After two slaps, Xie Ling’s cheeks swelled, his eyes bloodshot. He struggled to rise and fight back, but lacked the strength. The casual swing of the ferocious sword Nightmare had already shattered his divine sense.
Without a protective spirit treasure, that strike could’ve killed him.
Seeing Deputy Captain Xie injured, the Censorate’s Night Raven Guards froze, drawing their goose-feather blades to rescue him but hesitating, fearing they’d provoke the culprit further.
If Xie Ling died by accident, the court’s wrath would ensure they spent their lives in the Imperial Prison, a fate worse than death.
The white-robed youth showed no intent to escalate. Perhaps after venting with a few slaps, he’d spare Xie Ling, who’d face only a scolding and a docked salary.
Standing still and watching was clearly the safest bet compared to drawing blades or fleeing.
A few more punches to Xie’s chest followed. Blood foam spewed from his mouth, his face ashen, the bright armor on his chest cracked and splintered.
The usually arrogant Xie Ling was a mess, crawling with a nearly broken body, mustering his last strength to shout, “I have the Wind-Calming White Jade—arrows can’t harm me! Shoot!”
At his command, dozens of crossbowmen stepped forward, their black-iron crossbows capable of fifteen dan force, able to pierce an entire yak, shredding flesh—a true weapon of slaughter.
Boom, boom—
As the crossbow captain ordered a volley, the air-splitting sound echoed through the alley. In an instant, a dozen bolts flew.
But before Ji Yanqing could use Xie’s body as a shield, a fierce gust swept in.
The sharp bolts were caught in a strange airflow, bending like willow branches and crumpling into clumps.
Source Dao-tier technique, Mystic Air Control!
“Brandishing weapons in the streets—does the Censorate plan to rebel?” a crisp, bell-like voice rang out, neither male nor female. Looking up, a refined-looking eunuch stood on the tavern’s eaves.
The young eunuch wore a vermilion bullfight robe, bestowed by the Emperor, with a red fox skirt draped over it. His inky brows and apricot eyes framed skin fairer and smoother than a woman’s.
It was Wang Zhu, who had summoned Ji Yanqing from Ye City.
At twenty-two, he was already Chief Eunuch of the Ceremonial Directorate and Superintendent of the Spy Agency, second only to his mentor, Chief Eunuch Feng Ming.
Recognizing the powerful eunuch, the Night Raven Guards knelt in haste, bowing respectfully. “We greet Superintendent Wang!”
Yanxia had two espionage systems: the Censorate, overseeing officials, and the Spy Agency, overseeing the Censorate.
The Night Ravens’ futures, aside from their superiors’ whims, largely rested on the Spy Agency’s eunuchs’ pens.
Unlike Ji Yanqing, a hostage in Chang’an, Wang Zhu was the court’s rising star. Those eager to curry favor with him could line up from the palace to the city gates.
As Superintendent of the Spy Agency, his power was immense. Only a blind official in Chang’an wouldn’t recognize him.
Seeing Wang Zhu intervene, Xie Ling, trapped in a hellish nightmare, saw a savior. He scrambled to clutch Wang’s leg, and this time, Ji Yanqing didn’t stop him.
“Superintendent… save me!” Xie Ling stammered. He loathed groveling to eunuchs, but survival trumped pride today.
“That white-robed thug beat an officer in public, lawless and arrogant. I beg the Superintendent to deliver justice,” he pleaded.
“Such audacity…” Wang Zhu sighed softly.
“Exactly!” Xie Ling echoed, kneeling beside him.
“Deputy Captain Xie, what grand authority you wield, daring to use weapons against the Wei King’s Heir. A few more years, and you might not even respect me,” Wang Zhu said coldly.
Xie Ling’s expression shifted from shock to terror. Trembling, he stammered, “You mean… he’s… the Wei King’s Heir?”
With a sigh, Wang Zhu flicked his hand, sheathing the Night Ravens’ blades mid-air, giving Xie Ling a playful glance.
Entering the palace at five, he’d trained in Divine Air Control for nearly twenty years, yet grasped only a fraction of his master’s skill.
“Your Highness… I was blind to offend your noble self. Please forgive my crime,” Xie Ling said, kowtowing hard, his forehead bleeding, his demeanor groveling to the point of sycophancy.
In the eyes of clans like Gusu Xie, the Wei King and Prime Minister Liu were mere upstarts, briefly powerful but lacking deep roots.
With the western war reignited and the Emperor appointing Ji Yang to lead, offending the Heir now was suicidal.
Who dared obstruct the Emperor’s Western Campaign risked their head!
Ji Yanqing chuckled softly. “This kind-hearted Heir won’t hold it against you… but the state has laws, and families have rules. With Superintendent Wang here, let justice prevail.”
Xie Ling paled, looking desperately to the vermilion-robed eunuch.
Wang Zhu, toying with his nails, casually ordered, “Take Deputy Captain Xie to the Imperial Prison. Treat him well—don’t slack.”
“Wang Zhu, I’m from Gusu Xie! You dare torture me?!” Xie Ling roared, eyes red, struggling.
“Just a few extra needle pricks and less sleep. So noisy…” Wang Zhu pointed sharply, breaking Xie’s jaw from afar. Xie’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted.
After handling the deputy, Wang Zhu turned to the sword-bearing youth. “Your Highness, next time you beat Imperial Guards, kindly inform me first. If word reaches His Majesty, even you won’t fare well.”
“Just strolling in my free time. Saw guards harassing a woman and gave them a lesson,” Ji Yanqing said calmly, stepping forward to pick up a deep purple embroidered sachet, striking in its beauty.
Sniffing it lightly, its fragrance was like subtle orchids.
“Oh? Which lady caught Your Highness’s eye?” Wang Zhu asked, slipping behind him curiously.
“A Xiaoxiang Pavilion girl,” Ji Yanqing replied.
“You fought guards for a mere courtesan?!” Wang Zhu exclaimed.
“Why not?” Ji Yanqing countered.
“…” Wang Zhu shook his head, speechless.
In the alley’s corner, the painted sedan lingered.
Inside, a woman in a sheer purple skirt sat, her inky hair loosely pinned, cascading to her delicate, porcelain collarbone. Her half-exposed curves and bare, creamy shoulders were utterly tantalizing.
Her cherry lips and delicate nose framed purple eyes that shimmered with allure—a breathtaking, enchanting beauty.
“Saintess, that Illusory Grass Sachet is a Heaven-tier spirit treasure. Isn’t giving it away too generous for that youth?” Jingjing pouted, grumbling.
“Nameless young master… we’ll meet again,” Lingque said, her fair hand tucking a strand of hair, her crimson lips curving into a stunning arc as she gazed at the youth’s back.
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