Chapter 824: Give Him Noodle Soup

Cui Ti walked through the streets of Bozhou, inspecting what remained of the city’s population.

Bozhou was not Chaoge; here, there were far fewer restrictions and obstacles, allowing Cui Ti to carry out his duties as Imperial Envoy more smoothly.

Yu Zhuo had once established a New Pavilion in Bozhou; under Shang law, many here had committed the grave crime of treason, creating favorable conditions for Cui Ti’s mission.

After so many days, besides Mengqian Tower, which had made promises, were there still any living people in Bozhou?

Yes.

Those who carried the corpses.

All these corpse-bearers were slaves; they had developed astonishing resistance to the pathogen, possibly due to their harsh living conditions or their relatively primitive bodily structure.

Cui Ti spared most of the corpse-bearers; Bozhou was now extremely clean, and he did not want this beautiful city piled high with rotting bodies.

But if the corpse-bearers showed signs of trouble, Cui Ti would show them no mercy.

Yesterday, several corpse-bearers picked up whips and struck others; Cui Ti smiled as he sent them away.

In Bozhou, Cui Ti’s dream had nearly been realized; there seemed little reason to stay longer.

Cui Ti prepared to leave Bozhou aboard a corpse-transport vessel, but he waited long at the port without seeing a single ship arrive.

Not a single ship remained in all of Bozhou.

Cui Ti realized something was wrong. He left the port, entered the First City, took a pocket watch from inside his tailcoat, opened its cover, twisted the crown, and set the minute and hour hands to 6:25.

He was trying to contact Zuo Anna.

The watch’s second hand ticked steadily, its rhythm unchanged.

He could not reach Zuo Anna.

Was it interference from his location?

Cui Ti moved to several different spots, but the watch gave no response—had communication across all of Bozhou been blocked?

In a corner of the Second City, the watch finally responded. As Cui Ti sent his location, he sensed something strange in the reply.

The second hand trembled too slowly—not the frequency he knew. The response did not come from Zuo Anna.

Cui Ti sent a false location, then threw away the watch and headed for a nearby ceramics workshop.

This workshop was Mengqian Tower’s location. The front courtyard remained empty. Cui Ti walked straight into the back courtyard—and still heard no sound from Meng Qian.

Meng Qian did not warn him, nor did she stop him from entering. Had she abandoned Mengqian Tower?

What of the agreement between them? Was it still valid?

Cui Ti walked deeper into the back courtyard. He saw the kilns, the workshops, and the workers’ dwellings.

The courtyard was vast; most of the land had been used to build workers’ housing—three-story buildings lined up side by side, each with over a hundred rooms, one person per room. Altogether, the workshop could house more than seven thousand.

But this was only Cui Ti’s guess. In every room, he saw only a bed—and no one on it.

The entire ceramics workshop was empty. Meng Qian had moved Mengqian Tower elsewhere.

“Mengqian Tower’s owner, where is your honor?” Cui Ti clenched his teeth and left the workshop. As he stepped onto the street, a group of pedestrians appeared ahead.

They wore green official robes; from color and pattern, their ranks were not high.

They retained human form—familiar human shapes, not the bodies or proportions of Neizhou people, nor did they have three heads.

The young man at their head bowed to Cui Ti: “Your humble servant, Cheng Wuzu, greets the Imperial Envoy.”

Cui Ti returned the bow.

Cheng Wuzu continued: “We have prepared a ship at the port, specially to escort you to Chaoge.”

“Your efficiency is remarkable. I was just thinking of returning to Chaoge, and you arrive to meet me—cough, cough, cough.” Cui Ti coughed several times before the group.

They did not step back. Seeing him cough, they showed not the slightest fear.

Cheng Wuzu waved behind him; several men carried a sedan chair forward: “Imperial Envoy, please take your seat. We shall take you to the dock at once.”

“Very well!” Cui Ti walked toward the sedan chair. When still over five meters away, he sniffed sharply—and sneezed violently.

