The Azure Mountain

Chapter 75: Rescue

In the night.

Chen Ji returned to the edge of the rooftop, standing upon the jutting eave high above, calmly surveying the scene below.

Was the Prince Heir up to something?

If he was, the prince had spent the past three years at Donglin Academy — he hadn't had the opportunity to do anything.

If he wasn't, then why had he come back right at this time, and why had he turned up at Golden Workshop of all places?

Chen Ji furrowed his brow, trying to piece together the clues, but far too many were missing.

Down in the courtyard.

The Prince Heir realized the Jianghu fighters had ditched them and turned around, swearing: "Aren't they supposed to be Jianghu heroes? Don't they always talk about how much they value loyalty and honor? How shameless can you be!"

Six blade-wielding agents had already charged into the courtyard, cornering the Prince Heir and Baili against the wall. One agent spoke coldly: "Those who resist arrest are sentenced to additional charges."

Baili began: "We are—"Before she could finish, the Prince Heir discreetly tugged her sleeve and cut in: "We're just ordinary citizens here to enjoy Red Clothe Lane. We haven't broken any laws of Great Ning. Why are you pursuing us?"

The agents scrutinized them, peering at their faces in the moonlight. After a moment, one of them said uncertainly: "...Your Highness? Your Highness the Commandery Princess? I recognize you both! The Secret Spy Division has solid evidence that Jing Dynasty operatives were active inside Golden Workshop tonight. Your presence here is far too coincidental. You'll have to come with us to the Inner Prison."

The Prince Heir's heart sank. The Directorate of Ceremonial had been looking for leverage against the Prince Jing's Estate for years. In that time, many of Prince Jing's old subordinates had been taken to the Inner Prison and never come out.

Once inside the Inner Prison, even the title of Prince's Heir meant nothing.

Seven years ago, the Prince of Huai was arrested by the Secret Spy Division for secretly hoarding armor and hand crossbows. He died in the Inner Prison that very night. Six years ago, during the great drought in the Guanzhong region, the Prince of Jin was arrested under the charge of "making forbidden prophecies" after remarking over wine that the drought was heaven's punishment for Emperor Ning's neglect of state affairs. He died in the Inner Prison within the month — along with two officials from the Imperial Observatory.

The Prince Heir knew full well that under the Eunuch Faction, the lives of Ning Dynasty princes were worth no more than weeds. If they entered the Inner Prison today, they might never come out.

With that thought, the Prince Heir quickly laced his hands together to form a step: "Baili — you go first!"

An agent's face turned ominous: "Nobody's leaving. If you've done nothing wrong, Your Highness, why are you afraid to come with us?"

The Prince Heir spat a curse, snatched up a bamboo broom from the courtyard, and planted himself in front of Baili: "Go to the Inner Prison with you? Innocent people walk in and come out guilty! I'd rather fight you here — go ahead and kill me on the spot if you dare!"

Chen Ji watched the scene unfold in silence.

Save them, or not?

If he didn't, the Prince Heir and Baili would inevitably be dragged off to the Inner Prison, no matter how hard they fought. Jin Zhu was already looking for evidence of collusion between Prince Jing's Estate and the Jing Dynasty. Catching the Prince Heir and Baili right here was like a pillow being delivered to a drowsy man — he could easily fabricate a pretext for interrogation under torture.

If he did save them, six agents were a serious problem, and reinforcements could arrive at any moment... More importantly, Chen Ji had come here tonight to kill Shopkeeper Yuan — not to play hero!

But it was this same Red Clothe Lane, this same kind of night. How pleasant it would have been to finish a round of drinks and then head to the Drum Tower to watch the sunrise.

Chen Ji's hands were wrapped in cloth strips. In his right hand, the short blade he gripped tightly was slowly dripping blood down the edge, gathering at the tip into a single glistening ruby drop — which fell onto the gray tile beneath him.

By the time the blood hit the tile, Chen Ji had vanished from where he stood.

......

......

"Come on!" The Prince Heir swept his bamboo broom wildly, trying to bat the agents back.

