Chapter 749: A Few Years

Zhao Jin finally realized there was nothing left for him to do, that all he could do was wait. He stood there, looking around in every direction, and in the end his gaze still turned toward the prison.

Before the assault, there had been two plans. One was to charge straight for the prison, but in that case, before they could break in, the guards inside would very likely kill the hostages to silence them. The second was to simply sweep away all resistance within this Zeng Family Manor, capture the ringleaders, and force them to give the order, executing control from the top down. This plan also carried a risk — they could get bogged down in a tangled fight, and by then Mu Shulan might either be moved elsewhere or killed.

After weighing the pros and cons, they had chosen the latter. Zhao Jin's mind churned with a thousand twists and turns; he didn't even know what he ought to be thinking. He desperately tried to recall what Mu Shulan had looked like back then, only to suddenly realize that his memories had grown very hazy.

In the distance, he could make out a dozen or so riders escorting a figure in white heading this way. Niu Jinbao had gone with men to release the prisoner, but the riders who went were far more than just those dozen or so.

As they drew nearer and nearer, Zhao Jin couldn't help but straighten his posture. Beside him, Chen Sheng and Ji Xiang exchanged a glance; though their faceplates were not lifted, they could both see the mirth in each other's eyes.

Liu Yong and Ji Xiang muttered a few words to each other in low voices, and the order quickly spread. Several dozen men stood up, bows in hand — some fixing their eyes on the area beneath the earthen platform's awning, others keeping vigilant watch on all sides.

Xu Hongru and his whole group couldn't help shrinking back further inside. They understood all too well: Zhao Jin's archers had begun their overwatch, and at the slightest sign of trouble, they would strike.

The party escorting Mu Shulan arrived before them. Niu Jinbao made a hand signal behind him, and everyone scattered in all directions, turning their backs to this spot — partly to avoid any appearance of impropriety, and partly to maintain a security cordon.

By early in the eleventh month, southern Shandong was already bitterly cold. Mu Shulan's clothes had clearly grown too thin; she was now wrapped in a fur-lined cloak that had long been prepared for her.

Zhao Jin frowned as he scrutinized Mu Shulan. At this first meeting, he paid no mind to how she looked — what he wanted to see was whether Mu Shulan had been subjected to harsh torture.

Fortunately, though her expression was weary and her face full of bewilderment, she showed no signs of having suffered.

Little Lan had grown up, yet her features had barely changed. The moment he saw her, the girl before his eyes and the girl in his memory instantly overlapped into one. His memories suddenly became sharp and clear, and countless experiences — great and small — came flooding into his heart.

They had not seen each other for several years, yet now, facing each other, it felt as though only a single day had passed — as if the girl had been sitting in the courtyard just yesterday watching him practice martial arts, and today had come with him to Shandong.

Zhao Jin even noticed the faint scar near Mu Shulan's temple — a careless scrape from childhood, so faint that unless you looked very closely, you couldn't see it at all. Yet Mu Shulan had always been self-conscious about it, forever asking Zhao Jin whether he could see it. The scar had grown even fainter; indeed, without looking closely, it was no longer visible.

A look of astonishment still lingered on Mu Shulan's face. The people who had just released her from the cell had said nothing at all — they had simply draped a cloak over her and told her to follow. But who was this person wrapped head to toe in iron armor before her?

The style of this armor seemed familiar... yet the kind she had seen back then was made of bamboo strips and wooden boards for protection. What was this?

Mu Shulan noticed the pair of eyes through the slit in the faceplate. Those eyes were very familiar. When she had first come out of the cell, Mu Shulan had still been in a daze, not knowing what was happening. Only when she saw the ground littered with the corpses of the Smelling Incense Sect followers did she vaguely sense that she had been rescued. In her bewilderment and relief, she had missed so many details. But after collecting herself a little, she noticed.

The girl stared fixedly at those eyes. Her body trembled uncontrollably, and tears streamed down despite all efforts to hold them back. Yet the years of training and experience as a Holy Maiden kept her outward display to just that.

After all, several years had passed. The girl who once feared the sight of blood and corpses could now walk through a scene of carnage like this as if seeing nothing, paying it no mind at all. An ordinary girl, faced with so many iron-armored soldiers, blades and spears, and ferocious, murderous men, would have long since been scared out of her wits. How could she be so composed? How could she notice these hidden, subtle details?

Mu Shulan stood there motionless, yet her tears flowed more and more. The girl was losing control of her emotions, and her hand unconsciously rose to cover her mouth.

It was only at this moment that Zhao Jin realized he still had not lifted his faceplate. Looking at that face, at once so familiar and so strange, Zhao Jin — uncharacteristically — froze.

All around was silence. Everyone had averted their gaze. The household troops were either on guard or intently watching the remnants of the Smelling Incense Sect followers. Naturally, no one was there to remind him of anything.

Somewhat awkwardly, Zhao Jin lifted his faceplate. The moment she saw the face beneath it, Mu Shulan smiled — a smile as radiant as a flower in full bloom, dazzlingly bright. Only, her tears flowed even more fiercely. She wept and smiled at the same time, gazing at Zhao Jin with that brilliant smile.

After lifting his faceplate, he realized he had been standing rooted to the spot the whole time. Zhao Jin finally noticed that he was, at this moment, utterly at a loss. He should walk over to her. But just as he took the first step, Zhao Jin suddenly thought of his wife and children back home.

In the end, several years had passed. In those years, neither had received a single scrap of news about the other. There was, after all, a degree of estrangement now.

Though he thought this in his heart, Zhao Jin's feet did not stop. Step by step, he walked over.

Mu Shulan could no longer control her emotions. The smile finally gave way entirely to weeping, and the tears still flowed without cease. She kept wiping them away, yet she stared at Zhao Jin with wide-open eyes, terrified that if she blinked, she would never see the man before her again.