The sneeze was sharp and loud, lifting the curtain and roof of the sedan. The carrying poles now held only a bare seat—on which extended a hand, reaching for Cui Ti’s face.

The hand moved with astonishing speed. Surrounded as he was, Cui Ti seemed to have no escape.

“Achoo!” He sneezed again.

The hand that reached for him lost two fingers to the sneeze—and missed.

Using the recoil of the sneeze, Cui Ti retreated over ten meters, then turned and fled.

Cheng Wuzu and his men chased after him. They knew Bozhou intimately; from their pursuit route, they would soon form a circle.

Cui Ti fled two streets when Cheng Wuzu suddenly appeared before him—by speed alone, this man was a Traveler cultivator.

Hss!

Cui Ti’s sweat instantly evaporated; he charged at Cheng Wuzu, enveloped in a cloud of steam.

Cheng Wuzu’s skill was excellent—he intended to capture Cui Ti alive—but the moment he touched him, his left hand was severely burned, losing all strength.

To prevent further injury, Cheng Wuzu stepped aside, letting Cui Ti burst through the street.

To prevent Cheng Wuzu from continuing the pursuit, Cui Ti spat a clot of bloody phlegm.

The phlegm, under extreme heat, instantly vaporized into a crimson mist, shrouding Cui Ti’s form.

This was Cui Ti’s self-developed Wu Xiu technique: Pulmonary Consumption Miasma. It concealed his movement and delivered effective counterattacks against pursuers.

But Cui Ti knew well: the pathogen in this miasma might not affect these men, for even when he coughed upon first meeting them,

Cui Ti had already seeded the pathogen—and none of them reacted.

When he sneezed twice more, he seeded the pathogen again. The hand on the sedan pole reacted—its fingers were blown off.

Minimal reaction to the pathogen, yet strong reaction to physical injury. This indicated these men who came to greet him were First-Class Weapons.

Qiao Yi sent so many First-Class Weapons not to drive Cui Ti away—he meant to kill him.

Cui Ti had no intention of surrendering. He ran straight into the Third City.

Bozhou had once been the capital of the Shang Kingdom; the city was vast, and Cui Ti was confident he could outmaneuver them for a long time.

This “long time” did not mean hours or even days—it meant he could hold out for half a month, or longer.

Bozhou had nine layers of cities, and beyond them lay vast fields.

Both inside and outside the city, there were massive food stores; for Cui Ti, escape routes were countless.

The critical question now: how could he establish contact with the outside world while evading pursuit?

If no help arrived, he would have to risk everything—seize a ship at the port.

Pursuing into the Third City, Cheng Wuzu did not press forward. He took a bell, hung it on his index finger, and shook it continuously.

After ten minutes, over one hundred and eighty First-Class Weapons arrived one by one.

Cheng Wuzu put away the bell and pulled out a bamboo slip, writing one line: “We have pursued to the Third City.”

On a warship outside Bozhou, Nian Shangyou ate an orange while reading the bamboo slip.

He did not want to land. He did not want to get near Cui Ti. Because the message on the slip concerned Cui Ti, Nian Shangyou no longer wanted to eat his orange.

He set the orange down, wiped the bamboo slip clean—both his slip and Cheng Wuzu’s became blank.

Nian Shangyou did not reply immediately. He ordered the bugler to sound the horn.

The horn blast was deafening; every corner of Bozhou heard it clearly.

Cheng Wuzu held his position. This horn was not meant for him.

In the center of the Nine Cities, a newly placed stone responded.

Cui Ti had no memory of this stone, for countless stones had been shipped to Bozhou to repair the Grand Altar,

especially in the Nine Cities, where piles of stone mountains had accumulated.

But this stone was unique. Upon hearing the horn, it activated a technique, forming a boundary beyond the Third City.

Once the boundary formed, Cheng Wuzu received Nian Shangyou’s order: “Continue pursuit!”

