Lightning cracked across the sky, thunder roaring as sheets of rain poured down.
Qiao Tianya stood, handing the recovered blade to the men behind him. “Xiao Er was hit by an arrow. He won’t escape.”
Below on the slope, Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan lay in the mud, holding their breath, blending into the shadows.
The area teemed with Embroidered Guards and unknown assassins. Escape was nearly impossible. Breaking through was even harder. Most critical was Xiao Chiye: the poisoned arrow grazing his left arm was beginning to numb him. In another half-hour, the toxin would spread, freezing his body entirely.
Qiao Tianya swept aside the tangled grass with his foot, spotting chaotic footprints. He raised a hand, silently pointing toward the slope.
The Embroidered Guards fanned out, crouching low as they advanced toward the hollow trench.
Xiao Chiye tensed, listening to the squelching approach. The hilt of his blade pressed firmly into his palm—anyone who dared jump in would meet the full force of his strike.
The spring-steel blade appeared at the edge of the slope. Suddenly, Shen Zechuan grabbed Xiao Chiye by the wet clothing. He turned, meeting Shen Zechuan’s calm gaze.
At that moment, several figures leapt from the forest, engaging the Embroidered Guards. Qiao Tianya drew his sword; a flying blade flashed, and a few guards fell. The attackers surged forward, morale rising.
Amid the chaos, Shen Zechuan retrieved the few remaining blades. Without a word, Xiao Chiye climbed to his feet, rolling down the muddy slope into the far grass.
“Catch them!” Qiao Tianya shouted.
The Embroidered Guards retreated. Xiao Chiye swung his arm to catch a tree trunk and vaulted upward. Shen Zechuan reached the slope, Embroidered Guards behind him. Xiao Chiye, like a tiger descending a mountain, swung the wolfish blade with unstoppable force, driving the guards back.
Qiao Tianya leapt from behind, swinging at the exposed Xiao Chiye. Xiao Chiye suddenly ducked, and the blade struck the sheath with a loud “thunk.”
Shen Zechuan braced the sheath with a foot, stepping on Xiao Chiye’s back. Using his strength, Xiao Chiye lifted him, pushing him toward Qiao Tianya, while Shen Zechuan’s fingertips thrust a thin blade at Qiao Tianya’s eyes.
Qiao Tianya did not dodge; side guards blocked the strike.
Xiao Chiye rose, stomping on Qiao Tianya’s chest. Both sides retreated in unison. Qiao Tianya flicked the blood from his blade; strands of hair at his forehead had been severed by Shen Zechuan’s earlier strike.
Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan stepped back two paces, speaking not a word, and then turned to run.
Qiao Tianya watched their retreating forms. “Chase!” he barked.
Xiao Chiye tugged Shen Zechuan along. “East!”
Shen Zechuan pushed aside branches. “Five steps per man, ten steps per squad. The Tuan City garrison is eastward!”
Xiao Chiye’s movements were sluggish. “East is the only way out,” he said firmly.
“Death lies before us,” Shen Zechuan countered, tossing a blade. Ambushers in the trees fell immediately. Passing by, he drew their spring-steel blade.
Xiao Chiye reversed his grip, slicing through the stormy night, parrying two steel blades from the rain. His left arm was numb; even the fingers of his right hand had stiffened.
Tonight would be a grueling fight.
Shen Zechuan swung his blade, taking heads and kicking aside corpses.
Xiao Chiye stumbled but pressed his chest into Shen Zechuan’s back, rolling him through the uneven grass into a small stream.
The rain poured, icy water scouring their bodies. Heavy breathing pressed against each other—heat and cold intertwined in an uncanny duality.
“Killing me gains you nothing,” Xiao Chiye said, propping up his wolfish blade and lifting slightly. “So the rest of this journey rests on you.”
Shen Zechuan wiped his face with water. “Saving you is useless anyway.”
“You’re here for Prince Chu,” Xiao Chiye pressed him back. “What now? The Embroidered Guards can’t find him. Only I know where he is. Your timing is lost; tonight, the Empress Dowager will fall. Treat me well, and I’ll be your lifeline.”
Shen Zechuan looked back. Their noses nearly touched. Coldly, he said, “Cut you down, and we all die together.”
“You went through all that effort just to die with me?” Xiao Chiye asked.
“Better talk to Qiao Tianya with that mouth of yours,” Shen Zechuan replied, icy fingers holding Xiao Chiye’s hand. In the next instant, the wolfish blade swept, fending off the pursuers briefly.
Seizing the opening, Shen Zechuan kicked back, freeing himself from Xiao Chiye, holding a spring-steel blade in one hand, wolfish blade in the other, catching his breath from the recent sprint.
“This life is on my account,” Shen Zechuan said, eyes locking on Qiao Tianya charging forward. “After tonight, I’m your master.”
In the ink-black night, snow-like flashes illuminated. Shen Zechuan gave Qiao Tianya no chance—an immediate slash.
