Head Constable Wang, himself cut and bleeding from countless blows, dragged his wounded body to push aside the corpse of a fallen assassin. Using his sleeve, he wiped the blood off a young constable’s face. His eyes were red as he forced a smile and said, “It was only my duty. If the lord wishes to give reward, please give more consolation silver to these boys’ families.”

He looked at the dead young constable beside him. “That’s Xiao Wu—the youngest in our office. The most filial one. At home, he had an eighty-year-old blind grandmother. Every month, after receiving his pay, he’d buy a piece of meat from the butcher’s and cook porridge for her with it.

“The one beside him is Li Da. His wife’s with child, about two months from giving birth. Now that their pillar is gone, that family of theirs doesn’t know how they’ll survive…”

By the end, Wang Butou’s throat seemed stuffed with cotton; not a word could come out. He simply covered his eyes with his blood-soaked hands.

Fan Changyu’s lips pressed tightly together as she looked at the dead constables.

She turned her gaze below the tower—but she could no longer see any sign of Xie Zheng or Sui Yuanqing’s group.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

When He Jingyuan’s men began their pursuit, Sui Yuanqing and several of his attendants had already fled in the direction planned beforehand.

The assassins behind them dragged the pursuing soldiers into skirmishes. Mu Shi protected Sui Yuanqing as they ran, loosing a signal arrow into the sky. Yet, the thousand men they had hidden along the hillside never appeared to respond.

Seeing the number of pursuers growing while their assassins fell one after another, unable to hold the soldiers back, Mu Shi prepared to fire a second signal arrow—

But Sui Yuanqing said, “There’s no need.”

His lips curled coldly, the fury in his eyes tightly restrained. “The one leading the troops is He Jingyuan, not Wei Xuan. He is, after all, one of Great Yin’s renowned generals. I expect the thousand men we hid along the slope have already been discovered by him.”

Realizing the situation, Mu Shi’s heart sank. “This subordinate will give his life to protect Your Highness back to Chongzhou.”

Sui Yuanqing only smiled faintly, unconcerned. He even slowed his pace. Behind them, the cavalry closed in—loosing arrows as they galloped, driving their horses forward to overtake them.

As Sui Yuanqing dodged an arrow, he snatched one from the air. When a warhorse galloped past him, he seized its reins and swung himself onto the saddle.

The mounted soldier was startled and swung his blade backward in panic, but Sui Yuanqing leaned back to avoid it, driving the arrow in his hand straight into the soldier’s neck.

The soldier died instantly. Sui Yuanqing flung the corpse off the horse.

Mu Shi had already seized another rider’s horse and galloped up beside him. Sui Yuanqing gave a roguish grin. “If we’re going back to Chongzhou, four legs still run faster than two.”

Having taken the warhorses, they no longer paid any heed to the Jizhou soldiers chasing behind them.

Whoosh!

A white-feathered arrow tore through the air, so close it grazed Sui Yuanqing’s ear before slamming into the frozen ground several paces ahead. The white fletching quivered faintly.

Everyone froze in shock. Had that arrow been aimed true at Sui Yuanqing, the arrowhead would have entered through his back and exited through his chest.

Sui Yuanqing looked at the arrow buried in the earth not far away, his arrogance vanishing. He turned to see who had loosed it.

The official road was a churned sea of mud, the treetops on either side still dusted with unmelted snow. At the far end of the road stood the man in the azure-ghost mask, his long-handled saber thrust casually into the ground, a great bow resting in his hand.

An arrow was already nocked on the bowstring, yet he did not aim deliberately. Beneath the mask, his eyes were cool and indifferent, even faintly lazy.

With only that single glance, Sui Yuanqing’s face turned grim.

He shouted, “Split up!”

Though his attendants did not understand why, they obeyed at once, scattering in all directions.

Xie Zheng’s lips curved upward in a cold smile. The bowstring in his hand loosened, and the instant the first arrow flew, a second was already nocked.

He moved with inhuman speed—arrows flew like a sudden downpour of meteors. In moments, over a dozen arrows had been loosed, and Sui Yuanqing’s attendants fell from their horses one after another.

