Chapter 240

Hu Xiaotian waited for him to approach precisely to land a decisive blow; he never expected Yan Zhou to be so formidable that a volley of steel needles failed to kill him on the spot. In panic he raised the black box again, repeatedly pressing the mechanism, firing the remaining needles, both volleys striking Yan Zhou's face. Even so, it still could not stop Yan Zhou's all-out stab.

The steel blade, carrying Yan Zhou's lifetime cultivation, thrust with unstoppable force onto Hu Xiaotian's chest. Hu Xiaotian was terrified, his soul fleeing, silently crying, 'My life is over!' The blade's edge touched his chest with a clang, yet could not pierce even a fraction. Only then did Hu Xiaotian recall that the Dan Shu iron voucher hidden in his chest had saved his life at the brink of death. Even so, the force transmitted by the blade shook him, forcing him to retreat several steps backward; fortunately his back leaned against the courtyard wall, preventing him from falling to the ground.

Yan Zhou had exhausted his last breath; his steel blade could advance no further, his face covered densely with steel needles, his eyes already blinded by the shots, yet he remained standing there, unsure whether he was dead or alive.

Hu Xiaotian drew the short dagger Huo Ge had given him from his boot, approached cautiously, saw Yan Zhou still motionless, took a deep breath, steadied his courage, circled behind Yan Zhou, raised the dagger and stabbed fiercely into his back. After pulling the dagger out again, Yan Zhou's burly body slowly collapsed to the ground. This place was not suitable for lingering; Hu Xiaotian quickly left the scene. The map Zhou Wenju had given him was completely discarded. As Zhou Wenju had previously said, the city of Xiezhou inside and out was heavily guarded; a few steps would encounter patrolling soldiers, and the townsfolk of Xiezhou had long shut their doors. Hu Xiaotian constantly watched for concealment, hesitating where to hide, when suddenly he realized he was in a familiar spot.

He felt as if he had been here before; the surroundings seemed extremely familiar, with few lamps lining the small street. Walking further, he passed a residential gate sealed with a strip. Hu Xiaotian went over and looked. Upon reflection, this place turned out to be Yujin Lane on Fengze Street, the seal being on the old residence of Zhou Ruizhen. It seemed fate had decreed it; he had stumbled here in a daze.

Suddenly, hoofbeats sounded in the distance, drawing near from afar, seemingly heading toward Yujin Lane. Hu Xiaotian's heart jolted; if discovered now, he would surely be seized and interrogated, rendering all his prior efforts wasted. He hurriedly scrambled over the wall—fortunately the Zhou family's wall was low, and he cleared it without much effort. Just as he steadied his footing in the courtyard, a troop of horsemen passed by the gate, their torches lighting the outside brightly. Hu Xiaotian exhaled in relief. Only then could he take in the courtyard: lilacs still bloomed, yellow silverlocks flourished, but the once tidy yard, neglected, had grown over with weeds, and the stone tables and chairs lay askew on the ground. The gate stood wide open, clearly damaged, indicating that not long ago this place had suffered a great calamity.

Hu Xiaotian briefly inspected the rooms; the Zhou residence was not large, consisting of only eight chambers, mostly empty. Having been looted clean, only a small bed remained in the west wing. He felt his way onto the bed and sat down, both doors having fallen to the ground. Looking outward, the outside was pitch dark, with no light visible. Afraid of exposing himself, Hu Xiaotian dared not light a lamp, clothed, he lay on the small bed and drifted into a muddled sleep.

In his sleep he seemed to see his parents walking toward him, both dressed in prison garb, wearing shackles and iron chains, while bystanders incessantly cursed them, hurling rotten vegetable leaves and stinking eggs at them. He also saw two ferocious executioners brandishing gleaming ghost-head knives; sunlight flashed on the blades, the glare making Hu Xiaotian unable to open his eyes, vaguely witnessing the ghost-head knife rise and fall. He cried out, 'No!' He jerked upright, drenched in cold sweat, gasping heavily, when suddenly a clamor rose again from outside.

Hu Xiaotian hurried out of the room, only to hear someone shout: 'Search every house meticulously, leave no place unchecked; we must find Hu Xiaotian!'

Hu Xiaotian's heart jolted; likely Yan Zhou's corpse had been discovered, prompting the local garrison to launch a citywide manhunt. He blamed himself for sleeping too soundly—had he awakened a moment later, he might have been seized in bed.