Water splashed with each step. Every strike was deadly. Steel clashed; the spring-steel blade was dulled, flicked away by Qiao Tianya.
They separated. Shen Zechuan’s left hand was empty, rinsing blood in the stream.
“A beauty should sit behind a high screen,” Qiao Tianya mused, sensing something. “Cut hand, what then?”
Shen Zechuan weighed the wolfish blade in his right hand. “Snap hands or feet, and it follows obediently.”
“There are people you cannot provoke,” Qiao Tianya said. “Those who are ruthless even on themselves.”
Shen Zechuan stepped forward. Heavy as the blade was, it had its advantage. With the sheer power of the Ji family techniques, Qiao Tianya had no time to retaliate.
Qiao Tianya was forced back, almost collapsing. Near the stream, he realized the danger. Shen Zechuan’s injured left hand suddenly rose from the water, splashing mud into his eyes, creating an opening. His chest was struck again, kicked back into the stream.
Reinforcements arrived. Shen Zechuan retreated several steps, never lingering, lifting Xiao Chiye. But Xiao Chiye’s height and long legs made it nearly impossible.
The search tightened, time dragged painfully slow.
Every figure found in the forest was disguised, trained assassins. Captured, they would bite their tongues and die, denying Ji Lei any chance of interrogation.
Where was Prince Chu?
Only Xiao Chiye knew.
“You little bastard!” Ji Lei fumed, standing. “Have the Tuan City garrison comb the hunting grounds!”
Shen Zechuan pulled Xiao Chiye from the water. The slope was steep. Biting Xiao Chiye’s collar, he hauled him upward.
Blood from Shen Zechuan’s left hand wouldn’t stop. He tore his clothing, rinsed it in the stream, and wrapped it around the wound.
Xiao Chiye pressed against the moss-covered stones. “I have a handkerchief in my chest.”
Shen Zechuan searched, finding a muddy rag, squeezing it over Xiao Chiye’s chest.
“When will the poison wear off?” Xiao Chiye asked.
“One hour, almost.”
“Squatting in the tree is more concealed than staying in the water,” Xiao Chiye noted, eyeing Shen Zechuan. He was soaked, collar open, mud still on his neck, looking…
“The Embroidered Guards have a beast training division. Animals smell blood,” Shen Zechuan said, leaning down to sniff his bloody fingers.
Exceedingly provocative.
Xiao Chiye stared.
It was strange. Just moments ago, he was wielding a blade, not a delicate woman, yet he thought of such words…
He was cursed by Li Jianheng’s influence—thinking, watching, like some peculiar old man in the capital.
“Nice swordsmanship,” Xiao Chiye observed, eyes tracing Shen Zechuan’s collar. “Must have trained hard in the temple. But it doesn’t show from the outside. Did you drug yourself?”
Shen Zechuan’s gaze met his, hand touching his neck. “How many times must you look in one day? So curious?”
Xiao Chiye licked the remaining blood from his lips. “That sounds suggestive… makes me seem like a lustful demon.”
Shen Zechuan covered his face with the dirty rag. “I thought you idled among makeup, didn’t expect you’d play both sides.”
Xiao Chiye replied, “Stop teasing. Second Young Master just wants you to wipe the mud from your neck.”
“Do you want me to wipe it?” Shen Zechuan asked, fingertips lingering on Xiao Chiye’s brow. “Or are you helping me?”
Cool rain dripped from his fingers, soaking in, spreading the temptation along the collar, wet and teasing.
Xiao Chiye wanted water, yet wanted him to keep some distance.
He was silent, then smiled. “You’re skilled.”
“You think too much,” Shen Zechuan tightened his collar, holding his blades quietly.
The rain gradually eased.
Dog barks echoed distantly. They did not move. The stone at the stream’s edge, covered by shrubs, offered a narrow hiding spot—barely room for one.
Xiao Chiye waited, hearing the dog handler approach. Shen Zechuan held the wolfish blade in midair, crouching to slip inside.
Xiao Chiye felt a weight pressing against him—Shen Zechuan’s body slid along his legs to his chest. Their bodies pressed close. Xiao Chiye felt the heat of his thighs and his breath near his temple.
Eyes covered, Xiao Chiye imagined Shen Zechuan’s posture. That pale neck lingered in his thoughts.
“I beg you,” Xiao Chiye sighed. “Sit on my stomach, not below.”
Shen Zechuan didn’t move, listening to the sounds above.
Xiao Chiye adjusted his breathing. In this position, tilting his head upward brushed against Shen Zechuan’s chin. Moving down, his nose traced the curve of that neck.
Shen Zechuan, initially listening, suddenly lifted the rag from Xiao Chiye, staring silently.
Xiao Chiye stared back. Blood and adrenaline clouded judgment. Their growing hardness pressed uncomfortably. Wet cloth clung tightly, every subtle movement sparking friction, threatening to ignite desire.
Above them, dogs sniffed around, alert.