Dawu Dynasty.
In the imperial palace of Bianliang, inside the Imperial Study.
On the imperial desk draped in bright yellow…
Zhao Zhu set down the morial in her hand, her willow-shaped brows drawing together.
Her androgynous face turned cold.
“They are truly bold…”
Her silver teeth clenched lightly, her expression like winter frost.
Eunuch Feng Man stood quietly to one side, head lowered, saying nothing.
“In broad daylight, they killed the Provincial Governor of Huguang.”
“Since the founding of Dawu, nothing like this has ever happened.”
Zhao Zhu took a deep breath, leaning back on the dragon throne. She closed her eyes slightly, her voice frigid.
The morial recorded in detail how Zhang Shun, together with Qiong Aohai, killed Zhang Maoxiang.
Her brows lifted slightly.
“Chief Eunuch, take a look.”
Her tone was icy.
“Yes.”
Feng Man stepped forward, took the morial from the desk, and unfolded it.
He read every line carefully.
After a while, hesitation appeared on his face.
“Your Majesty…”
“This matter seems to have more to it than ets the eye.”
“Murong Longyuan was present—he is an old Grade One martial master. That Qiong Aohai may also be Grade One, but…”
“The difference in decades of experience between the two is imnse.”
“It’s impossible that Murong Longyuan could be held off by Qiong Aohai alone.”
He paused, his voice sharp and thin: “Unless…”
“Murong Longyuan deliberately held back.”
Feng Man was himself a martial grandmaster, and his way of looking at things was different from ordinary people.
One glance was enough for him to spot the flaw in the morial.
When Zhao Zhu heard his analysis, a cold smile touched her lips.
“Chief Eunuch, you’ve only seen part of it.”
Feng Man imdiately bent slightly at the waist.
A glint of cold light flashed in Zhao Zhu’s eyes.
“The Prefect of Yunyang Prefecture in Huguang sent an urgent report.”
“He said that before the peach blossom floods, he saw Jianghu martial artists blasting open the dikes.”
“The reason this year’s peach blossom floods were so severe is because soone deliberately caused them.”
Feng Man listened in silence, head lowered.
Zhao Zhu rose from the dragon throne.
Her slightly thin fra was clad in a dragon robe embroidered with a five-clawed golden dragon.
As the robe shifted with her movents, the dragon seed almost alive.
Her gaze was icy as she took two steps forward—then suddenly turned back toward Feng Man, her eyes like frozen blades.
“Chief Eunuch, do you know when the Prefect of Yunyang’s letter was sent?”
“I do not, Your Majesty,” Feng Man replied, cupping his hands.
Under her gaze, a trace of unease crept into his heart.
He would never forget the sight, two years ago, of Zhao Zhu driving a sword through the Eldest Princess.
The cold-blooded ruthlessness of the late emperor had been inherited perfectly by Zhao Zhu.
To serve the monarch is to serve the tiger.
Even as a martial grandmaster, Feng Man was still nothing more than a dog before the imperial family.
Loyalty was all he could offer.
All eunuchs who cultivated the Remnant Sun Embracing the Void Martial Canon had been raised in the palace from childhood.
In their eyes, there was only the imperial clan.
“February twenty-second,” Zhao Zhu said coldly.
At the date, sweat broke out on Feng Man’s forehead.
Sothing was wrong.
Today was February thirtieth.
From a provincial prefecture, an urgent express on a fast horse should take no more than two days to reach Bianliang.
And yet the Yunyang Prefect’s urgent report had been delayed so many days!
Zhao Zhu sat back down, her tone even: “In Huguang, there is only one man who could intercept such a report.”
“Chief Eunuch, this matter is far from as simple as Murong Longyuan’s morial makes it seem.”
Feng Man’s gaze fell on the desk.
That very morial had been submitted by Murong Longyuan.
It stated:
Qiong Aohai, a Grade One expert, held off Murong Longyuan, while his partner, Zhang Shun—known as “White Streak in the Waves”—took the opportunity to kill the Provincial Governor Zhang Maoxiang.
Feng Man lowered his head in thought.
He was no fool—quite the opposite.