But these were elite Secret Spy Division operatives — hardly the kind a broom could stop. The six agents fanned out in a crescent. One stepped forward and brought his blade down in a single casual stroke, cutting the broom clean in two.

The Prince Heir stared at his truncated broom, bitter in his heart. He spoke gravely: "I'll go with you. But you have to let my sister go. She's just a girl — what could she possibly know?"

The agent shook his head: "Nobody's leaving. If it weren't for the weight of your status, we wouldn't be bothering with pleasantries. Come quietly to the Inner Prison, and neither of you will be harmed. Once your innocence is established, you'll naturally be released."

The Prince Heir said firmly: "How many people walk into the Inner Prison and walk back out? Do you honestly believe that yourselves? Aren't you afraid of what my father's estate will do in retaliation?"

"Your Highness, over the years we've arrested full-blooded princes. You can't intimidate us. Move — seize them."

Several agents surged forward.

The Prince Heir tried to resist, but one agent darted in and punched him in the stomach. He doubled over in agony, retching up wine and bile.

These killers of the Secret Spy Division truly had no regard for the Prince Heir's standing.

They knew exactly how badly their superiors wanted to topple Prince Jing's Estate. Loyalty to their faction dictated their thinking.

In the scuffle, someone wrenched Baili's arm behind her back. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead from the pain, but she didn't let out a single cry — only stared defiantly at the agent before her.

In the chaos, her sweeping gaze suddenly caught something and she froze.

One of the agents sensed something wrong and spun around, alert.

In that instant, he raised his blade to strike behind him — but before his arm could even complete the arc, a shadow had closed in silently from behind.

A hand clamped down on his arm like a vise, locking the blade in place so it couldn't descend.

In a breath, the shadow struck twice with a short blade while leveraging the man's pinned arm — one stab to the kidney at the waist, one to the lung beneath the ribs. The short blade in his hand darted like a viper's tongue — vicious to the extreme.

A nearby agent saw this and recoiled in shock, instantly bringing his blade back to counter. But the shadow merely flicked his blade in a casual parry — steel met steel in the dark with a burst of sparks and a sharp clang, and the long saber snapped.

The agents' expressions changed. They'd seen their share of Jianghu blade masters, as numerous as fish crossing a river — but a swordsman who broke blades as casually as snapping twigs? That they had never encountered.

No blade aura. No practitioner's mystical techniques. The man had simply tapped his short blade against theirs, and their forged-steel sabers shattered like icicles!

Baili, still pinned by the agent, stared at the shadowy figure. His face was smeared with black charcoal dust, his eyes utterly unfamiliar — but his build felt strangely recognizable no matter how she looked at it.

Then she suddenly noticed: as the dark attacker twisted and dodged, his right leg seemed unable to exert full strength.

He clearly knew the leg was a vulnerability and was doing his best to conceal it, but with a serious wound, no amount of disguise could hide it completely.

Baili thought of a certain person — someone whose leg was also injured...

But no matter how she tried, she couldn't reconcile the image of the quiet apprentice next door who swept the courtyard with the lethal assassin before her.

It was as if two figures, one in light and one in shadow, were fundamentally incompatible.

Baili's expression grew complicated.

Just then, she saw the agents unclip hand crossbows from behind their backs and aim them at the shadowy figure. She cried out in alarm: "Watch out — crossbows!"

The battlefield fell suddenly still. Chen Ji was holding the agent up by his arm, using the body as a shield. He peeked around the dead man's drooping head, half his face visible, calmly studying the crossbows in the agents' hands.

The agent whose lung had been pierced was weakly coughing blood foam.

The dying agent. The cold-blooded assassin hidden behind the body, dodging crossbow bolts. One still, one moving — the scene was both cruel and enigmatic.

As Baili watched, the answer forming in her mind wavered again... The person she was thinking of always smiled as if he'd never say a harsh word, and when questioned, simply lowered his head in silence without arguing back.

The agents searched for an opening to fire, but could find no viable angle.

