Chapter 25.2

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Seeing that Fan Changyu was now safe, he gave up any intention of pursuing. Instead, he slipped five fingers under the jaw of the black-clad man he had subdued, forcing him to spit out the poison sac tucked behind his teeth. Pressing his blade down, he asked icily, “Wei Yan sent you to find what?”

The black-clad man, realizing that Xie Zheng knew exactly where a Wei family death warrior would hide a poison sac, listened closely to his voice. Uncertain, he said, “Marquis?”

The tip of the blade pressed lower. Torchlight poured in through the shattered window, reflecting off the steel and onto Xie Zheng’s face. In that thick, clammy darkness, the light cut a bright arc, revealing his faintly downturned lips—both cold and impatient. “Answer me.”

A gust of wind carried swirling snowflakes into the room, scattering them across the intruder’s neck. But even colder than that drifting snow was the keen blade already slicing the thin skin at his throat. Terror and pressure swelled like a rising tide. The black-clad man swallowed hard and begged, “Marquis, you know the Prime Minister’s methods well…why put a nobody like me in a tight spot…?”

In the next moment, Xie Zheng’s blade plunged once more into the torn wound around the intruder’s waist and abdomen. The man let out a muffled groan of agony, his entire body curling in on itself.

Lowering his gaze, Xie Zheng’s pale fingers—marred by dark scabs—twisted the knife hilt, nearly ripping out a chunk of flesh from the intruder’s abdomen. His tone was casual yet chilling. “A spy in the military would be tougher than you. When Zhang Su, the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Justice, once witnessed an interrogation in the army, he nearly vomited his gall on his way out of the camp and fell gravely ill afterward. Want to try a taste of military punishment?”

Zhang Su of the Ministry of Justice was notorious across the land for his severe methods. They said anyone caught in his hands would either die or be skinned alive. People called him the “Living King of Hell.”

The black-clad man couldn’t hold back a wail of pain, cold sweat beading on his forehead. All his senses seemed to be trapped in that mangled, bloody mass in his abdomen. His clothes were soaked—he wasn’t sure if it was sweat or blood. He no longer hoped to live; he only begged for a quicker death. Finally, in a ragged voice, he gasped, “A letter… The Prime Minister sent us to find a letter…”

Xie Zheng’s eyes narrowed. “What letter?”

All the intruder could do was shake his head, collapsing to the ground as he pleaded, “I really don’t know…”

The blade traced across his throat, and blood spilled everywhere.

A letter?

Xie Zheng frowned. What kind of letter could that woman’s family possess that would make Wei Yan go to such lengths?

He glanced out the window at the torchlit street. That woman stood by the roadside, seemingly explaining the situation to the soldiers. Feeling somewhat reassured but still worried about Fan Changyu, the elderly couple had brought the child out to the courtyard gate as well.

The soldiers were dragging away the bodies of the black-clad intruders. A few of the wounded, still alive, moved swiftly to bite through the poison sacs in their mouths, ending their own lives. From atop his horse, the officer shouted, “Find a living one to bring back!”

Xie Zheng merely cast the man a passing glance at first, but once he got a good look at his face, his phoenix-like eyes narrowed. Zheng Wenchang? He was the favored lieutenant of He Jingyuan, the Governor of Jizhou, who happened to be part of Wei Yan’s faction. So had tonight’s events simply been a case of friendly forces crossing paths unaware? Or was He Jingyuan also helping Wei Yan search for that letter, and carefully staged this interception? 

Judging by the way those black-clad men behaved, they clearly hadn’t found what they were after. And for Jizhou troops to arrive in such a timely manner… it was all highly suspicious.

Xie Zheng suddenly sensed that this unremarkable butcher family in Lin’an Town might be hiding far more than he had imagined. The officer on horseback commanded his subordinates to gather up every last one of the intruders’ corpses. As he did, he felt a cold, penetrating gaze on him—like a lone wolf staring someone down on a snowy plain—causing his entire back to tense involuntarily.

Zheng Wenchang swept his gaze around but no longer felt that chilling stare. Noticing the empty attic window of the Zhao family’s house, he asked, “Is there anyone still in the attic?”

Earlier, Fan Changyu had leaped out the window to draw most of the black-clad intruders away—ready to sacrifice herself—to protect Aunt Zhao, Uncle Zhao, and her younger sister. She never expected a detachment of soldiers to suddenly appear. According to them, they had received a report from the county magistrate the day before about bandits in Qingping County and dispatched troops to investigate. Their scouts spotted suspicious activity in the night, so a squad came to check—luckily rescuing her.

Now, hearing the officer’s question, she remembered Yan Zheng’s injuries and worried if any intruder had found him inside. She rushed toward the attic, calling, “My husband is badly hurt—he’s still upstairs.”

Zheng Wenchang didn’t summon a subordinate. Instead, he dismounted himself, placing one hand on the sword at his waist as he followed her up. “I’ll go take a look.”

By the light of the torch Fan Changyu carried into the attic, she saw the bodies of several black-clad men sprawled in disarray. Xie Zheng lay amid a pool of blood, his clothing slashed in multiple places. The half of his face turned upward was so smeared with blood that his original features were almost unrecognizable.

Fan Changyu hadn’t expected so many black-clad assailants left in the house. Seeing Xie Zheng covered in blood, she was terrified he might already be dead. Her heart clenched, and she rushed over to check his wounds.

“Yan Zheng, how are you?”

Panicking, she reached out to feel for his breath. Once she confirmed he was still alive, she breathed a sigh of relief and shouted outside, “Uncle Zhao, please come take a look at Yan Zheng!”

Zheng Wenchang entered the attic with two soldiers. He surveyed the corpses strewn about, then let his gaze settle on Xie Zheng’s blood-smeared face, as though he were trying hard to recognize him. Frowning, he asked, “All these men—did your husband kill them?”