Gazing down at the unconscious Cui Yu, Ji Yanqing’s bewitching peach-blossom eyes held not a trace of pity.
Coming to Chang’an as a hostage was a perilous gamble, and he wasn’t foolish enough to care for an enemy’s life.
Mercy to foes was cruelty to oneself, a truth Ji Yanqing held firm. He spared Cui Yu for two reasons: to uncover who was pulling the strings behind him and to avoid making too many enemies.
Professional tasks were best left to professionals. As the Wei King’s Heir, many actions were inconvenient, better delegated to others.
He hoped Cui Yu, bedridden tonight, would warmly welcome his “distant friend.”
After all, besides assassination, gathering covert intelligence was the Purple Plume Tower’s specialty.
As the bronze gong rang again, signaling the match’s end, Ji Yanqing turned calmly to leave. On the bluestone arena, the white-robed youth stood alone in the biting wind, his brow sharp, his forehead’s dark hair slightly disheveled.
After a brief silence, thunderous applause erupted. Such an effortless victory stunned everyone.
Even the sons of Wei King’s old retainers, who hoped for the Heir’s win, never dared dream of such a crushing, absolute triumph.
Noble daughters from the Civil College, who had slipped out, gazed at the dashing white-robed youth, their eyes fixed, their budding hearts racing like startled deer, pounding fiercely.
Chu Yingao, in her plain white silk dress, had a graceful figure. Her snowy curves, though not towering, carried a soft, lush weight.
Between the silver-embroidered hem, her slender legs, wrapped in ice-silkworm white silk, flickered subtly—long, straight, delicate, and alluringly sensual.
Her snow-white softness was like a tempting pastry, making one yearn to……devour it whole.
Ji Yanqing hurried through the crowd, not sparing a glance back at his former fiancée, his demeanor even colder than when he tore up their betrothal contract.
The aloof nobility radiating from him mirrored Chu Yingao’s own.
From a certain angle, they did look like a matched pair.
Chu Yingao’s slender fingers clenched into fists, her porcelain skin blooming with veins like delicate flowers.
The silver-carved heels of her shoes emanated the chill of the Northern Abyss, frosting the bluestone floor beneath her.
She realized she’d never truly seen through Ji Yanqing—or perhaps never bothered to closely observe the reckless, unlearned Wei King’s Heir. His hidden secrets were no fewer than hers.
Perhaps he’d been tarnishing his reputation to conceal his talents all these years, or maybe he had unspoken burdens. But none of that justified his disdain for her.
Thus, Chu Yingao felt no regret over breaking their engagement.
On the contrary, a perverse thrill stirred within her. Now, Ji Yanqing seemed a worthy adversary. The old wastrel Heir wasn’t even fit to be her defeated foe.
Now, she could face him head-on, crush him, and make him rue his past actions in defeat.
Gazing at the Wei King’s Heir’s retreating figure, Chu Yingao’s crimson lips curved into a faint smile.
After a while, Ji Yanqing strolled out of the Imperial Academy, whistling a melodic tune. The Night-Shining Jade Lion, well-fed in the stables, trotted to its master, shaking its head, awaiting his mount.
Gripping the reins, Ji Yanqing lightly spurred the horse, galloping away from the academy—not toward the Great General’s Ward on Lingyan Street, but to Min’an Street in the Garrison Ward.
To display imperial favor, His Majesty granted Ji Yanqing a refined three-courtyard residence, complete with rock gardens, flowing streams, painted corridors, and pavilions—everything one could need. Ji Yanqing found it quite comfortable.
Of course, the residence had a slight flaw: it sat at the heart of Min’an Street. At the street’s head was the imposing Imperial Guard Commander’s Mansion, and at its tail, even more formidable, was the Censorate, dreaded by all officials.
Such a “convenient” location, and Superintendent Wang still found time in his busy schedule to station several shadow guards at the gate.
Aside from a slight chill at the neck, the residence felt quite safe.
After about the time it takes to burn an incense stick, Ji Yanqing passed through Qingle Ward, rode down Lingyan Street, and turned through several alleys.
From a distance, he spotted the shadow guards at his gate, clad in coarse raincoats, goose-feather blades at their waists.
With a serious expression, Ji Yanqing slowed his pace, the horse’s hooves clopping as he approached. He said softly, “The Wei King’s Heir went straight to bed like a dead pig upon returning. All’s normal tonight. If Wang Zhu asks, that’s your answer.”
His deep, commanding voice carried an eerie, hypnotic charm, instantly clouding the Spy Agency eunuchs’ minds. Their eyes dulled, nodding like puppets on strings.
Master-level hypnosis worked only on those below Qian Yuan Realm; higher, and it risked backlash. It was perfect for these Radiant Sun Realm eunuchs.
Back in his chambers, Ji Yanqing opened a letter from the gatehouse. In his first days in Chang’an, citing stepping into the residence with his left foot first, he dismissed many servants, secretly replacing them with trusted allies through the Bronze Sparrow Chamber’s channels.
Even the eunuchs at the gate were reliable.
Ji Yanqing placed the letter on the desk, pulling a spring palace painting book filled with risqué figures from a drawer…
Tucked between the pages of the book was a pale purple peacock feather, hung by the window.
Ji Yanqing sat in a rosewood armchair, turning to the yellowed letter. The familiar, delicate handwriting was unmistakably Su Ningyue’s.
Skipping the formalities, the letter detailed that Su Yuanshan, head of the Weiyuan Escort Agency, had been laid to rest. As his daughter, Su Ningyue intended to observe a year of mourning at his grave.
But Su Yuanshan, on his deathbed, permitted only seven days of mourning before ordering her to the Imperial Academy, threatening to disown her in the afterlife if she disobeyed.
Thus, Su Ningyue was coming to Chang’an.
After reading, Ji Yanqing sighed, a pang of regret in his heart for not meeting Head Su. A carefree martial hero in youth, a righteous escort leader in middle age, and in his final years, a father devoted to his daughter.
When Su passed, Ji Yanqing was en route to Chang’an by imperial decree. Defying the Emperor was impossible. If he were merely Su Ningyue’s fiancé, he’d have risked his life to be by her side.
But as the Wei King’s Heir, he had too many responsibilities…
Suddenly, a cold breeze slipped into the room, and the purple peacock feather vanished from the window. Glancing up, Ji Yanqing faintly saw shifting shadows behind the screen in the moonlight.
Setting the letter down, he propped his head on his hand and said coldly, “Find some information for me. Payment: four thousand taels of silver.”
“Jie jie jie jie jie—”
A chilling, eerie laugh echoed as the shadowy figure’s voice grated.
…
“Your Highness, four thousand taels is my Bone Demon’s usual rate, but this is Chang’an. The Censorate and Spy Agency have noses sharper than dogs…”
“So, how much do you want?” Ji Yanqing asked.
“Double—eight thousand taels of silver,” the Bone Demon replied with a ghastly chuckle.
“I’ll give you ten thousand taels of silver, and kill someone for me,” Ji Yanqing countered.