During the standoff, the blood-coughing agent finally closed his eyes. The hand holding his blade slowly fell, and the saber slipped from his fingers.

Chen Ji seized the moment, dropped his short blade, and caught the falling saber.

In the split second it took him to switch weapons — whoosh — a crossbow bolt flew at the exposed half of his face.

Everyone's eyes blurred. Chen Ji merely tilted his head a fraction, dodging the bolt. By the time it thunked into the wall behind him, his head had already returned to its original position — still sheltered behind the dead agent, calmly watching them all.

As the agents scrambled to reload their crossbows, Chen Ji charged forward, shoving the corpse ahead of him like a battering ram. Bolt after bolt was loosed — some thudded into the dead body, others flew wide.

Close quarters!

Chen Ji cast the corpse aside, flashing out from behind it, and engaged four agents at once — blade flashing, steel breaking again and again.

The agents had never felt so powerless. The assassin before them seemed to have no openings at all. Every shift, every counter guarded his entire body, his defense an impregnable fortress.

Even with four against one, they couldn't find a single chance for a killing blow.

Let alone a killing blow — their blades could barely graze his clothing, unable to leave so much as a scratch.

The agents had no idea what style of bladework this was. The Jianghu's famous blade schools could be counted on one hand, but this watertight technique was unheard of.

What they didn't know was that when Chen Ji sparred with Feng Huai, the slightest crack in his defense meant Feng Huai would pounce — and one opening meant one more death.

That kind of relentless, extreme tempering meant that what Chen Ji had first mastered wasn't offense. It was defense.

Survive first. Then attack.

The agent holding Baili pressed his blade against her throat: "Drop your weapon, or I'll kill her right now."

But Chen Ji seemed deaf to the threat, continuing his assault on the other agents without the slightest hesitation in his blade.

The agent froze. Escorting a Commandery Princess to the Inner Prison was one thing; killing her outright in the courtyard was something else entirely.

He gritted his teeth, suddenly released Baili, and drew his blade to help his comrades.

Baili was free. But she didn't run. She stood rooted to the spot, watching anxiously and calling out: "Watch your back!"

The reinforcing agent delivered a diagonal slash aimed at Chen Ji's spine.

Hearing the warning, Chen Ji whipped around — blade following body!

Two long sabers clashed head-on. Chen Ji twisted his wrist, and his blade ground upward against the agent's descending edge, sparks cascading from the friction.

The agent was blinded by the burst of sparks. Before he could react, Chen Ji reversed his grip, slashing upward in a backhanded stroke — from arm to throat!

Blood erupted.

Chen Ji looked at Baili and the Prince Heir, his voice low and urgent: "Go. Stop getting in the way!"

The Prince Heir was about to say they should all go together, but Baili pressed her lips tight and dragged him toward the wall: "Hurry! We can't help him here — we'll only distract him! Once we're gone, he can leave too!"

"Oh — right!" The Prince Heir spun around and fled.

An agent moved to pursue, but Chen Ji cut him down with a single stroke.

He bent low, blade held horizontal, blocking the path beneath the courtyard wall — coldly barring every remaining agent. Blood dripped steadily from the blade's edge, and the smooth steel reflected the blood-red moon overhead.

Once the Prince Heir cleared the wall, Baili straddled its top, dirt-smeared and disheveled. She thought of the Jianghu fighters who had fled, then looked at the blood-soaked figure fighting below. With a conflicted expression, she called out: "Be careful!"

Then she turned and dropped off the other side of the wall.

The courtyard fell quiet. Only three agents remained, fanned out, pinning Chen Ji against the base of the wall. They shifted their footing cautiously, searching for a weakness — and finding none.

Just as they thought they could hold position until reinforcements arrived, Chen Ji attacked.

Once, every death against Feng Huai had left him despondent. But now he understood — the blade techniques honed through countless deaths were his reward.

Four silhouettes intertwined. The arcs of Chen Ji's blade carved through the dark like crescent moons, breaking three sabers — and cutting three throats.

......

......

Chen Ji bent over, breathing hard, and picked up the short blade he'd dropped earlier, slipping it back into his sleeve.

