Chapter 64: Hexagram 39 of the Zhou Yi—Water Over Mountain: Difficulty

Da Shabi and Gui Cai rode nonstop for a day and night; as they galloped, trees blurred past like flowing water, and a drowsy exhaustion enveloped them both.

Every hoofbeat struck like a hammer against their hearts, yet they clenched their teeth and refused to slow down.

They finally reached Yuze Mountain; when they arrived, panting, at the Daoist temple of Huanxi, they were told Huanxi had been taken away by imperial officers two days prior.

The two exchanged a glance, instantly understanding each other, and immediately turned to descend the mountain, racing after the convoy.

Da Shabi, with years of escorting goods behind him, knew the national postal road network inside out—there were only a few routes to and from Jingcheng, and only a handful of stations; he immediately plotted the fastest route.

Thus, the two master-brothers rode without pause for several more days, racing to overtake the imperial officers’ convoy.

The two said nothing on the road, fully focused on their pursuit.

Night fell, and Da Shabi and Gui Cai arrived at the edge of a forest.

Having ridden nonstop for a day and night since descending the mountain, their bodies and minds were utterly spent; through the gaps in the trees, their faces—drenched in sweat and caked with dust—were plainly visible.

Beads of sweat clung to Gui Cai’s forehead as he gasped for breath.

“Let’s rest here for a while,” Gui Cai suggested.

They immediately halted; the horses’ panting gradually calmed, and together they unstrapped the saddles and carefully set them on the ground.

Gui Cai collapsed onto a smooth rock; Da Shabi did the same, finding a flat spot, bending over to catch his breath.

Da Shabi pulled out some dried rations and a water bag from his sack, and the two briefly replenished their strength.

Their hunger was eased, but their inner anxiety remained unrelenting.

“It seems the authorities got to the temple before us—let’s hope they’re moving slowly,” Gui Cai said, frowning.

Da Shabi gently patted his shoulder, showing understanding and support.

“Yes, Brother, we won’t let Huanxi Daoist be taken to Jingcheng,” Gui Cai said, a flicker of resentment and anger in his eyes.

After a brief rest, the two mounted up again and pressed on through the night.

The forest was silent, save for the wind and the occasional neigh of horses.

The two rode in silence, galloping hard, all their focus fixed on catching up to the convoy ahead.

As dawn began to lighten, Da Shabi exclaimed: “Look—the convoy is ahead!”

Finally, still one day’s ride from Jingcheng, they spotted the imperial officers’ carriage and horse team in the distance.

Da Shabi and Gui Cai exchanged a knowing glance, perfectly in sync.

Their hearts, which had been tense for days, finally settled; seeing the convoy ahead, their needle-sharp focus finally loosened.

The Xingbu convoy was not large: six officers and one eunuch.

The six officers wore official court uniforms, turbans on their heads, capes over their shoulders, long swords at their waists; the eunuch wore a horse-hair robe and jacket, his demeanor haughty, occasionally using his whip to direct the pace.

Officers armed with spears and bows guarded both front and rear of the prisoner cart, with strict vigilance.

The Xingbu convoy moved at a steady, unhurried pace; Da Shabi studied it closely and confirmed that inside the cart was Huanxi Daoist—emaciated, ragged, and broken.

Da Shabi and Gui Cai exchanged a silent, understanding look, and continued to shadow the convoy covertly.

The two master-brothers trailed the Xingbu convoy all the way north; that evening, both groups entered the territory of Peiyun County.

After presenting his Lu Family Escort Agency’s official token, Da Shabi easily gained entry to the Peiyun County station.

Da Shabi told Gui Cai: “The Lu Family name still carries weight—let’s check in first.”

Gui Cai nodded: “Yes, keep watch on those officers—we’ll act when they’re unguarded.”

Though the Lu Family Escort Agency was not an official government institution, it flew the banner of the Crane Chancellor; heroes from all walks of the Jianghu, black and white alike, gave them due respect—even the station staff.

The two lodged in a room directly opposite the Xingbu officers’ quarters, constantly watching the doors and windows, waiting for their chance.

Da Shabi was frantic with worry, fearing he’d miss the chance to rescue Huanxi; Gui Cai was equally anxious, yet kept his composure.

Night fell, the station silent, broken only by the occasional neigh of horses and the whisper of night wind.

Da Shabi’s expression was grave; his mind churned, endlessly weighing options.

