The heavy rain had ceased, leaving only a light drizzle drifting in the air.
Min Ning stood by the door, gripping the Brocade Spring Blade tightly in her hand.
Her mind swirled with uncertainty as she tried to clear her thoughts, occasionally shutting her eyes.
Yet, the figures of Chen Yi's every move and technique within the alleyway replayed incessantly in her mind.
Was he using the family-inherited Dragon-Slaying Blade Technique?
But there was sothing... sothing enigmatic, subtle changes beyond her understanding.
As if it wasn't solely intended to slay the water serpent.
His footwork, too, bore differences from the conventional movents of the Jinyiwei martial styles.
The more she recalled the scenes of his killings in the rain-drenched night, the more furrowed her brows beca, her mind vainly attempting to unravel sothing yet yielding no conclusions.
It was as if a cot streaked across the sky, leaving behind no trace.
Outside, the sound of footsteps echoed closer and closer.
Min Ning's eyes snapped open, her scattered thoughts drawn back instantly, watching the door with unease.
The door creaked open, and Chen Yi, drenched in blood, walked in slowly.
With no hint of embarrassnt, Chen Yi untied his garnt and removed his blood-soaked clothing.
The strong scent of blood stung Min Ning's nostrils, making her frown as she watched Chen Yi change clothes with a complete lack of self-consciousness. He then picked up a cloth to wipe his bloodstained blade.
The room fell into an eerie silence.
After a long while, seeing he had finished cleaning the coagulated blood off the blade, Min Ning finally broke the silence:
"She's in there.
I removed the silver needles and applied so ointnt."
The Min family, having produced generations of Jinyiwei for three generations, relied not only on their martial heritage but also on their secret formula for ointnts.
Chen Yi did not look at her nor utter a single word.
Min Ning took a deep breath before continuing:
"Regarding this matter... I, I..."
Her words stuck in her throat. She wanted to apologize but didn't know where to begin. Though she had thought of using her elder sister as an excuse, in her heart, she understood: a mistake was a mistake. A light and insubstantial apology, even if said a hundred or thousands of tis, would change nothing—this much she knew clearly.
Chen Yi raised his gaze and looked at Min Ning.
Her throat tightened instantly, leaving her breath stuck.
"Don't know what to say, do you?"
Chen Yi arched a brow as he questioned her.
Min Ning nodded silently.
She neither made excuses for herself nor pointed out Chen Yi's own faults. Although such thoughts flickered in her mind like shadows, she still adhered firmly to the Min family's teachings.
The family motto was brief, only eight words long, the first four of which were: Self-Reflection and Introspection.
Seeing her in this state, Chen Yi spoke indifferently:
"Min Yuechi, if you're going to take her away, then weigh your own skills carefully. Think about whether you can truly protect her."
Min Ning's face turned pale.
"When I say 'her,' I'm not only referring to the Princess of Xiang."
Chen Yi added calmly:
"I am also referring to your sister."
At the ntion of her elder sister, Min Ning's spirited features grew even more bloodless. Her lips pressed tightly together, and after a long struggle, she managed to respond with a feeble "Mm."
Chen Yi's words revealed to Min Ning sothing she hadn't realized before.
What he ant by "her" was indeed her sister...
If I am to... take my sister away...
That ans... he intends to, he really intends to?!
Min Ning's heart skipped a beat as she stared at this audacious subordinate before her, startled.
"Don't—don't hurt my sister..."
Min Ning broke out into a cold sweat, her voice quivering as she pleaded:
"If you must... must act, act against instead."
"Weren't you already... already..."
Min Ning couldn't finish her sentence.
On that day, she had clearly heard Chen Yi's words, and they had sent shivers down her spine, a sensation that lingered long after.
But herself... wasn't even a man!
She didn't know if, once Chen Yi discovered her disguise as a man, his interest would dissipate or if he would explode in rage on the spot.
Chen Yi curved his lips into a aningful smile.
"The Purple Palace."
Min Ning, as if jolted from a trance, gasped in disbelief:
"What?"
She saw Chen Yi sheath his blade and laugh:
"Together in the Purple Palace."
Min Ning's heart nearly stopped, and her paper-white face turned a vivid crimson in an instant. The sha and fury in her expression were impossible to conceal.
Not just ...
You even want my sister?!
As chaotic thoughts churned through her mind, Min Ning wanted to say sothing.
But before she could utter a word, her voice was swallowed back down.
Chen Yi had already stepped forward, placing a hand against Min Ning's face and pressing his lips to hers.
As he kissed her, Chen Yi studied her features intently.
Her head froze in place as if spellbound. After a long while, she began to struggle faintly—she didn't like this; a surge of negative feelings welled up uncontrollably.
But in the end, what did it matter? What did it even matter? She dared not push him away, only managing a clumsy, panicked effort to respond, as though this one kiss could sohow save her sister's life.
When their lips finally parted, Min Ning breathed heavily, her chest trembling uncontrollably.
Feeling her rapid heartbeat, Chen Yi glanced lower briefly—her physique was vastly different from that of her sister. Otherwise, she could never have convincingly disguised herself as a man.