He didn't flee. Instead, he climbed the ladder back up to the rooftop.

Limping to the roof ridge, he lay prone on the peak and quietly observed the situation inside Red Clothe Lane.

Down in the lane, a parade of half-dressed patrons and working girls were being herded out of the brothels by the agents.

Chen Ji's gaze swept the crowd, hunting for Shopkeeper Yuan. Tonight's goods exchange was the most important business — there was no way Shopkeeper Yuan wouldn't come to oversee it personally.

But as building after building was emptied and every last person was corralled onto the bluestone pavement of Red Clothe Lane, he still couldn't find Shopkeeper Yuan.

Something was wrong.

The scene before him was nothing like what Chen Ji had anticipated.

Red Clothe Lane wasn't in chaos. Nobody was trying to breach the Secret Spy Division's perimeter. Nobody was fighting back. The Trouble-Resolving Guard that Jin Zhu had specifically summoned from the Mengjin Military Camp had nothing to do!

Lin Chaoqing sat atop his horse in his bamboo hat, remarking placidly: "Honorable Jin Zhu, it seems you're no different from Jiao Tu and Yun Yang after all. Though you're luckier, at least — you didn't dig up the coffin of a sitting Grand Secretary's father... My Chief Punishment Division's Trouble-Resolving Guard and Fish-Dragon Guard serve as the Emperor's own direct forces, yet here we are, dragged along to share in your disgrace day after day."

"Don't be hasty," Jin Zhu said with a smile, hopping off his horse. He grabbed a middle-aged man who had been trying to slip away: "What's your name?"

"Wu Dongliang, sir."

"What's your line of work?"

"I'm a tax collector in Xin'an County..."

Jin Zhu raised an eyebrow: "A mere tax collector — why were you running?"

Before he finished the sentence, he already understood.

Ning Dynasty law forbade government officials from visiting prostitutes. Patronizing refined entertainment houses was tolerated, but being caught in a place like Red Clothe Lane meant immediate dismissal.

This law had been set by the founding emperor. By now, everyone turned a blind eye, but occasionally an unlucky official was reported and lost his post.

Jin Zhu muttered a curse under his breath, then ordered his subordinates to verify the man's identity. He moved on to the next person: "And what do you do?"

"Reporting to your lordship — I'm a Hui merchant. I came to Luo City to purchase furs for resale down south... Here is my travel permit."

Jin Zhu took the permit. One glance told him the man had only arrived in Luo City that very evening.

His smile thinned to something brittle: "Check. Check every single person's identity. See if there's anyone suspicious."

Jin Zhu's heart was sinking to the bottom of a canyon. He hadn't expected to capsize in a gutter... Where had things gone wrong?!

The agents began screening everyone. They were Hui merchants from the south, Shanxi merchants from the north, market peddlers, local gang leaders — every one of them could clearly account for their origins, and none of their household registrations or travel permits showed signs of forgery.

Chen Ji watched in silence.

Apart from the two black-clad men he had killed on the rooftop, not a single person present looked like one of Shopkeeper Yuan's operatives!

Were they simply better disguised?

No — no, they weren't. As Chen Ji scanned the length of Red Clothe Lane, he realized that the Golden Workshop madam and Yan'er weren't among them either!

Someone had tipped them off and leaked Jin Zhu's operation in advance!

That was why the madam and Yan'er had fled early!

Chen Ji suddenly recalled something. When the carriage driver Si Cao had interrogated him at Hundred Deer Pavilion, the man had made it clear that he knew exactly what evidence Yun Yang and Jiao Tu had seized from Liu Shiyu's home... There was a mole embedded right beside Jin Zhu!

This mole not only had access to the Secret Spy Division's evidence, but also held clearance to learn about tonight's operation.

Chen Ji had no doubt that with Jin Zhu's level of caution, the man would have been careful, careful, and careful again to ensure nothing could go wrong. And yet the information had still leaked.

Who was it?

At that very moment, Jin Zhu whipped his head toward the rooftop: "Who's up there? Seize them!"