He knew this operation carried extreme risk—Huanxi Daoist could not be allowed to live.

At dusk, faint lantern light drifted through the streets of Peiyun County; the officers, led by the eunuch A Lai, entered an ancient, ornate tavern.

One young officer hesitated, intending to follow them in, but the eunuch waved him off impatiently—he had no right to drink.

He was to remain at the station to guard the prisoner cart and Huanxi Daoist.

As night deepened, the rookie officer grew bored, yawning frequently; clearly dissatisfied with being left behind, he paid little attention to his duty.

Perched on the roof of the stable, Da Shabi saw his chance and urgently urged his brother Gui Cai: “Strike now—don’t miss this opportunity!”

“Brother, this chance won’t come again—let’s finish it quickly!” Da Shabi urged urgently.

Though Da Shabi and Gui Cai shared the same master, their martial arts differed greatly; Da Shabi specialized in unusual weapons—a pair of judge’s pens were his signature; Gui Cai mastered concealed weapons, particularly sleeve darts.

Strictly speaking, Gui Cai was an amateur assassin, taking occasional hit jobs for extra income; his fee started at twenty taels, depending on the target’s value and mission difficulty—with no upper limit.

Originally, Da Shabi had planned for Gui Cai to kill the guard with a sleeve dart—but to his surprise, Gui Cai frowned and slowly shook his head: “You want me to assassinate an imperial prisoner? This job… I can’t do it.”

“Brother, we’ve come this far…” Da Shabi pleaded in a low voice, desperate: “Just fire two darts—the guard and the prisoner will both drop, no one will know!”

Gui Cai still refused firmly, gripping his hands tightly, speaking slowly and decisively: “No. I still can’t do it.”

“Why not?” Da Shabi was baffled, pressing for an explanation.

Gui Cai paused, then spoke slowly: “You want me to kill an imperial prisoner for twenty-five taels? And you’d throw in a guard too? That price… Brother, I can’t take it.”

Gui Cai finally revealed the real reason: it was all about money.

Da Shabi asked anxiously: “Then what should we do now?”

Gui Cai replied calmly: “Raise the price.”

Da Shabi pressed: “How much will make you act?”

“An imperial prisoner… starts at a hundred taels! Add another hundred for the guard!”

Gui Cai named his price, calm and composed.

“We’re brothers—can’t you help with such a small favor?”

Stunned by Gui Cai’s price hike, Da Shabi drew in a sharp breath and tried to plead:

“Precisely because we’re brothers, I’ve ridden with you all these days! For anyone else, I wouldn’t waste my time.”

Gui Cai remained unmoved, his tone sharp with the precision of a merchant.

As the two argued back and forth, Da Shabi, enraged, pointed at Gui Cai’s nose: “Fine, fine… I’ll handle tonight’s job myself. If you won’t help, just stay here and watch!”

Gui Cai opened his mouth to advise, but Da Shabi had already leapt from the stable roof like a tiger, silently approaching the prisoner cart.

The guard leaned lazily against the cart, dozing off, completely unaware that death stood before him.

With his peerless skill with the twin judge’s pens, he struck effortlessly at the guard’s throat.

A soft “ssss” sound—the pens pierced the vital point, one strike, one kill.

The rookie’s eyes widened, blood gushed forth—he never had time to scream before collapsing dead.

Huanxi Daoist, chained inside the cart, wore a face of exhaustion and weariness.

Hearing the commotion, his face twisted in confusion, then sudden hope.

His eyes lit up—he felt relief, thinking: The Crane Chancellor hasn’t forgotten me—he’s sent someone to save me!

He cried out excitedly: “Da Shabi! You’re here to rescue me—hurry, get me out!”

But to Huanxi Daoist’s shock, after dealing with the guard, Da Shabi didn’t respond—he turned away immediately.

Without a word, Da Shabi’s judge’s pens flashed again, swift as lightning, striking Huanxi Daoist’s throat.

A soft “puch” sound—another strike, another kill; white in, red out, blood spurted, killing Huanxi Daoist right inside the cart!

The sequence happened too fast—Huanxi hadn’t even registered what was happening before he was dead.

Huanxi Daoist’s face turned deathly pale, eyes wide open, blood seeping steadily, staining the floor of the cart.

Da Shabi’s expression remained cold and unshaken, as if the two killings were routine.

Gui Cai, still watching from the stable roof, was stunned by Da Shabi’s ruthless efficiency.

