Chapter 29: Kill Duan Tianlin

Liu Xiaochuan took out a letter and handed it to Chen Guanlou.

“Liu Manager instructed me to deliver this letter into your hands personally.”

“No other instructions? Not even a message?” Chen Guanlou was curious.

Liu Xiaochuan shook his head. “My task is done. Chen Young Master’s tea is delicious. Goodbye!”

He came quickly and left quickly—finished his business, no lingering.

Chen Guanlou saw the man out the door, then returned to his study to open the letter. Two silver notes fell out, totaling fifty taels.

This was the reward Liu Manager had promised—substantial indeed. A man of his word; as soon as the trial ended, he sent the silver.

Days passed dull and uneventful, the Tianlaomiao unchanged—playing cards, slacking off.

Only Chen Guanlou remained inwardly anxious.

For the first time, he realized how difficult it was to kill someone inside the Tianlaomiao.

BOOM!

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed. Everyone in the duty room froze, staring at the door.

“What was that?”

“What’s happening?”

“Damn! Prison break!”

“Someone’s forcing entry into the Tianlaomiao! Grab your weapons, stand together!”

The Tianlaomiao’s structure was half aboveground, half underground.

The bandits smashed through the roof and stormed in—some twenty of them.

“Kill!”

“Go get help! Someone’s breaking the prison!”

The jailers were stunned. Many had never faced a prison break—especially one so large, so brutal, so defiant of law, so violently executed.

Chen Guanlou suddenly roared, drew his waist saber, and charged forward, appearing fearless.

Twenty-odd bandits, all masked, wielding swords, knives, and whips. They seemed organized, but once fighting began, each fought alone.

These bandits were clearly a hastily assembled group for this prison break.

Chen Guanlou plunged into the chaos, parrying as he retreated deeper into the corridor.

This was fate—a gift from heaven.

He’d been struggling to figure out how to kill Duan Tianlin without implicating himself. Now the opportunity had arrived so swiftly.

As he retreated, he also opened the prison cells.

The prisoners: …

What, use them as cannon fodder?

Yet the prisoners didn’t rush out immediately.

Chen Guanlou didn’t care—he only wanted chaos.

The rushing footsteps suddenly stopped.

Before Chen Guanlou stood a black-clad masked man, sword in hand, eyes cold and emotionless—as if he would kill him in the next second.

Swordsman!

Chen Guanlou recognized him at once—the hired swordsman from the Da Hang. Luo Jingtian had been beheaded, his family exiled; fearing assassination en route, Chen Guanlou had paid the Da Hang to escort them safely to the northwest.

The escort had been a Da Hang-hired swordsman.

He hadn’t recognized the man—he’d recognized the sword.

The previous mission had been completed successfully; Luo’s family had reached the northwest unharmed.

He never expected to see the swordsman again so soon—here, now. Could the Da Hang take on a prison break? And who were they breaking out?

The man clearly recognized him too.

They locked eyes for three seconds, then silently went their separate ways, ignoring each other.

To kill Duan Tianlin, Chen Guanlou had already imagined countless methods, rehearsed every detail in his mind.

Only cunning would work.

Yet he never expected the swordsman to head the same direction.

They stared at each other.

Chen Guanlou stepped aside, gesturing for the swordsman to go first.

The swordsman didn’t hesitate—he charged straight to the corridor’s deepest end. Chen Guanlou’s heart sank. Was the man here to free Duan Tianlin?

If Duan Tianlin escaped, what would become of him? His secret would be at risk of exposure.

He must not let Duan Tianlin be taken.

He couldn’t fight—only ambush.

His mind raced, planning how to strike, when sounds of combat erupted from the corridor’s depths—the swordsman was fighting Duan Tianlin.

Chen Guanlou rushed forward, ducked into a nearby cell, and watched in secret.

The cell door stood open; the swordsman, sword in hand, battled Duan Tianlin in the cramped space.

Duan Tianlin’s limbs were bound in iron chains, unable to move freely. He could only defend passively. “Is it Song who sent you? Ten years—he’s finally lost patience. Hah! A little worm dares kill me? You seek death!”

Chen Guanlou’s heart pounded.

The swordsman was here to kill Duan Tianlin—Heaven truly favored him.

From afar, shouts grew louder—reinforcements were coming. The Liùshànmén stood just one street away, filled with experts; he knew a fifth-rank martialist was stationed there.

Once the Liùshànmén arrived, the swordsman would die—and Duan Tianlin would live.

Duan Tianlin must not survive until the Liùshànmén arrived.

Chen Guanlou pulled out the poison he’d prepared—but he had no time to act; the Liùshànmén men had already reached the corridor’s end.

Chen Guanlou cried inwardly: Heaven has no mercy!

No time to think—hide first.

He must not let the Liùshànmén know he was here—no explanation would suffice.

Only one Liùshànmén man arrived—wearing a fine blue brocade robe, holding a standard waist saber. He came in haste, yet moved with calm precision.

The swordsman halted his attack the moment he saw the brocade-clad man, stepping aside by the cell door.

The brocade man pinched his nose, clearly disgusted by the stench, then stepped calmly into the cell.

Duan Tianlin leaned against the wall, eyes darting left and right.

The brocade man slowly approached the swordsman, who stood motionless.

The brocade man extended his hand. The swordsman hesitated—then surrendered his sword.

The brocade man weighed the blade, snorted coldly, then spun around and stabbed Duan Tianlin.

Duan Tianlin had been alert—but still couldn’t block the fatal strike. Clearly, the brocade man’s martial skill far surpassed the swordsman’s.

The sudden thrust pierced Duan Tianlin clean through.

The brocade man yanked the blade free; blood gushed.

Duan Tianlin didn’t die—he struggled to stay upright.

He pointed at the brocade man, recognizing him: “You—you—you… are…”

The brocade man said nothing. He stabbed Duan Tianlin again. His killing was swift, decisive—clearly a man of unyielding will.

“You… it’s you. He sent you.” Duan Tianlin’s voice grew faint, breathing shallow.

“You know enough.”

The brocade man severed Duan Tianlin’s head with one stroke and tossed it to the swordsman.

He spoke harshly: “You’re so slow, I have to clean up after you. What good are you?”

The swordsman picked up the head and sword, bowed deeply: “Your servant admits guilt.”

“Don’t make the same mistake again.” The brocade man snorted, turned, and left the cell, vanishing down the long corridor.

The swordsman finally exhaled, took Duan Tianlin’s head, and departed. As he passed Chen Guanlou’s hiding cell, his steps paused slightly—he glanced inside, then hurried away.

Chen Guanlou: …

He must have seen me!