Chapter 27: Breaking the Deadlock

After learning of the killer Duan Tianlin’s history, Chen Guanlou increasingly realized he had stirred up a massive trouble—a deadly trouble.

Whoever was protecting Duan Tianlin’s life, whether or not Duan Tianlin carried secrets, right now Chen Guanlou’s name might already be on some great person’s desk, marked for elimination.

Tianlaomiao has no secrets—unless you’re the right person.

To outsiders, Tianlaomiao is a mysterious, sinister, terrifying place; not even daring to approach it, let alone spy on it. But to certain people, every event inside Tianlaomiao escapes none of their eyes.

Did no one notice his conversation with Duan Tianlin?

Chen Guanlou dared not be so optimistic; he imagined the worst-case scenarios, and there were only two possibilities: they would pry Duan Tianlin’s secrets from him, or pry the secret of internal cultivation techniques from him.

Either outcome, given his current position, was one he could not bear.

At three in the morning, unable to sleep, he sat on the rooftop, drinking bitter wine, pondering how to break the deadlock.

Duan Tianlin must die!

Only the dead can keep secrets.

But…

How to kill him? How to cover it up? No one in Tianlaomiao could withstand the wrath of a great person.

The key was, he had no idea what secret Duan Tianlin carried—why would a great person protect the life of a murderer?

But Pingshenme did he assume the great person was willingly protecting Duan Tianlin? What if the great person also wanted Duan Tianlin dead? Ten years had passed; what couldn’t be done then might be possible now.

Chen Guanlou’s thoughts grew broader.

Someone like Duan Tianlin was merely wasting food alive—who would willingly protect him? There must be some illicit transaction involved.

He leapt down from the rooftop, already harboring a half-formed idea.

Early in the morning, Chen Guanlou brought wine and meat to Tianlaomiao. He gave part to the guards of the Liu family’s estate, and the rest entirely to the killer Duan Tianlin.

After years apart, eating meat and drinking wine again, Duan Tianlin wolfed it down like a beggar; meat falling to the ground, he didn’t find it dirty—he picked it up and shoved it into his mouth, then took a sip of wine, utterly delighted.

“Kid, you’re pretty good. Tomorrow I want braised beef—bring me five catties first.”

“No problem.”

Chen Guanlou turned and left; this inspection was done.

“Hey, did I let you go?” Duan Tianlin shouted, arrogant and brazen.

Chen Guanlou stopped, back turned, a flash of killing intent in his eyes, then said expressionlessly: “Senior, you wouldn’t want me to die right now, would you? It’s not easy to find someone as useful as me.”

“Kid, you’ve got guts. Don’t you want to hear my story?”

“No Manzhe you, Senior, yesterday I asked around about the killer’s case. After hearing it, I felt sick. Please forgive me.”

“You also believe all those people were killed by me.”

Chen Guanlou remained silent.

Duan Tianlin suddenly rushed forward, grabbing the prison bars, laughing darkly at his back: “I killed them all. I deserve to die ten thousand deaths, to be flayed alive—it’s not enough. Yet here I am, still alive. Can you guess why?”

Chen Guanlou whirled around. “It’s nothing but transactions, leverage, Liyiquanheng —nothing escapes these reasons. It can’t be someone repaying a debt.”

“You’re an interesting kid. Hehe…” Duan Tianlin relaxed, studying Chen Guanlou with interest. “You’ve got something strange about you, and your behavior doesn’t match an eighteen-year-old—you’re unusually composed. Others, even ten years older than you, would shit themselves at the sound of my name. Yet you still have the nerve to outwit me, to spar verbally with me. Young Master Chen, look at what you’ve done—I was going to spare you, but now you’ve drawn my attention more and more. Not scheming against you would be a disservice to myself.”

Chen Guanlou was furious.

Because he behaved too well, he was targeted, schemed against. Was he implying it was his own fault?

Shameless!

Despicable!

Preposterous reasoning!

The man was clearly coveting the secrets on his person.

No one willingly spends their life locked in Tianlaomiao, especially someone like Duan Tianlin—wild, capricious, unable to bear restraint. His indiscriminate village massacres were, in a way, his outlet for rage against being controlled.

Originally a thug, he entered the army and was bound by discipline, suppressed by superiors; over time, his temper and ambition must have boiled over. Killing, slaughtering innocent villagers, trampling lives, manipulating others’ fates—these were his outlets.

Purely a psychopath, an antisocial monster.

Chen Guanlou was one hundred percent certain the man was mocking him, trying to repeat his old tricks, to toy with his life. If he showed helplessness, cowed by intimidation, he would please the man.

Disgusting.

He nearly lost control of his killing intent.

He took a deep breath, suppressing his inner fury: “Thank you, Senior, for your regard. But I’m merely a lowly jailer—I can’t help with anything.”

“No, you can help. But this isn’t urgent. When the time comes, I’ll tell you what to do.”

With that, Duan Tianlin clamped his mouth shut, refusing to utter another word.

Chen Guanlou left decisively, his mind racing with how to kill the man without implicating himself.

The Hou Fu’s lawsuit against Jiang Tu had reached the imperial court, yet remained unresolved.

Both sides were currently at a stalemate.

The old emperor had never taken a stance, and whispers grew that he clearly intended to protect Jiang Tu—only lacking an excuse and a face-saving way out.

The court’s top officials were the sharpest minds in the world, geniuses among geniuses; they could read the emperor’s thoughts well. Yet despite knowing the old emperor needed a face-saving exit, a man who understood his intentions and could act accordingly, they stubbornly opposed him, refusing to let Jiang Tu gain any advantage.

It was said the old emperor was deeply dissatisfied with his ministers—he had retreated to Taiji Palace, refusing to hold court, refusing to review memorials, refusing to see officials, devoting himself entirely to alchemy.

Just as the situation stagnated, the Crown Prince’s action broke the deadlock.

In Taiji Palace, the Crown Prince encountered Jiang Tu, who had come to beg forgiveness. Without avoiding witnesses, he spat out: “Dog.”

Jiang Tu dared not defend himself, dared not contradict.

Normally, such a minor incident would have passed. But the Crown Prince’s words reached the old emperor’s ears.

The old emperor flew into a rage, cursing the Crown Prince as an unfilial son.

He wasn’t dead yet, and the Crown Prince already wanted to punish those close to him. Was he eager for his father’s death, hoping to inherit the throne?

The Crown Prince panicked—he merely despised Jiang Tu, a sycophant who rose by flattery; he had no other intentions.

But the old emperor, aged and paranoid, once convinced of something, could not be swayed—even by nine oxen. He now believed the Crown Prince harbored treacherous intent, and could no longer wait. If he couldn’t even tolerate a mere Jiang Tu, who knew what day he might not tolerate even his emperor?