Chapter 723: Nightfall

At the third watch of night, moonlight flowed like water.

Near the Three-Mile Pavilion outside the city, in the shadow of a towering abandoned watchtower, Luo Mingzi stood silent and solemn.

Moonlight slipped through the tile gaps, outlining his sharply chiseled profile.

His cold eyes pierced the darkness, locking onto the silent zone swallowed by the locust grove below.

Behind him lay a deathly stillness.

The elite soldiers of the Commandant’s Office were hidden in the shadows, crossbows strung, firelocks loaded, their killing intent suppressed.

Among the nearby thickets, mounds, and hayricks scattered the Execution Hall’s masters.

They restrained their qi, some holding law swords, others pinching talismans between fingers, holding their breath.

They had waited here two hours, yet Luo Mingzi showed no impatience.

The clamor of the capital’s Grand Academy inauguration had not yet faded, but the hidden currents stirred by the “miracle” steam engine were surging through the night—Southeast Asia, the Oirats, Persia, and other shadowed forces all coveted this device.

The court had long anticipated this.

The steam engine could be promoted, but its blueprints and key technologies must not leak.

Great Xuan must maintain its advantage at all costs.

This matter normally fell outside Luo Mingzi’s jurisdiction, and he had no time for it.

Yet this morning, someone had sent him an unsolicited letter claiming that the Japanese pirates allied with the Jianmu demons had infiltrated the city, plotting to steal the steam engine technology, and were linked to a group from Southeast Asia.

Thus, Luo Mingzi became the commander of this joint operation.

Nearby, an Execution Hall master lay flat on the ground, ear pressed to the soil, left hand forming a seal, eyes closed as he listened intently with his ear-spirit.

“They’re coming!”

He suddenly lifted his head and whispered sharply; everyone tensed instantly.

Soon after, several figures appeared on a remote dirt path.

They glanced left and right, their steps hurried and unsteady under the moonlight, daring not to light a lantern.

The leader was short and stout, his brocade robes crumpled from running, his forehead slick with sweat.

“That’s Wu Anfu from East City.”

A Commandant’s Office man stepped forward and whispered: “This man is a grain merchant in East City, owns several taverns; originally he served under the Ying Prince’s steward. After the prince’s mansion was seized, he lost his patron, and his business is now being devoured by rivals.”

Luo Mingzi frowned slightly. “Where did he get the blueprints?”

The Qiankun Academy had opened the steam engine for promotion, but this first wave of access wasn’t available to everyone.

Every faction had to pay a heavy price to secure an advantage.

The Ying Prince’s mansion was implicated in the Jinmen artillery incident and the “Peach Banquet”; its members were exiled to military service, the rest scattered like monkeys fleeing a fallen tree.

A fallen household couldn’t possibly have this capability.

The Commandant’s Office man quickly whispered: “Your subordinate is incompetent—I don’t know how.”

“No matter.”

Luo Mingzi said gravely: “Capture them and interrogate later!”

He had an inexplicable feeling—this time, they would gain something.

As they spoke, the group drew closer.

The stout merchant Wu Anfu clutched a bundle like a lifeline, flanked by his bodyguards, cautiously entering the Three-Mile Pavilion beside the locust grove, eyes darting nervously, clearly waiting for someone.

Soon after, more figures appeared on the main road, and hoofbeats echoed from the other side of the woods.

Two groups had arrived simultaneously, keeping a clear distance between them.

One group was short and sturdy, with dark skin; some bore strange scale-like tattoos, wore rough brown robes over peculiar silk garments, their eyes sharp as night owls—Southeast Asian powers’ secret envoys.

The other group was robust and fierce, wearing felt hats, carrying curved sabers, every face etched with hardship.

They were the steppe knights of the Oirat Golden Horde!

The Southeast Asians carried a heavy wooden chest; the Oirats led a sturdy horse laden with bulging leather sacks.

Both groups of foreigners clearly showed surprise.

The Oirat leader stared at Wu Anfu, eyes dark, speaking in halting official speech:

“Master Wu, what is the meaning of this?”

Wu Anfu bowed hastily, smiling obsequiously, voice trembling: “L-Lords, I’ve gotten this item… spent countless connections… it’s a life-or-death deal. I can’t afford to lose.”

“Die!”

The Oirat leader’s eyes flashed with fury as he gripped his saber’s hilt.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Wu Anfu’s bodyguards also drew their weapons.

“Don’t move!”

Wu Anfu suddenly roared, pulling a fire caltrop from his chest with his left hand, a tinderstick in his right, glaring at them: “I risked my head for this—I never planned to sell just one copy.”

“Let me tell you plainly: after tonight’s deal, I’m leaving the capital!”

“Also, I’ve already arranged men to wait for a signal—if I’m harmed, they’ll rush to the Commandant’s Office and expose you. Even if you kill me and get the blueprints, you won’t escape Shenzhou!”

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse and mad.

Often, falling is more painful than climbing.

He’d labored for decades, groveling like a dog for the Ying Prince’s steward, finally building this vast fortune—now it was about to vanish into ash. How could he endure the poverty of his childhood again? He had no choice but to take the desperate risk.

Both sides stood tense, the air thick as if dripping with water.

“Let’s not be like this. Let’s talk calmly.”

The Southeast Asian envoy leader’s official speech carried a heavy lisp; he smiled broadly, trying to mediate: “Master Wu seeks wealth—he needn’t lose his life.”

He turned to the Oirat leader: “Lord Chuo Luo Si, this item isn’t that valuable. The Shenzhou people hid it from us—each side buying one copy is fine. Besides, our two nations lie far apart. Don’t kill each other and let Great Xuan profit.”

Before he finished speaking, he waved his hand; his attendant flung open one corner of the chest.

Instantly, a glitter of gold and jewels spilled forth—inside lay neatly stacked gold ingots and massive South Sea pearls!

The Oirat leader looked impatient but said nothing, patted the leather sacks on his horse, and growled: “Gold! The finest gold dust! Hand over the goods.”

“Y-yes… yes…”

Seeing the treasure, Wu Anfu’s eyes bulged; he nodded frantically, trembling hands untying the blue cloth bundle from his back, carefully opening it.

Under the moonlight, inside were several sheets of drawings on tough animal hide and thick rice paper.

They showed the steam engine’s geometric lines, annotated dimensions, and hurried scribbled notes.

Clearly, the thief had drawn them in great haste.

“Let me see!”

The Southeast Asian envoy stepped forward eagerly, reaching to snatch the blueprints.

“What are you doing!”

Wu Anfu’s men gasped in alarm, raising their weapons.

“Why are you so nervous?”

The Southeast Asian envoy’s eyes flickered with disdain; he waved his men to bring the goods over, then took the blueprints from Wu Anfu’s hands, examined them closely, and whispered: “Correct… exactly as I saw.”

Seeing this, the Oirat leader couldn’t hold back—he patted his horse’s rump, and the horses laden with gold dust moved toward Wu Anfu.

“Wrong!”

As he reached for the blueprints, the Southeast Asian envoy cried out in shock.

The Oirat leader’s eyes flashed with murderous intent; he grabbed Wu Anfu’s throat and lifted him, snarling: “Cunning Southern dog! You dared trick me with fakes!”

Wu Anfu turned pale, struggling: “S-Spare me! It’s not fake!”

The Oirat leader turned to the Southeast Asian envoy.

“It’s not fake.”

The Southeast Asian envoy’s face darkened: “The item is genuine—but what’s this about the materials?”