Chapter 285: Appearance of the Master Martialist

At night, the order in Jingcheng had not been restored; instead, chaos was growing worse.

Chen Guanlou leaned against the cannon tower's wall, gazing at the distant flames, the sounds of shouting and battle rising and falling around him. He had considered going out to scout the situation, but ultimately gave up.

His level of strength, out in the martial world, was more than enough to crush bandits and martial heroes alike—he stood firmly at the top of the hierarchy.

But the incident had occurred inside the imperial palace. No one knew how many ancient monsters lurked within. Compared to those ancient monsters, his meager strength wasn't even enough to fill their teeth—he'd be cannon fodder if he stepped out.

Early spring weather, warm one moment and cold the next, turned chilly at night.

The jailers lay wrapped in cotton quilts atop the tower, half-asleep, jolted awake by the slightest breeze or rustle.

Old Zhang smoked his pipe. "I wonder what's going on outside."

"There are so many noble households in Jingcheng—they've got plenty to plunder. Common folk have little money; by the time they've robbed them, the bandits could've already struck a wealthy household and made a fortune." Chen Guanlou spoke with indifference.

Old Zhang asked curiously, "Aren't you worried about your eldest sister's family?"

Chen Guanlou exhaled a puff of breath—he wasn't cold, but he couldn't appear too eccentric.

He pulled his cotton robe tighter. "No need to worry. Su Dacheng is a gate official—he'd have gotten word before me. An old hand like him has surely hidden his whole family away."

"Worst case, they can come to the back alley of Hou Fu, to my place. Hou Fu's guards aren't idle. If they're not enough, there are men at the estate. Once they get out of the city and send word, they can rally forces to rush back and protect Hou Fu."

"Why now, of all times?" Old Zhang frowned, his brow furrowed like deep ravines, every wrinkle a mark of time, thick with ominous energy that kept ghosts and gods at bay.

Chen Guanlou slightly narrowed his eyes, appearing unfocused, but in truth he had been watching the north, toward the imperial palace.

He spoke casually: "Perhaps this is the perfect moment. The Elder Lord leads troops outside; the nobles are leaderless; the Grand Tutor's fate is unknown; the Crown Prince stands alone and unsupported. The Divine Instrument Camp suddenly entered the city, catching court ministers completely off guard."

"If the Elder Lord were in Jingcheng, he might still use his prestige to command the capital garrison and force the Divine Instrument Camp to withdraw. But the other nobles lack such prestige—and the courage to fight to the death. What if… what if the old emperor takes revenge later? Not everyone is the Elder Lord, who only lost a leg."

"But both Chancellors are still in Jingcheng. Can't they do anything? Can't they mobilize the capital garrison?"

"I don't know the Left Chancellor's situation. But I'm certain the Right Chancellor won't dare move to command the garrison—he's the Jin Wang's father-in-law. If he moves, he can't escape suspicion. Unless they're certain of victory."

Chen Guanlou spoke his analysis casually. All of it assumed the old emperor had personally ordered troops to stage a coup and depose the Crown Prince.

What if things weren't like that?

What if the Crown Prince was staging a palace rebellion? Don't trust Zhao Mingqiao's one-sided account. They support the orthodox line, support the Crown Prince—they'll naturally defend him. No one knows how this chaos truly began; everyone is in the dark, piecing together fragments, unable to see the whole picture.

"Lie down! Lie down right now!"

Chen Guanlou suddenly roared.

Though the jailers doubted, they all obeyed and lay down.

No sooner had they lain down than the air grew dry and thin, time and space seeming to twist, suffocating them. Two figures flashed through the air, one behind the other, and vanished with a hiss.

Chen Guanlou shot up, chasing after the two figures—toward the imperial palace. The two figures had raced toward the palace.

"Cough… cough… cough…"

"What just happened?"

"What was that?"

"I thought I was going to die!"

"Chen Boss, what just happened?"

"Chen Young Master, do you know something?"

"Just now, two ninth-rank martialists passed overhead—no, no, not just ninth rank. Masters. Definitely two Masters flew over our heads."

Wherever a Master went, their aura tore everything apart—like a flame instantly burning away all obstacles.

"Masters?"

"Do Masters really exist?"

"Aren't Masters just legends?"

"Chen Jailor, how can you tell a Master?"

"I have no ability to identify a Master. But that power—whose else could it be but a legend?"

At these words, no one disputed.

That suffocating, deadly power—yes, who else but a Master could wield it?

"But I didn't see anything. Did any of you see the Masters?"

"I didn't see anything either."

"Masters aren't visible to ordinary mortals."

"Only death lets us mortals see a Master. You'd better pray you never see one in your life."

The jailers chattered noisily.

But Chen Guanlou had already descended the tower.

He stormed into the office, his gaze stern, fixed on Lu Mingchuan, who sat slumped on the bed, lost in thought.

"Did you rest well, Master Lu?"

"Fine! Just a bit hungry. Young Master Chen, could you spare me something to eat?"

"The physician said your body can't take food—you need to fast for three or five days." Chen Guanlou replied flatly, showing no guilt at withholding food.

This old man had spent his life in silk and jade, deceiving the world with sweet words, chasing fame, trampling others underfoot. A little hunger? What was that? Compared to his crimes, three days of hunger with nine meals skipped wasn't punishment—it was barely a cleanse.

Lu Mingchuan sighed. "Young Master Chen holds a deep grudge against me."

"Why bother? Zhao Mingqiao told me everything. Continuing this charade is pointless." Chen Guanlou sat down heavily in the chair.

The bed in the office was only for temporary rest—not meant for comfort, only convenience. It was narrow, barely one point two meters wide, hard as stone. The jailers weren't clean people; the bedding reeked. Nothing like the soft, silken quilts of noble households.

Lu Mingchuan had endured it all—so long as he kept his life.

"Since Young Master Chen already knows everything, why continue tormenting me?"

"Just now, two Masters flew over the prison, heading toward the imperial palace."

Lu Mingchuan reacted strongly—his hunched back suddenly straightened, his voice urgent: "Truly Masters?"

"We were on the tower—we nearly died. What else could it be?" Chen Guanlou said.

Lu Mingchuan's body slumped again, drained of vitality. "It seems things have slipped beyond control. The Crown Prince isn't powerless after all."

Chen Guanlou asked one question: "You don't want the Crown Prince to win?"