He imdiately understood the problem.
Murong Longyuan had deliberately held back, letting Zhang Shun kill Zhang Maoxiang.
Which ant Murong Longyuan knew sothing.
If he knew, why did he not write it in the morial?
Feng Man’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Zhao Zhu sat on the throne, her face like ice, her gaze also fixed on Murong Longyuan’s morial.
After a long mont, she said slowly: “Chief Eunuch…”
“Tell …”
“Does the Six Gates still have any reason to exist?”
Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.
A jolt ran through Feng Man’s heart.
He said respectfully, in his thin, sharp voice: “Your Majesty.”
“The Six Gates was established at the founding of Dawu to monitor and regulate Jianghu martial artists.”
“If it is abolished, it may affect the lives of the common people.”
His words were cautious.
Without the Six Gates, the martial world could descend into chaos.
Martial artists, relying on their strength, might slaughter innocents at will.
The whole realm could be thrown into disorder.
Zhao Zhu shook her head.
“Chief Eunuch, the hearts of the Six Gates are no longer with the court.”
“My eyes and ears are clouded.”
“I need a more loyal dog.”
Feng Man tasted the aning behind her words—and understood.
“I understand, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing deeply.
She nodded lightly. “Go do it.”
“I don’t care about their identities or origins. I care about one thing only—”
“They must be loyal to .”
“Yes.”
“Now go. Let the Six Gates continue investigating the Huguang flood.”
“I am not satisfied.”
“Yes!”
Feng Man withdrew.
Just as he was about to leave the Imperial Study, Zhao Zhu seed to rember sothing.
“Tomorrow, bring Zhang Shun and Qiong Aohai before .”
“If they dared commit such a cri in broad daylight…”
“They must know quite a bit as well.”
“Yes!”
…
Rustle, rustle.
A breeze stirred, and a grove of green bamboo swayed gently.
At the center of the grove stood a bamboo house.
Inside sat a young man.
His eyes were wrapped in a strip of black iron, and he sat cross-legged on a cushion.
Across from him sat an old man in gray, his mouth slightly open—his tongue long gone.
On the tea table between them were two steaming cups.
One for him, one for the old man.
Tianjizi listened to the rustling bamboo leaves outside, his mood calm.
He lifted his cup and took a light sip.
“As I expected, Qiong Aohai really did kill Zhang Maoxiang.”
“That ans the court will inevitably learn the truth about the Yangtze River flood.”
“Qilin Pavilion’s proselytizing plan has failed.”
The old man grinned silently, extending a hand to trace a few strokes in Tianjizi’s palm.
Feeling the ssage, Tianjizi’s lips curved faintly.
“My master has his plan. I have mine.”
“And Qilin Pavilion has theirs.”
“Wan Qing wanted to win great rit in exchange for the cultivation thod of the later layers of Formless Demon Art.”
“Unfortunately, he was too impatient—stepping into the ga himself.”
“Now, all that awaits him is death.”
The old man gave a soundless laugh, his eyes showing a hint of approval.
The Little Prince was steady and far-sighted.
Perhaps he really could achieve what the Prince before him could not.
Tianjizi set down his teacup with a soft sigh.
“The only variable… is Yuye Hall.”
“That person’s intervention—I did not foresee it.”
“There were already few believers. Now, in the southeast, the believers may be wiped out entirely.”
He put down the cup, but suddenly paused, as if sensing sothing.
With his left hand, he made rapid calculations.
When he saw the result, a trace of puzzlent crossed his face.
“How could this be?” he murmured.
The mute old man frowned in confusion.
He caught Tianjizi’s hand and wrote quickly with his finger.
Tianjizi shook his head, his expression odd.
“Qilin Pavilion is going to be destroyed.”
“Wan Qing will not survive—and neither will his master, Qilinzi.”
The mute old man grinned wide, laughing without a sound.
He scribbled a few more words in Tianjizi’s palm.
Tianjizi’s expression grew stranger still, and he nodded.
“I only ant to give Qilin Pavilion a little setback. Kirinzi kept opposing my master.”
“I didn’t expect… to kill him outright?”
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