Cheng Wuzu replied: “Still to capture alive?”

Following Qiao Yi’s prior instructions, Nian Shangyou assessed the current situation.

Qiao Yi had not ordered Cui Ti captured alive. Nian Shangyou immediately ordered Cheng Wuzu: “If he resists, kill him. Preserve only his soul.”

Cheng Wuzu smiled faintly, relayed the order to all First-Class Weapons, and used his innate fortune-reading ability to track Cui Ti’s trail.

Soon, he found Cui Ti in a coal yard within the Third City.

Cheng Wuzu did not strike immediately. He shook his bell while urging Cui Ti: “Imperial Envoy, Grand Secretary Qiao means no harm—he sincerely invites you to discuss state affairs.

But if you insist on refusing to board the ship, I must carry out my duty. I beg your pardon, Imperial Envoy.”

Cui Ti shook his head: “I am a foreigner. I do not understand ‘duty.’ Can you be more specific?”

Cheng Wuzu frowned slightly, his expression twisted: “Then I’ll speak plainly—if you refuse to board the ship with me,

I will kill you.”

Cui Ti nodded: “Fine. Come kill me.”

Cheng Wuzu’s expression calmed, even brightening with a hint of joy: “Since you’re willing to give up your life, this matter becomes much simpler today.”

Deep night. Seventh City of Bozhou.

Cui Ti, battered and bleeding, dragged Cheng Wuzu into a pavilion.

He dropped Cheng Wuzu and leaned against the wall, gasping for breath for a long time.

He had underestimated Qiao Yi’s tactical arrangements—and the coordination between First-Class Weapons.

According to his own escape plan, Cui Ti intended to break into the Fifth City first, then flee outside, then check the port for a chance to seize a ship.

If possible, he would take the vessel and flee Shang immediately.

If not, he would retreat into the villages beyond the city and continue evading.

But he had not expected that once inside the Fifth City, he could not leave.

Outside the Fifth City lay a boundary of Zhaixiu—Cui Ti brushed against it and nearly lost a layer of skin.

Charging out would mean certain death; Cui Ti could not run outward—he could only go inward.

He fled all the way to Seven-Reign City, his strength nearly spent; he wasn’t just running—he had fought many battles.

He placed Cheng Wuzu on the table and smiled at him: “I originally thought I could stall you for at least half a month, but less than a day has passed, and I’ve run out of options.”

Cheng Wuzu couldn’t move his body, but he could still speak: “Magistrate Qiao is a man who values talent, and now is precisely when the imperial court needs capable hands, Imperial Envoy. If you turn back from your error, Magistrate Qiao will forgive all past deeds.”

Cui Ti didn’t believe the man could be so lenient: “I’ve killed several Class-One weapons, and now I intend to kill you—do you really think that can be forgiven?”

Cheng Wuzu spoke calmly: “Compared to the vital mission entrusted to us by Magistrate Qiao, our own lives mean nothing…”

“Wait a moment,” Cui Ti interrupted Cheng Wuzu, “your mission was to capture me—is that mission truly so important?”

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Cheng Wuzu said: “Magistrate Qiao told us you could make great contributions to the imperial court—this mission is far more important than our lives.”

Cui Ti still couldn’t understand: “You’re from Pulu Province—the imperial court isn’t your court. You’ve been turned into a weapon by the Shang court, yet you remain so loyal to them?”

Cheng Wuzu shook his head: “Once loyal to the court, loyal for life. We are but ants, mere dust—serving the court faithfully is the greatest fortune of my life. No matter how the court treats me, I have no regrets—”

Before Cheng Wuzu could finish, Cui Ti clamped his hand over his mouth: “Forgive me—I respect everyone’s choices and try to listen to all opinions—but what you’ve said makes me sick.”

Cui Ti’s palm grew hotter and hotter; the air Cheng Wuzu inhaled became scorching, rapidly burning his body.

