on the beam burst the instant the words landed.

The strings of six heavy Crossbows snapped simultaneously, their air‑splitting twang merging into an unending metallic storm.

Three‑pronged steel arrows fanned out from above the beam, covering every inch of the Shufang's main door and side windows.

The arrows moved so fast that only silver after‑images could be seen in the candlelight.

The six Suicide Warriors at the front had their curved blades four feet from Chen Yan's back.

The first steel arrow pierced the throat of the first Suicide Warrior at the main door; its tip emerged from the back of his neck, trailing a plume of dark‑red blood mist that soaked the mask of the warrior behind him.

The second steel arrow entered the temple of the second warrior from the side; the shaft rolled half a circle inside the skull, flinging open half of the braincase.

The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth.

The six warriors were hurled backward by the arrow impact; some slammed into the door frame, some onto the windowsill, some tumbled out of the windows, and their bodies struck the courtyard's Blue Bricks with a dull thud.

Six people, from breaching the door to falling, were separated by only one breath.

The four Crossbows behind the screen fired in quick succession; arrows from the side covered the four warriors who entered through the windows—two arrows lodged in the first man's Chest Armor, one pierced the second's shoulder, and the third's knee was pierced by an arrow shaft, leaving him kneeling amid the splintered wood.

The fourth warrior reacted half a beat faster than the first three; within the breath of the arrow's launch he rolled his body half a circle to the side, the arrow grazing his ribs and carving a slit only in his night‑cloaked attire.

His curved blade stayed in his grip during the roll; the instant it sprang from the splintered wood, the edge slashed toward Chen Yan.

The two who fell from the skylight were even faster; their bodies had already anticipated the attack in mid‑air, the angles of their curved blades cutting precisely toward Chen Yan's crown and nape.

Three blades, three directions, three angles, arrived simultaneously.

Duxie, watching from outside the window, saw the scene, and the blood‑red glint in his pupils deepened by three parts.

Just one step short.

If any of those three blades struck Chen Yan's body, the blade laced with Snow Toad poison would strip him of all resistance within three breaths.

Then he saw a moon‑white shadow.

The shadow moved so fast his pupils could not even track it.

The two Crossbows on the top shelf of the bookshelf fired the final volley together; the steel arrows aimed not at the Shufang entrance but at the two people who had fallen through the skylight.

One arrow lodged in the left man's thigh, forcing his falling trajectory off by two inches; the curved blade slipped over Chen Yan's crown and missed entirely.

The right man's curved blade continued its downward slash.

Hongye's hand gripped the short‑sword's hilt, and his whole body launched from the low stool, moving so fast that only a moon‑white after‑image remained in the candlelight.

The short sword was drawn.

The blade traced an ultra‑short, ultra‑fast arc in the candlelight, its precision making one's scalp tingle, cutting through the gap between the man's wrist and his curved blade.

The wrist snapped.

The curved blade flew free, embedding itself in the Shufang's horizontal beam; two drops of dark‑green poison dripped from its edge onto the table beside the board, scorching two tiny black pits into the rosewood surface.

Hongye's foot did not pause; the short sword twirled in a flourish, sweeping past the man with the broken wrist, the blade slicing under his ribs in an instant, cutting the soft tissue between three ribs, and blood spurted from the wound.

The third man's curved blade had already reached Chen Yan's nape.

Chen Yan lifted his right hand from the armrest.

The Horizontal Blade was drawn.

The metallic clash rang through the Shufang; the Horizontal Blade's spine caught the curved blade's edge, and at the moment of contact a sour‑tinged metallic screech rang out.

Chen Yan's wrist turned half a circle, the Horizontal Blade sliding two inches forward along the curved blade's shaft, its edge cutting into the warrior's grip—the "tiger's mouth."

The flesh of the tiger's mouth was split by the Horizontal Blade, exposing white bone fragments.

The warrior let out a muffled hum, the curved blade slipped from his hand, he stepped back, his knee striking the overturned stool, and his body fell backward.

Hongye's short sword arrived from the side; its tip pierced beneath his throat and withdrew within a breath.

A spray of blood erupted from the throat wound, splattering the black and white pieces on the board.

The Shufang fell silent for two breaths.

The twelve Suicide Warriors: six were shot dead by crossbow arrows at the door and windows, three were grievously wounded by arrows and fell among the splintered wood, and three were dealt with by Hongye and Chen Yan together within three breaths.

From the shattering of doors and windows to the final fall, the whole process did not exceed five breaths.

Duxie lay on the Qiangbi outside the window, fingers clutching two daggers, the blue veins on his knuckles swollen to the point of straining his gloves.

The thing churning in his pupils completed its full shift from greed to shock to terror within those five breaths.

Then he heard a sound coming from outside the courtyard.

Heavy footsteps sounded from all directions of the Zongguan Fu at once, the dull clank of Armor merging into an endless tide of metal, and the ground trembled slightly under the crush of those steps.

Flames lit up from the four corners of the courtyard wall at once, hundreds of torches illuminated the entire inner courtyard so clearly that every leaf and every Blue Brick was plainly visible.

Heavy Armor Infantry surged out of the Hidden Doors on the four sides of the inner courtyard, Horizontal Blades held before them, Shields strapped to their left arms, forming rows upon rows that enclosed the entire Shufang so tightly that not even a mouse could slip out.

Duxie's jaw snapped beneath his mask, producing a creaking sound that he could hear clearly himself.

"Got you."

The wails of the second squad of twelve and the third squad of twelve, led by his lieutenant, came from the bedroom and the rear yard simultaneously; the cries sounded especially mournful in the firelight, then were completely drowned out in an instant by the dull thuds of metal cleaving and the snap of crossbow strings.

Duxie pressed his back against the Qiangbi, twirled two daggers between his fingers, his eyes behind the mask whirled wildly, searching for any possible opening.

No opening.

The encirclement of the Heavy Armor Infantry was so tight that not even a Long Spear could be thrust in.

Duxie's breathing quickened threefold, the mask soaked with his exhaled heat, damp and stifling against his face.

He slipped his right hand into his chest, his fingertips touching something cold.

A black Bone Flute.

The Bone Flute is made from the leg bone of a Tianshan Snow Wolf, its body engraved with the totem of the Western Regions Assassin Guild; it has only one finger hole, and it emits only a single note.

That note is the Suicide Warrior's final trump card.

Duxie drew the Bone Flute from his chest and placed it at the edge of his lips.

Inside the Shufang, Chen Yan smeared the blood on his Horizontal Blade onto the armrest of the chair back, then turned his head to glance at Hongye.

"There's still one living one outside."

Hongye's short sword spun half a circle in his hand, his voice steady.

"Shuyi, go."

Chen Yan's finger gave a light tap on the hilt of the Horizontal Blade.

"Not in a hurry; let him use his last trick, this Duke wants to see what other tricks the Western Regions assassin has."

The words had not yet finished.

A shrill scream that could pierce eardrums came from outside the window.

The scream was not a human voice but the note from the Bone Flute, its frequency so high that the window lattice shattered by crossbow bolts in the Shufang quivered twice, and the candle flame on the bronze lamp bracket flickered violently three times, nearly going out.

Chen Yan's finger paused on the hilt for a beat, his brows lifting slightly.

"Interesting."