Min Ning barely lifted her hand to wipe her lips, but upon eting Chen Yi's seemingly reproachful gaze, she lowered it back down.
Turning around, Chen Yi said:
"Go back."
Min Ning bit down hard, nodding slightly before stepping into the lingering drizzle outside.
After she left, Chen Yi glanced at the panel below.
[True Qi remaining: One hundred and forty years.]
Just ten more years until he could condense five True Yuan and make partial progress with the Resentnt Yin-Yang Technique.
"No rush. She's injured now, anyway."
Chen Yi muttered quietly.
Patience had always been his virtue, especially since she was wounded. After all, she was already his concubine, and there wasn't much more True Qi needed. There was no need to rush.
Chen Yi washed up and changed into clean clothes before pushing open the door and stepping into the bedroom.
She slept near the wall, curled up like a small fox pressed against it.
Since coming to his ho, she had always chosen to sleep on the side closer to the wall.
Truthfully, he'd prefer to sleep by the wall himself—that was his usual sleeping spot. But now it had been taken over by her.
Yin Tingxue's eyelids remained shut, her brows faintly furrowed, as if even in dreams she lacked peace of mind. Chen Yi watched her sleeping face for a mont, noting how delicate her furrowed brows appeared—like brittle autumn stalks bowed low.
"If you won't save , I'll hate you for a lifeti. I'll hate only you forever..."
Chen Yi recalled the words she had spoken in the alley and shook his head, smiling faintly.
Reaching out, he gently smoothed her brows and murmured:
"But hatred...
Hatred is just another form of desire."
No matter what Yin Tingxue had said then, even if it ant her death, even if she had begged not to be saved, he would still have saved her.
Though the lingering pain of fractured ridians from that day seed etched into mory, he would never harm her.
Because once... he had indeed hard a woman.
That was the first of many, or perhaps it would be truer to call it... a matter of a past life?
Chen Yi would never forget her na.
Yin Sword Mountain's Sword Armor, Zhou Yitang, styled Zhu Yu.
As these thoughts overwheld him, the Princess of Xiang lying on the bed shifted slightly, her eyelids fluttering faintly as though she were about to wake up.
............
During curfew in the Capital City, darkness blanketed the streets, yet the West Factory remained brightly lit.
"Vice Director Song, have all the bodies been accounted for?"
Wu Qingsheng inquired.
Song Tong pulled a freshly written file from his chest and replied:
"Every fallen brother of the Eastern Factory has been recorded. Director Wu can submit the report to the Empress Dowager tomorrow."
Wu Qingsheng nodded slightly, his mind at ease,
"Though the Eastern Factory has suffered great losses, we've ensured the Capital will no longer be tornted by the Demon Sect. I will rember their sacrifices."
Song Tong, hearing this, seed to recall sothing, flipping to a particular page before hesitating to speak:
"There's reason to believe... remnants of the Demon Sect may still remain."
"Director Wu, take a look at this."
Wu Qingsheng accepted the file. On the page, twenty-one nas were listed, and the location of death for each was shockingly the sa alleyway!
Wu Qingsheng's pupils contracted, and his fingers tapped the wooden desk rhythmically.
Song Tong sighed and added:
"The coroner has reviewed the scene. Judging from the injuries on our comrades, nearly every one of them was killed with a single strike, no more than two at most.
Even the squad leader leading the group failed to withstand more than four moves.
Director Wu, twenty-one lives lost within the span of one incense stick's ti—tell , who could accomplish such a feat..."
Wu Qingsheng lowered his gaze, contemplating deeply before responding:
"If Director Xue were here... perhaps he could manage it within half an incense stick's ti. But Director Xue was a fifth-grade Martial Artist."
Song Tong replied gravely:
"Which ans... there's another highly skilled figure from the Demon Sect, currently unaccounted for."
Wu Qingsheng's expression turned grim. "Sixth grade?"
Song Tong remained silent for a while before slowly responding:
"Possibly... much higher."
"Because this Demon Sect expert seed to also collaborate with their Elder in a confrontation against Director Xue."
He refrained from using the words "high-skilled person" and, more cautiously, chose to label this individual as a "master."
Wu Qingsheng pondered and mused aloud:
"No wonder Director Xue had to sacrifice himself and perish in an explosion—it's true that two fists can't fend off four strikes."
"Vice Director Song, in your opinion, what level of martial cultivation could this master have achieved?"
Song Tong once again fell silent.
Wu Qingsheng gazed at him perplexedly, his fingers tapping the desk impatiently.
"Fifth rank?"
Song Tong shook his head.
"Fourth rank?"
Song Tong shook his head again.
Wu Qingsheng's breath hitched as he questioned in sheer disbelief:
"A third-grade Grandmaster?!"
The words slipped unbidden from his lips—even Wu Qingsheng found the possibility difficult to believe. A third-grade Grandmaster—there were only a handful in the entire Capital City, most of whom were stationed to guard the Imperial Palace day and night.
Song Tong hesitated briefly before shaking his head again. After a long, weighted silence, he finally spoke:
"I lack the insight to gauge this person's skill level precisely...
But the True Qi they transferred into Director Xue...
...was no less than two hundred years!"
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