At last, Zhao Jin stood before Mu Shulan. Over the years, he had grown much taller and broader than her. Standing this close, he looked down at the girl.

"Little Lan..."

The moment he spoke that name, Zhao Jin suddenly felt as though his throat were blocked. Not a single word more could come out. Several years without seeing her — and all along, she had been so close to him. They might well have even brushed past each other without knowing. If he had come just a few days later, this girl — who had grown up with him, laughed and cried with him, faced life and death at his side — would have been burned to death.

In an age like this, to reunite was truly no easy thing. To be able to meet again — truly no easy thing. Seeing you — truly, I am so very glad.

Zhao Jin suddenly realized he had a thousand, ten thousand things to say, yet at this moment, he could not utter a single word.

As she wept, Mu Shulan reached out a trembling hand. She touched the cold surface of Zhao Jin's chestplate, then clenched her pale little fist and struck it with force. She struck once, then twice, each blow harder than the last. Yet to Zhao Jin, it did not make him sway in the slightest. He simply stood there and let Mu Shulan swing her fist. By the fourth strike, Mu Shulan's fist had turned bright red. Zhao Jin reached out to catch it — but grasped at empty air as Mu Shulan crumpled softly to the ground.

This time, Zhao Jin caught her. He reached out and gathered the girl into his arms. Looking down, Zhao Jin saw that though the girl in his embrace was deathly pale, she was still breathing. The heart that had been hanging by a thread finally settled.

Though he held her in his arms, the girl was so light — it felt as if he were holding nothing at all. Niu Jinbao, who had kept his back turned the entire time, now turned around. After seeking Zhao Jin's consent with a look, he pressed a finger to Mu Shulan's philtrum to test her, then lifted her eyelid to examine her eye. "She must have been waiting to die all this time, and today she was rescued and reunited with you, Master. The string that was stretched taut has snapped. When she wakes, just let her rest and recuperate well," he said softly.

Niu Jinbao had spent time at Shaolin Temple and had wandered the jianghu for many years; long experience with illness had made him something of a skilled physician. And his assessment clearly matched the scene before them.

The moment Mu Shulan collapsed, Chen Sheng, Ji Xiang, and Liu Yong all rose to their feet and looked over. They deliberately avoided staring directly, yet they paid very close attention to what was happening here.

Hearing Niu Jinbao's words, both Ji Xiang and Liu Yong turned their gazes toward the people beneath the awning. As they stood and turned their heads, the archers beside them immediately drew their bows to full.

The people beneath the awning had been watching Mu Shulan's side with unrelenting tension. When they saw Mu Shulan collapse, many of their faces turned even whiter than the unconscious girl's. And when they saw the bowstrings drawn full on this side, many could no longer keep their composure and dropped directly to their knees.

"What's going on here?" Ji Xiang asked in a muffled voice, his words thick with murderous intent.

"Our sect had planned to have this Mu Shulan burned in a dignified and proper manner, so as to display our sect's might and overawe all quarters. For that reason, we have always treated Mu Shulan quite well, with no torture or mistreatment whatsoever." Xu Hongru was relatively composed, but he was unwilling to answer this question. No one else could even speak; only Xie Mingxian could manage a reply, and he gave this explanation with a bitter smile.

Ji Xiang and Chen Sheng both turned their heads to look at Liu Yong. Liu Yong nodded, then spoke a few words to the man beside him. That man led several others off into the distance. To everyone else, he seemed merely to be one of Liu Yong's trusted men from the Internal Guard. But Chen Sheng and Ji Xiang knew that this man was none other than Ma Chonghao.

Before long, from the direction Ma Chonghao had gone, agonized screams rang out. First a man's, then shifting into the wretched howls of a woman. The sound was piercingly shrill, as if the person were enduring unimaginable torment. It was not only the Smelling Incense Sect members beneath the awning who grew restless; even the men of Zhao Jin's own battalion began to shift uneasily.

Fortunately, the harrowing screams did not last long. Ma Chonghao came running back at a swift pace and whispered a few words into Liu Yong's ear.

Not so long ago, Ma Chonghao had been the lofty Assistant Commander of the Nanjing Embroidered Uniform Guard. Now, he was merely a household retainer in Liu Yong's Internal Guard. One hardly knew whether to admire him or to think otherwise. He showed not the slightest resistance or discomfort, working with diligence and care. All the experience and tricks he had accumulated in the Embroidered Uniform Guard, he shared freely, holding nothing back. His attitude was exceedingly humble, as if he had never been a high official in the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and had never led troops from various commands to press upon Xuzhou...

After hearing Ma Chonghao's words, Liu Yong nodded to Ji Xiang and Chen Sheng and announced in a clear voice, "No foul play was done."

Zhao Jin naturally heard these words as well. Holding Mu Shulan, he nodded and gave the order: "Tie up every single person here. And put the fear into everyone in this manor."

There were not many living people left on the open ground. Rope and such were hardly in short supply at this Zeng Family Manor, so they simply had the captives tie each other up.

From Xu Hongru on down, the Smelling Incense Sect people here were all local magnates — men who held the authorities in contempt and disposed of human lives at will. They were, without exception, deeply enmeshed in both the underworld and legitimate circles, often major figures in the jianghu themselves. But at this moment, not one of them could muster any defiance. The cavalry troop that had just now rampaged through, trampling those seemingly elite martial artists into bloody pulp, had already chilled everyone's courage to the bone. And the moment they heard the name "Zhao Jin of Xuzhou," all those exaggerated, uncanny rumors surfaced from the depths of their minds.

When I get off the plane, I hope to see my subscriptions, monthly tickets, and tips all up. Thank you, everyone!