Chapter Forty-Seven: Damn It...

At the entrance of the alley, a man casually released an arrow, killing a sixth-rank martial artist. With another arrow, he took the life of a eunuch. Apart from the five that He Chang’an had quietly dispatched, the remaining black-clad assailants, realizing the situation had turned against them, desperately attempted to break through and escape. Yet, thirty to fifty Demon-Slaying Envoys appeared in silence, all drawing their bows in unison. Arrows rained down like a storm, and within a few breaths, not a single black-clad figure remained alive.

“Good heavens, so this is the true strength of the Demon-Slaying Division. Amazing…” Hiding in the shadows, He Chang’an dared not reveal himself. Watching those seventh-rank martial artists fall in silence, he could not help but feel secretly pleased; at last, he had found himself a powerful patron.

“As expected, remnants of the Cult of the Night God.” Outside the alley, Luo Daqi strode forward, his brows deeply furrowed, showing no joy at the wholesale slaughter of their foes.

“They dared to strike at members of the Demon-Slaying Division—what are these mongrels relying on?” Xu Jian, an Earth-ranked Demon-Slaying Envoy, leapt down from the thatched roof, rifling through the corpses of the black-clad men, clearly troubled.

“Their reliance? It is, of course, them.” Luo Daqi reached out into the darkness, and a corpse garbed in red flew forward, landing with a soft thud. “From the palace…”

No one finished the thought aloud.

The Demon-Slaying Division answered directly to the Emperor of Great Tang, overseeing all civil and military officials and all cultivators under heaven, charged with eradicating monsters and demons. Yet they held no authority over the imperial harem.

“Should we report this to Lord Zheng?” Xu Jian pointed at the dead eunuch, frowning. “Chief Luo, shall we bring this back to the Division?”

“Let it be. I will explain the situation to Lord Zheng. Since it involves the harem… let us erase all traces.” With those words, Luo Daqi cast a meaningful glance toward He Chang’an’s hiding spot, smiling as he continued, “Xu Jian, this Yellow-ranked Demon-Slaying Envoy under your command is ruthless and decisive, with a keen hunter’s instinct.”

Good grief, could he phrase that any worse? “Ruthless and decisive”—why not just call me efficient? He Chang’an’s mouth twitched as he emerged from the shadows, bowing respectfully to Luo Daqi and Xu Jian, not daring to utter a word in reply. These men were not only his superiors, but intimidating in their own right...

“This lad was recommended by Yang Zhen. His background is clear, he fights with reckless abandon and still has some spirit.” Xu Jian glanced at He Chang’an and addressed Luo Daqi sincerely.

“Solid martial foundations, ninth-rank cultivation, and he used underhanded tactics to take out five seventh-rank martial artists. Interesting,” Luo Daqi remarked calmly.

“Indeed, the rascal gets things done. Dirtier than a scholar, and vicious in his methods—seems to bear a bit of the Daoist legacy…” Xu Jian agreed.

The scholars of Great Tang were notorious for unreliable speech, but these martial artists were even more exasperating—what a way to praise someone! He Chang’an wanted to protest: I’m nothing like what you’re implying…

“Shall we keep him outside, let him continue to temper himself?” Xu Jian asked, bowing slightly.

“Well, perhaps not. The remnants of the Cult of the Night God have set their sights on him; better to err on the side of caution,” Luo Daqi said thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on He Chang’an. “Send him to the Demon Suppression Tower.”

“Oh, right—if he survives this winter, bring him to see me,” Luo Daqi added as he left, his sleeves billowing.

He Chang’an was left utterly baffled, but seeing the look on Xu Jian’s face, he had a vague sense of unease, suspecting that Luo Daqi had just dug him a very deep pit. That Demon Suppression Tower… was it truly that dangerous?

At dawn, after the battlefield had been cleared, Xu Jian led the Demon-Slaying Envoys away. He Chang’an, under the pretext of collecting a few more belongings, returned to his modest rented courtyard. Having spent two taels of silver, he felt a bit shortchanged as he left.

His first thought was of Ajiu.