Just as Da Shabi believed his act was hidden, a tiny oversight betrayed him.

A young station attendant in a blue robe stepped out of the station, holding an oil lamp; he yawned, half-asleep, preparing for one final round of stable inspection.

As he neared the prisoner cart, the dim light revealed two bloody corpses—and Da Shabi, weapon in hand.

“Ahh—!” The attendant screamed in terror, dropping his oil lamp with a clang.

The cry shattered the silent night, instantly awakening the entire station.

“Murder!” The attendant’s face turned ashen, eyes bulging, mouth gaping as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Instantly, all on-duty attendants rushed out, seeing Da Shabi standing frozen with his weapon, not fleeing.

“Grab him!” They quickly reacted, snatching up weapons and charging forward with murderous intent.

Da Shabi was truly stunned—he never imagined such bad luck; he’d thought the night was quiet, the opportunity perfect, and this assassination would be effortless!

He glanced back at the stable roof—Gui Cai, who had just been watching from above, had vanished without a trace.

Facing the swarm of attendants, Da Shabi fought desperately, his twin judge’s pens flashing like lightning.

He spun, his pens striking like silver snakes toward the eyes of the foremost attendant.

The attendant frantically raised his blade to block—“ding-ding!”—the pens struck the blade, sparks flying.

Da Shabi twisted sideways, his right pen thrusting toward the abdomen of another attendant.

The attendant couldn’t dodge—“ah!”—he screamed as blood sprayed out.

Just as Da Shabi thought he could press his advantage, two more attendants swung wooden clubs down from behind.

Da Shabi raised his pens in haste—“bang-bang!”—the clubs met the pens with heavy impacts.

Da Shabi fought fiercely, but he was outnumbered; soon, several attendants seized his arms, pinning them behind his back.

Around him, silence fell, broken only by the howling wind.

Two mangled, bleeding corpses lay on the ground, staining the yellow earth with crimson in the night.

Da Shabi’s hands were tightly bound behind his back, his eyes bloodshot, filled with unspeakable regret and despair.

His life ended abruptly, with no chance of redemption.

Da Shabi gnashed his teeth, his whole body trembling, his eyes brimming with hatred for the Ghost Talent.

If only the Ghost Talent hadn’t fled at the last moment, how could I have ended up like this!

At this moment, the eunuch A Lai and several other officials were having dinner at a small tavern in the county town, the table littered with steaming dishes just brought out.

Suddenly, an urgent report arrived from the post station: the prisoner cart had been ambushed. The officials all dropped their bowls and chopsticks. A Lai hadn’t even swallowed the rice in his mouth before he hurriedly followed the crowd out of the tavern, racing toward the post station.

He sprinted toward the post station, his heart burning with anxiety.

The red sun had sunk below the horizon; night had fallen, and he could barely make out the path ahead.

Around a bend, the gate tower of the post station finally came into view.

When A Lai arrived, panting, he saw two corpses on the ground, drenched in blood, and beside them a bandit armed with a weapon, bound tightly with ropes.

He widened his eyes in shock, unable to speak clearly, stammering: “H-how could this happen? W-what should we do?”

The veteran official from the Ministry of Justice, “Black Bear,” had roamed the martial world for years and had encountered many prisoner ambushes.

Yet upon seeing this scene, he drew his waist knife and idly played with it in his hand.

A Lai was far less composed than Black Bear; his face was pale, his expression filled with shock and helplessness.

How had this smoothly run escort mission turned into such a disaster?

A Lai was flustered, rubbing his fingers repeatedly, endlessly asking Black Bear what to do next.

Black Bear’s seasoned calmness stood in stark contrast to A Lai’s terrified, jumpy demeanor.

Though A Lai held an official post, he lacked Black Bear’s years of accumulated composure under pressure.

He could only rely on Black Bear’s experience to guide him through this crisis.

Black Bear, calm and unruffled, spoke with the ease of one who had seen it all: “As long as the prisoner’s caught, there’s no need to worry. This won’t warrant execution—maybe just a few blows to the buttocks!”

The news of this murder quickly reached the imperial palace. The Emperor, who had been reading memorials in his study, flew into a rage, slamming his fist on the table and roaring: “I knew it! This medicine pill case is tied to Chancellor He! Murder to silence witnesses—traitorous scum! Quick, quick, summon the Minister of Justice!”

The Emperor paced back and forth in his study, seething with fury.

