“It’s not interesting. None of it is interesting.” Xie Queshan tilted his head back and drained his cup.
Zhang Yuehui burst into laughter, but as he laughed, his eyes dimmed inch by inch. With a slight effort of his hand, the thin porcelain wine cup shattered. White porcelain, red blood—yet he gripped even tighter.
The blood didn’t quite match his scholarly, elegant face. He was usually spotless, maintaining the appearance of a banished immortal. But at this moment, he paid no attention to the porcelain shards in his hand. As if the blood flowing wasn’t his own, he continued smiling, speaking as if discussing something trivial: “Xie Queshan, don’t be so noble. Otherwise, I’ll have nowhere to direct my revenge.”
Xie Queshan glanced up, his eyes even holding some pity: “Do you really want revenge?”
The plain question made the room fall silent for a moment. Zhang Yuehui suddenly kicked his stool, the loud crash covering his current thoughts.
He strode away.
Xie Queshan looked at the chaos Zhang Yuehui had left behind and slowly shook his head. This man’s emotions were far too unstable—he couldn’t be relied upon for important matters.
…
Since leaving the heart of the river, infinite emptiness surged into Zhang Yuehui’s heart. He rarely had such moments.
He actually somewhat agreed with Xie Queshan’s words.
None of it was interesting.
He schemed and plotted, yet gained no pleasure from it.
Was this how it would end? Not exciting, not fun.
A bold thought suddenly arose in his mind—kill Wanyan Puruo.
She had left Jinling secretly anyway; aside from the Return Hall, no one knew. In this chaotic world, there were plenty of bandits and roving brigands, plenty of treacherous mountain paths. If she died en route, Great Qi couldn’t blame Jinling. Who told her to be so bold as to disguise herself as an ordinary woman on the road?
With Wanyan Puruo dead, the intelligence would be cut off at her end.
No one had killed her before because no one dared to think it, no one dared to do it.
Only he, Zhang Yuehui, had no taboos. As her confidant, delivering a backstab wouldn’t be difficult.
This matter would give those old ministers in Jinling headaches for a while and put the Return Hall in a precarious position, but there was nothing that couldn’t be done.
Why save Xie Queshan? No, he wasn’t saving him. He just hoped he would die more basely, die more worthlessly.
If Xie Queshan sacrificed himself like this, what did his innocent family members who died unjustly amount to? Stepping stones for a hero?
How ridiculous. Why should they?
He even felt some fear. If Xie Queshan died like this, all his hatred would dissolve into bubbles. He was someone who lived on obsession—good or bad, these were among his few remaining ties to this world.
He didn’t want to let go. He wanted this muddy water to become muddier and muddier. No one should achieve enlightenment and ascend to heaven, no one should find liberation on the spot.
Horse hooves galloped through the night.
Wind filled his entire body, fine rain struck his face like needles, dark clouds obscured the moonlight. Racing all the way until dawn broke.
The secretly northbound convoy had just left the small temple where they had rested, preparing to continue their journey.
The “Princess Imperial” wore a veiled hat and was helped into the carriage by a female attendant.
The wheels rolled over the wet ground, the carriage swaying with creaking sounds. In the distance, a few cockcrows and dog barks—everything seemed shrouded in tranquility.
A sharp arrow pierced through rain and air, shooting straight into the carriage with a thud. Several drops of blood splattered on the carriage curtain.
The convoy escorts immediately panicked, drawing their swords to fight.
In the distance, Zhang Yuehui rode toward them, neither dodging nor evading. Facing everyone’s sword points, he reined in his horse and threw a token to the ground.
Some hadn’t seen Zhang Yuehui before, but they recognized this token that could command the entire Return Hall. Everyone panicked, not daring to continue fighting. They sheathed their weapons and bowed: “Master.”
Zhang Yuehui dismounted and strode toward the carriage.
He lifted the curtain and pulled off the veiled hat, but Zhang Yuehui was stunned.
The person in the carriage wasn’t Wanyan Puruo at all.
The woman barely had a breath left, blood gushing from her mouth, yet her face showed a strange smile before she died.
In that instant, Zhang Yuehui’s heart sank. He had been careless.
Wanyan Puruo had long prepared a defense against him. Not only was she conveying important intelligence, she had also set a test for Zhang Yuehui.
He had violated her orders and killed her messenger, making his position clear. He had become an undeniable traitor who could no longer watch from the sidelines.
Zhang Yuehui stood dazed for a long while, his thoughts slowly gathering, then revealed a self-mocking smile.
The cunning rabbit has three burrows—this was Wanyan Puruo. How could she be killed so easily by him?
Now it was perfect. He had originally wanted to quietly kill an important figure and eliminate all traces, but instead had gotten himself trapped.
However, Wanyan Puruo hadn’t won either.
No matter how much she knew, her intelligence couldn’t reach Li Du Mansion. Everything was in vain.
This moment of lost control actually made all the blood in Zhang Yuehui’s body boil. He was even somewhat excited.
Heavy rain poured down on him, as if washing away all the dust and grime from his body.
For so many years, so many years. He had been obsequious, trying to please both sides. He spoke human words to humans and ghost words to ghosts, until even he forgot whether he was human or ghost. At this moment, having torn away all pretense, he could finally show his true face. No need to act anymore, no need to pretend anymore.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the barren temple, and the mural’s Asura showed a fierce, menacing face. Immediately after, a thunderclap seemed like the gods roaring.
Asura—easily angered and fond of fighting, brave and skilled in battle, having fought many fierce battles against the gods. The cause of their struggle was a divine tree called Sudatta-rapatala.
The tree’s roots were in Asura’s territory, but its ripe fruits were in heaven. Asura grew wrathful and attacked the nine heavenly realms to confront the gods, demanding back what belonged to him. Though naturally kind-hearted and originally of the good path, his obsession with fighting meant he was not truly good. After death, he would forever fall into the evil path.
But Asura also followed Buddhist law.