He bundled up the Confucian classics, sat beneath the eaves of the main house, and watched as the eastern sky paled. Wisps of mist and clouds gradually brightened and flushed red, at last merging into a streak of morning glow.

Since arriving in Great Tang, this was his first sunrise, yet he felt no excitement or joy. Danger lurked at every step, and this land left him feeling stifled.

Still, regardless of his gloom, He Chang’an was clear-minded about what must and must not be done. So, as he waited for Ajiu, he quietly circulated his inner energy through the Small and Great Celestial Circulations, not neglecting his cultivation for a moment.

By midmorning, Ajiu arrived as expected. He vaulted the wall, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, he saw He Chang’an watching him with a smile. Flustered, he mumbled, “Ah, well… I’m used to crossing mountains and ridges…”

He Chang’an laughed. This Ajiu, even after two years in Chang’an, still had the heart of a man from the deep mountains—a rare quality.

He tossed Ajiu a key. “Watch the house for me for a while.”

He did not say he was lending Ajiu his place, but rather asked for help—He Chang’an realized he was rather clever, after all.

Ajiu was taken aback. “What, you’re leaving?”

“Yeah, the—uh, yamen has a mission for me. I’ll be away for a while.” He Chang’an patted Ajiu’s shoulder. “Sort out your own rice, flour, and vegetables. Your brother’s out of silver.”

Ajiu gripped the key, hesitated several times, and finally said, “Then… be careful.”

“I will.” He Chang’an slung his bundle of books over his back and strode off.

Just as he reached the door, he suddenly remembered something. “By the way, Ajiu, you’re skilled with the sword—why don’t you cultivate inner strength?”

Ajiu looked puzzled. “Why should I?”

How would I know? He Chang’an thought.

“I’m not sure, just a feeling.” He set down his bundle, rummaged through it, and handed Ajiu a slim booklet. “Take a look at this technique. If you need it, I’ll find you a whole bundle later.”

Ajiu took the booklet and flipped it open. Three words stood out: “Qi Absorption Technique.”

“A martial artist’s cultivation method?” Ajiu sounded rather disdainful. “It’s good for tempering the body, but…”

He abruptly fell silent, gazing at He Chang’an’s departing figure. “I owe you a pair of shoes, a meal of wine and meat, and a place to rest.”

He Chang’an’s steps faltered, but he did not stop. Without a word, he walked away.

South of Chang’an, thirty miles distant, on Mount Taihua.

The Academy.

The principal held a chess piece between his fingers, pondering for a long while but unable to decide where to play it, growing somewhat vexed.

Du Shisan and Wen Taiyuan, two great scholars, hid off to the side, activating their “Hearts in Harmony” minor divine ability to whisper in secret—

Du Shisan: That He Chang’an is sly beyond compare, even the principal cannot divine his exact whereabouts.

Wen Taiyuan: Indeed, there’s something strange about this matter.

Du Shisan: Why don’t you try divining?

Wen Taiyuan: I’ll wait until the principal fails, for the sake of his dignity.

Du Shisan: Quite right. The principal is useless at everything except bragging.

Wen Taiyuan: Haha, you mean “bragging endlessly,” not “bragging water drips.”

Zhao Zheng: Nonsense! Who among you two old men doesn’t love wine, women, and the pleasure quarters?

Zhao Zheng: Why so silent now?

Zhao Zheng: In quiet moments, reflect on your own faults; in idle talk, do not criticize others. We are scholars—let’s act the part. Two old rascals, Du Shisan the shameless, and Wen Taiyuan, whose virtue is lacking…

Seeing the principal’s righteous indignation, Wen Taiyuan and Du Shisan exchanged a smile. “Come, let’s play a game.”

The pieces fell in a rattling flurry, dozens of black and white stones quickly filling the board.

In unison, they declared, “The scoundrel He Chang’an is nowhere to be found!”

On the chessboard, a black stone landed with a soft click, spinning and rolling before coming to rest on a single point.

“Huh, the center point has become forbidden…”

The three great scholars looked at one another in confusion, speechless for a long while.