The thought of his prisoner cart being ambushed and slaughtered made him boil with rage.

He was certain Chancellor He was behind it, aiming to eliminate witnesses.

Veins bulged on the Emperor’s forehead, his eyes red, teeth clenched as he cursed Chancellor He as a traitorous scum.

In his fury, the Emperor immediately thought of Minister Yu Dian of the Ministry of Justice—this crime involved his officers, so he should be summoned. But then he recalled that Yu Dian had once been a member of Chancellor He’s faction; summoning him would seem biased.

After a moment’s thought, the Emperor changed his mind and ordered the summoning of Chancellor Tu, wanting to hear the other faction’s view on the matter.

Chancellor He was under house arrest, but through his intelligence network, he quickly learned that Da Shabi’s assassination attempt on Joyful Daoist had failed.

When he heard the news, his hand trembled, and the tea cup slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor with a crash, hot tea splattering everywhere.

Ximen Jiajun, who stood nearby, rushed forward and saw Chancellor He’s face pale as death, his eyes vacant, his lips trembling slightly, utterly panicked.

This was utterly unlike his usual calm and composed demeanor.

Ximen Jiajun approached cautiously and whispered: “Master, what’s wrong? Shall I call a maid to change your clothes?”

Chancellor He’s expression was complex; after a long while, he gave a slight shake of his head: “Nothing. Just my hand slipped.” Then he furrowed his brow and fell into deep thought.

Ximen Jiajun knelt down to carefully sweep up the broken shards, while Chancellor He sank into profound contemplation.

His plan had failed. Da Shabi was surely arrested by the Emperor; his own position was perilous.

Chancellor He feared the Emperor would blame him, and how he could extricate himself became a grave problem.

As night fell, Chancellor He trudged heavily, his face grim and despondent, to the Daoist shrine in his estate—he needed to cast a divination to see if there was still a chance of turning things around.

First, he took out an ancient Zhou Yi divination chart.

Then, he methodically washed his hands and purified his body, solemnly lit a stick of incense at the center of the shrine, circled the altar three times in meditation, and finally bowed reverently to heaven and earth three times.

After bowing, Chancellor He softly chanted visualization words, regulating his breath.

He calmed his inner turmoil, his hands steady as he took the forty-nine bamboo tally sticks before him. Closing his eyes slightly, he shook them slowly three times, letting them fall onto the table.

Chancellor He opened his eyes, frowned tightly, and meticulously interpreted the hexagram formed by the fallen tally sticks.

But the hexagram revealed was the Thirty-Ninth Hexagram of the Zhou Yi: Water over Mountain—Jian!

Water over Mountain, also called the “Jian Hexagram,” is one of the four most difficult hexagrams in the Zhou Yi.

Its meaning: walking barefoot through ice and snow, unable to stop!

This ominous hexagram foretold that the seeker would face unbearable hardship, a bleak future, a treacherous path—if he acted rashly, disaster would follow.

After drawing this hexagram, Chancellor He let out a long, mournful sigh, his expression blank and utterly despondent.

As a seasoned politician, he immediately realized this foretold his doom—he could no longer escape it.

Crushed and defeated, Chancellor He muttered to himself: “The tide has turned. My fate is spent. Old man, I truly cannot escape this calamity.”

Chancellor He paced restlessly through the shrine, his mind racing with thoughts.

He realized the Emperor would surely investigate thoroughly; if the He Faction was exposed, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Thinking of this, to spare the innocent, Chancellor He decided to destroy all evidence that might expose him.

Later, he ordered his steward, Ximen Jiajun, to find every ledger, roster, debt note, and congratulatory letter in the estate and burn them all.

Ximen Jiajun accepted the order silently, sensing his master’s heavy burdens, but dared not inquire further, only urging him to rest early.

In the deep silence of night, Chancellor He finally returned to his bedroom.

He collapsed onto the bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep for a long time.

Images flashed in his mind: the Emperor’s furious outburst, the bitter factional strife in court.

Chancellor He’s brow was knotted in worry, his distress plain to see.

He knew full well that if this were exposed, innocent lives would be dragged down.

Thinking of his subordinates possibly meeting their end, Chancellor He let out a long sigh.

All night, Chancellor He was consumed by anxiety and self-reproach.

Only at dawn, exhausted, did he finally drift into a brief doze—only to be jolted awake again by nightmares.

That night, Chancellor He did not sleep a single moment.