Watching his bodyguards drop from their saddles, Sui Yuanqing no longer dared to glance back. Gritting his teeth, he spurred his horse forward, body pressed low against its back.

The arrows in Xie Zheng’s quiver were spent. As he galloped forward, he passed a fallen soldier, reached down, and snatched the man’s quiver, plucking an arrow between his fingers and discarding the rest.

Only Mu Shi still rode close behind Sui Yuanqing. Looking back, his eyes widened in terror as he roared, “Your Highness, beware!”

Sui Yuanqing turned instinctively and froze in shock. The man in the azure-ghost mask held nearly ten arrows between his fingers, fanned across the bowstring. When he released it, the volley of arrows burst forth like a swarm of locusts, raining toward Sui Yuanqing.

It would not be an exaggeration to say Sui Yuanqing’s heart nearly stopped. Never in his life had he witnessed such archery. He could not imagine what manner of man hid beneath that azure-ghost mask.

He had no choice but to twist around on horseback and raise his sword to deflect the incoming arrows. But his horse’s leg was struck—

The beast let out a wail and toppled forward.

Sui Yuanqing was thrown violently to the ground, rolling several times before he came to a stop.

The sound of hooves drew closer. Just a few paces away, the man in the azure-ghost mask did not spur his horse into a charge.

Instead, he drew the reins lightly, letting the warhorse advance at an unhurried, measured pace—calm and leisurely, as though time itself were in his grasp.

Sui Yuanqing’s face turned ashen.

This cat-and-mouse game—the deliberate teasing of prey before the kill—was precisely what he himself had done earlier atop the city tower to that little maid from the county magistrate’s residence.

What was the relationship between this man in the azure-ghost mask and that girl?

When he had seized the girl, she had seemed to call out his name, hadn’t she?

Mu Shi, fearing that Xie Zheng would harm Sui Yuanqing, spurred his horse forward with a long spear in hand, shouting, “Do not harm my general!”

Xie Zheng caught the shaft of the spear in his hand, twisted it sharply, then pressed down and lifted. Mu Shi, still gripping the shaft too tightly, was wrenched clean off his horse. The skin of his palms nearly tore away from the force, and the searing pain made him loosen his grip.

Xie Zheng seized the weapon that had practically been delivered into his hand, steady in the saddle, and pressed the silver-tipped spear against Sui Yuanqing’s throat. His tone carried a faint, mocking chill.

“Second son of the Prince of Changxin—Sui Yuanqing?”

Sui Yuanqing’s jaw clenched so hard that a faint taste of blood filled his mouth. The veins on his temple throbbed. After a moment’s pause, he swallowed the humiliation and burst out laughing.

“Yes, this prince indeed.”

Below the road roared the Nu River, its turbulent waters unfreezing even in the heart of winter due to their swiftness.

Sui Yuanqing glanced at it from the corner of his eye, his expression calm, his posture under the point of the spear utterly relaxed.

“And who are you,” he said, “that you would take this prince’s life? Surely you aren’t so timid as to kill without giving your name?”

Xie Zheng did not answer.

If a soldier of the imperial army had captured Sui Yuanqing, he would not kill him on the spot—holding him alive to bargain with the Prince of Changxin on the battlefield at Chongzhou would yield far greater advantage.

Sui Yuanqing’s question was a deliberate ploy to draw him out.

When he saw that Xie Zheng refused to take the bait, he suddenly sneered and said, “That little maid on the tower—what is she to you? Her skin was white as snow, and the taste of her lips was sweet.”

Xie Zheng’s eyes turned glacial.

That was the moment Sui Yuanqing had been waiting for.

Taking advantage of the brief distraction, he struck aside the spearpoint pressed to his throat and hurled himself headfirst toward the river below.

Xie Zheng reacted instantly, sweeping his spear across. The blade struck Sui Yuanqing’s side, drawing a muffled groan from his lips—but in the next heartbeat, Sui Yuanqing’s body had plunged into the raging waters below.

All that remained upon the surface of the river was a spreading bloom of red.