Hu Xiaotian looked around; torches blazed all around the courtyard, from next door came the sounds of doors being smashed, dogs barking, and the homeowner's panicked inquiries. Before long they would search this courtyard; leaving now seemed already too late.

There was nowhere to hide inside the room; although the courtyard had a few trees, their sparse foliage offered no concealment. Hu Xiaotian's gaze finally settled on the well in the northwest corner of the courtyard—apparently only that well could provide shelter.

Hu Xiaotian hesitated not, striding swiftly to the well mouth. Before entering, his gaze fell on the nearby green bamboo; suddenly recalling something, he drew his short dagger, swiftly chopped a bamboo stalk, trimmed both ends, leaving a hollow tube, then returned to the well. The well opening was just large enough for a person to pass through. Hu Xiaotian first stepped his legs in, braced his hands on the rim, drew a deep breath, released his grip, and dropped down. As he fell, it suddenly occurred to him that if this were a dry well he would risk breaking tendons and bones. Fortunately that mishap did not happen—with a thud! he landed in the icy well water; the downward momentum drove him deep below, then he slowly rose back up, wiped water from his face, and gasped heavily. Just as his head broke the surface, he heard the gate being pushed open, someone entering the courtyard, and a voice outside calling: 'Search! Miss no corner.'

Hu Xiaotian heard muffled footsteps approaching from afar, growing nearer, as if someone were walking toward the well mouth, and heard a voice say: 'There's a well here!'

Hu Xiaotian held the bamboo tube in his mouth and sank back beneath the water, not knowing when these people would leave; therefore, before jumping into the well he had cut a section of bamboo tube, using it to protrude above the surface so he could breathe freely underwater for an extended period.

Two soldiers holding torches peered downward; after a while they still could not see clearly, so one flung his torch down. By its light they finally made out the condition of the water surface at the well bottom, but saw no one there.

Hu Xiaotian saw the firelight from above fall down, instantly extinguishing upon hitting the water; a wisp of smoke rose from the well bottom, drawn up through the bamboo tube. He stifled his cough, his chest heaving underwater, feeling as if his lungs were about to burst.

Fortunately the two turned and left; Hu Xiaotian saw the firelight above disappear, then lifted his head. He dared not cough; his face was already flushed from holding his breath, his body chilled to the bone by the well water, nearly losing consciousness.

Hu Xiaotian had thought they would leave, but he did not expect the two to return. This time they carried no torches, but bows and arrows; both drew their bows simultaneously, aiming into the well and loosing several arrows in succession.

Hu Xiaotian had already submerged before they shot; now it was merely a matter of fate, and he was evidently not lucky—an arrow still struck his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the pain; the icy well water provided some slight analgesia.

The two expended all their arrows, turned and left, never to return this time.

They searched the Zhou residence inside and out thoroughly, found nothing, and then departed.

After Hu Xiaotian was certain the group had gone, he lifted his head from the water, raised his right hand, felt the arrow shaft in his left shoulder; fortunately the arrowhead had not penetrated deeply. He clenched his teeth, steeled himself, and wrenched the arrow from his shoulder, the pain nearly making him black out.

He produced from his bosom a small porcelain bottle containing Golden Trauma Medicine, unscrewed it, poured out a little, and applied it to the wound. Once the pain eased somewhat, Hu Xiaotian lifted his gaze to the sky above the well mouth.

The pitch‑black sky above gradually faded, turning into a dull gray hue; night was ending, dawn approaching.

By the faint light of dawn he gazed at the well wall—smooth and featureless, offering no grip. Fortunately he had the short dagger Huo Ge had given him; the blade was tough enough to bear his weight. He first lodged the tip into the edge of the wall, then inched upward. Because the wall was slick and his injured left shoulder prevented his left arm from exerting force, it took him a full half‑hour to climb out of the well.

The moment he scrambled out of the well mouth, Hu Xiaotian felt utterly drained, sprawling limp on the ground like a large character. A raindrop fell on his face; he remained motionless, staring blankly at the overcast heavens, rain pouring down like beads from a broken string. Gazing at this heavenly downpour, his listless vitality seemed to be nourished by the water, beginning to revive bit by bit.

In life many things cannot be waited for; Hu Xiaotian dared not delay, for postponing meant risking his own life. After last night's search, the Zhou family's gate had been resealed with a strip, meaning no one would come to search here in the short term. Yet shooting Yan Zhou last night would surely alarm the whole city; today Xiezhou's defenses were likely even tighter than yesterday's.

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