Sun Taishou’s short, thick fingers probed over the metal cylinder, but seemed unable to find the mechanism for opening it. He tossed it to Pan Mei’er.
Pan Mei’er gave a cold snort, gripped her needle blade tightly, and probed every seam on the surface one by one. She was skilled with hidden weapons, and her grip was formidable — the ear-splitting sound of metal scraping metal reverberated through the chamber, as if scraping against Xiao Nanhui’s own heart.
“My message tube has a hidden mechanism. If it’s opened incorrectly, it will trigger. Fortress Chief Pan had better be careful.”
Pan Mei’er shot her a glance: “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
“Fortress Chief Pan is free to try.”
As the two were locked in this standoff, the entire prison cell suddenly shuddered almost imperceptibly for an instant, and a shower of yellow earth came pattering down from the ceiling. Right after, through the small window of the cell, the muffled sound of shouting and commotion could be heard outside.
Sun Taishou’s expression shifted slightly. He silently signaled a guard to go outside and investigate, then looked at Xiao Nanhui with the first hint of impatience. “Can you open that message tube?”
Xiao Nanhui gave a slight nod.
Sun Taishou turned to Pan Mei’er: “Untie her hands.”
Pan Mei’er refused to relent: “But—”
“Her legs are in that state. Even with both hands free, where can she go?”
Pan Mei’er had no choice but to comply. A moment later, Xiao Nanhui was flexing her arms — slightly stiff from poor circulation — and gestured for Pan Mei’er to hand over the object.
When her fingertips were no more than three inches from it, Pan Mei’er suddenly stopped.
Her gaze had dropped onto the hands of the filthy woman before her.
They were beautiful hands — slender and strong. Their one imperfection was the slightly deformed knuckles, and the calluses that weren’t particularly visible on the palm mounds.
Those calluses could only be formed by a heavy weapon over long years. How could someone who merely used a dagger have hands like that?
She snapped her eyes up. Their gazes met. The surging undercurrent could no longer be concealed.
And at that precise moment, a string of urgent shouts broke through the entrance to the cell.
“My lord! Disaster! It’s the people from Tiancheng! The people from Tiancheng are attacking!”
In that single instant of distraction, Xiao Nanhui formed her five fingers into a palm and struck hard at Pan Mei’er’s wrist. Caught off-guard, Pan Mei’er’s grip failed — the object flew upward through the air and fell back into Xiao Nanhui’s hand in the next second.
The familiar weight settled back into her palm. She lifted the corner of her mouth at the woman before her, now beside herself with fury.
Silver light flashed. The sound of air splitting open.
In the blink of an eye, the two nearest guards were pierced through by a single thrust and fell dead on the spot.
She turned the spearhead around, gripped the shaft with both hands, and drove her flat-bow spear hard into the iron box below her feet.
A tremendous crack accompanied a surge of excruciating pain through both legs. The pivot mechanism of the steel teeth was shattered and snapped in two. The woman on the punishment chair braced herself on the spear in her hands and rose — slowly yet without hesitation — to her feet. Blood dripped steadily from her trouser legs to the floor, the torn flesh on both ankles barely visible, but her face wore a smile — like a fierce ghost climbing out of the depths of hell.
She hadn’t felt this alive in a long, long time.
The exhilaration of the spirit overwhelmed the suffering of the body. She heard her own voice come out rough and trembling.
“I apologize — I have no evidence.”
The cries pouring through the small window of the cell grew louder and more clamorous by the moment, mixed with the clashing of blades, cutting straight to the heart.
Sweat trickled down Sun Taishou’s coarse, greasy face. He glanced at Pan Mei’er standing on the other side — and in the next instant gave her a shove and bolted out the door.
Who could have imagined the situation would reverse itself so completely in a single breath.
Xiao Nanhui had no idea what was happening outside, but for her present circumstances it was nothing short of heaven-sent.
Her wrist flexed. Her flat-bow spear drew a streak of cold light, pointing directly at Pan Mei’er.
“It appears Lord Sun has urgent business to attend to. Fortress Chief Pan — would you care to stay behind for a sparring match?”
The expressions on Pan Mei’er’s face shifted and changed before settling into that signature languid smile. Her lacquered fingernail tapped the tip of the flat-bow spear, and she managed to squeeze out a few laughs: “Little sister — don’t go reaching for your weapons at the slightest provocation. The way you’re carrying on, older sister will worry you’ll never find a husband.”
Even Xiao Nanhui felt a moment’s admiration — that this woman, already at such a desperate pass, could still joke and stall with such breezy ease. She truly had a gift.
In the next instant, Pan Mei’er swayed her hips toward the direction of the prison door: “There’s no real enmity between us. Your accusation earlier counts as settling the score. If we happen to meet again in the future—”
She reached that point and then suddenly lashed out toward Wu Xiaoliu, who was slumped by the prison door.
Xiao Nanhui was shocked and moved almost by reflex to intercept.
The flat-bow spear flew wide — only then did she realize it had been a feint all along. Pan Mei’er whipped her hand back and launched three needle blades in quick succession, all aimed at her midsection.
This move was viciously clever. Pan Mei’er knew her legs were injured and her lower base was unstable, and had deliberately used misdirection: if Xiao Nanhui took the hit, there was no need to elaborate. Even if she dodged, she would instantly lose her balance and the odds would be heavily against her.
With no way to evade, in the space of a lightning flash, Xiao Nanhui was suddenly shoved hard to one side by a powerful force. In the next second, three dull thuds rang out as three needle blades buried themselves into the enormous wooden barrel.
Wu Xiaoliu was panting against that wooden barrel to one side. Xiao Nanhui looked at him with something complicated in her expression, said nothing, and picked up the flat-bow spear that had fallen nearby.
Pan Mei’er, having failed to land her strike, fled toward the door — but after only a few steps, a spear barred her path.
This time Xiao Nanhui showed no mercy. The flat-bow spear entered through the outer side of the woman’s thigh and exited through her calf, pinning her alive to the ground.
Pan Mei’er let out a scream and lifted her contorted face toward Xiao Nanhui.
“Wretched slave — if you have the nerve, kill me. Otherwise, the next time we meet, I will make you unable to live or die in peace—”
Fate was strange. Two people of such identical appearance, facing each other for the first time in their lives, and it had come to this: a fight to the death.
Xiao Nanhui’s heart, which had been pounding with frenzied excitement throughout, grew unexpectedly still in this moment.
In truth, what fault did Pan Mei’er have? She was simply scraping out a living.
In terms of origins, she and Xiao Nanhui were nearly identical — both children of impoverished families in Suyan, clawing at each other in this barren soil for a small share of the nourishment needed to survive.
Xiao Nanhui had simply been lucky enough to meet Xiao Zhun. Otherwise, given her own temperament, it might well be her sitting in that chieftain’s seat right now.
The woman before her did indeed deserve her fate. Yet Xiao Nanhui, as the executioner, felt anything but at ease. It was as though she was killing another version of herself with her own hands.
But how innocent were the maidservants who had died in that den of thieves? How innocent were the other people who had been killed? How innocent was she herself?
“As you wish.”
In the next instant, the flat-bow spear became a streak of silver that pierced through that body and was drawn back out.
Pan Mei’er’s curse words cut off abruptly. The body that had been rigid with tension finally softened in this moment, dropping into the yellow sand like a flower snake with its sinew pulled free.
Xiao Nanhui retracted the flat-bow spear and used it as a crutch to support herself. She passed Wu Xiaoliu without a backward glance, and hobbled steadily toward the light beyond the prison entrance.
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