When Cheng Wuzu ceased breathing, Cui Ti carefully examined the structure of this Class-One weapon.

Class-One weapons come in too many varieties: some, like Cheng Wuzu, resemble humans; others resemble animals; some look like factory machines; others are abstract, resembling everyday household items.

Because these weapons vary so wildly in form, Cui Ti had never found their commonality, nor could he find a disease capable of spreading among them.

Take this humanoid weapon: Cui Ti had long tried using traditional pathogens against them, only to discover they were nearly useless—because they had no cellular structure.

Their bodies merely resembled humans on the surface; in truth, they were more like robots with organic tissue—organic tissue utterly alien to the life forms Cui Ti knew.

“Could a soul-infecting virus work on them?” Cui Ti carefully examined Cheng Wuzu’s still-intact soul—and was once again disappointed.

Cheng Wuzu’s soul was incomplete; more accurately, he carried not a soul, but a composite of soul fragments.

Only twenty percent of Cheng Wuzu’s soul remained—his soul had been sliced into a hundred pieces, and only twenty were selected.

These twenty fragments seemed randomly chosen, for Cheng Wuzu’s soul composition differed from that of other Class-One weapons.

“Chaos overcoming order? Why could the Great Furnace create such a miraculous structure?” Cui Ti laughed helplessly. “If only I’d had more time, I could have cracked the secret of Class-One weapons—I could have found a pathogen to infect them. But alas—”

Footsteps sounded outside the loft; Cui Ti had to leave.

He ate a bite of bread, tightened his bandages, and stepped outside.

A few minutes later, Cui Ti returned to the loft.

Over ninety Class-One weapons waited outside.

Cui Ti glanced at Cheng Wuzu lying on the table and shook his head: “To be turned into a weapon like you—that would be such a tragic fate.”

He climbed to the second floor of the loft, blocked the door with spiritual objects, and sat quietly in a corner of the room.

He took out his canteen and took a small sip.

The footsteps grew closer; several Class-One weapons had already reached the stairs.

Cui Ti pulled a tin can from his pocket—the wildflowers inside were nearly blooming; Xiao De, perched on the petals, looked up at Cui Ti.

Cui Ti poured all the water from his canteen into the can.

He smiled at the wildflowers.

Between the buds and leaves, he saw De Songya, saw the cave, saw the firewood and iron pot, saw Xiao De eating noodle soup.

“Here’s your noodle soup,” Xiao De beneath the flowers held up a dewdrop high.

Cui Ti nodded firmly and took the soup.

*Clang!*

The second-floor door burst open.

The first two Class-One weapons to rush in saw a blinding flash of light—so intense it blinded them all.

After the light faded, a slow drift of gray ash fell.

Where was Cui Ti?

His body was nowhere to be found in the room.

The Class-One weapons hiding outside also saw no trace of him.

Several weapons with spy-observation abilities pushed their techniques to the limit—still, they found nothing.

“He committed suicide—” one Class-One weapon shouted. “Quick, fetch the demonic cultivators—collect his soul!”

Soon, several demonic cultivator weapons arrived. They spent a long time collecting souls—but found nothing.

One demonic cultivator weapon examined the ash on the floor and shook his head: “This is the residue of a soul—his soul has been utterly scattered.”

The other Class-One weapons grew grim—this outcome would be hard to explain.

Nian Shangyou entered Qiao Yi’s study, heart full of resolve: “Lord, your humble servant has gone to Bozhou to apprehend Cui Ti. Cui Ti resisted arrest and committed suicide.”

“Did you recover his soul?”

Nian Shangyou replied: “He used a technique when he died—his soul turned to ash.”

Qiao Yi lowered his head, reading documents, and made annotations with his brush.

Nian Shangyou stood there, each breath a torment.

After finishing the annotations, Qiao Yi looked up at Nian Shangyou.

Nian Shangyou was about to kowtow and beg forgiveness, when Qiao Yi suddenly said: “Shangyou, you’ve worked hard.”

Hearing this, Nian Shangyou didn’t know whether to rejoice or grieve—he didn’t know what Qiao Yi would do next.

Qiao Yi sighed: “Across the Shang Empire, hidden agents of every faction leak secrets—military intelligence has been compromised repeatedly. The Shang court has suffered heavy losses, and I detest this deeply!”

“Shangyou, the Ministry of Military Affairs, the Ministry of Personnel, and the Ministry of Justice have each submitted a list of spies. All three lists include your name, detailing your crimes—accusing you of close ties to the White Falcon Alliance.”

*Thud!*

Nian Shangyou fell to his knees: “Lord! Your humble servant is innocent! I have never betrayed you! All my dealings with the White Falcon Alliance were approved by you—I have never once overstepped!”

“I am willing to be interrogated, willing to be investigated. My loyalty is pure—Heaven bears witness. My heart is true—I have no second thoughts!”

Nian Shangyou kept kowtowing until his forehead bled.

Qiao Yi sighed deeply: “Shangyou, should I believe you?”

Nian Shangyou lay on the ground: “Lord, I am incompetent, accomplished nothing—but I have risked my life for you without ever complaining. Lord, please see clearly!”

At these words, Nian Shangyou burst into tears.

Qiao Yi fell silent for a long time, then raised his hand, signaling Nian Shangyou to rise.

Nian Shangyou rose cautiously, awaiting his fate.

Qiao Yi stared at Nian Shangyou for a long while, then nodded slightly: “Shangyou, I will trust you once more. Go pack your things.”

“Leave immediately with me.”

Nian Shangyou dared not ask more—he rushed home, packed, and boarded the boat with Qiao Yi.

This was not Qiao Yi’s usual vessel—it was a fishing boat, small and sparsely furnished.

Before reaching the harbor, Qiao Yi made Nian Shangyou change clothes; both wore straw capes and conical hats, looking like ordinary fishermen.

Before setting sail, the guards activated a magic treasure to scan the boat for hidden trackers.

After confirming no trackers were present, the guards activated another magic treasure to block all communication devices.

Nian Shangyou was tense—shutting off communication at sea was extremely dangerous, but his own situation was precarious, so he dared not ask.

After sailing for a full day and night, Qiao Yi suddenly asked: “Do you know where we’re headed?”

Nian Shangyou shook his head: “Your humble servant does not know.”

Qiao Yi stood on the deck: “Have you ever heard of Zhen’e?”

“Zhen’e?” Nian Shangyou thought a moment. “Lord, are you referring to the former dynasty’s capital?”

Qiao Yi nodded—Zhen was one of the capitals of the Xia Dynasty.

Nian Shangyou said: “Lord, according to my knowledge, Zhen’e sank into the seabed over a thousand years ago and has never seen daylight since.”

Qiao Yi shook his head and smiled: “Zhen’e is not beneath the sea—it lies in the Unnameable Place. That false king had some fortune; the only thing he ever did right was find Zhen’e.”

The false king referred to the Sage—what did this have to do with the Sage?

Qiao Yi suddenly asked: “Shangyou, do you think Cui Ti deserved to die?”

This was a matter of life and death—he must answer correctly. Nian Shangyou said: “He deserved to die. That villain should have been killed long ago!”

Qiao Yi smiled: “So you mean I killed him too late?”

Nian Shangyou lowered his head: “Your humble servant believes it was indeed too late.”

This wasn’t Nian Shangyou being foolish—telling the truth now actually reduced Qiao Yi’s suspicions.

Qiao Yi sighed: “Shangyou, today we march. When we reach Zhen’e, you’ll understand the depth of my intentions.”

March today?

So urgently?

Nian Shangyou blinked: “Lord, where are we marching to?”

Qiao Yi gazed into the distance: “To the most treacherous land in Pulu Province.”