At times like this, he would always obediently lower his head and agree to everything Qu Yunmie said without contradicting him. Tonight, Qu Yunmie didn’t push the advantage. He merely glanced at the thick envelope, then asked in confusion, “What did you write in the letter?”

Jian Qiao blinked, and instead of explaining, he simply handed the letter over.

After all, it was just mundane family matters. He had been married for years and wouldn’t be writing any sappy love notes, so he had no reason to be nervous.

Qu Yunmie took the letter, and the more he read, the darker his expression became.

Jian Qiao felt that he hadn’t written anything inappropriate, but in Qu Yunmie’s eyes, it was clearly showing off. Just look at the first sentence he wrote—“My wife, these words are as if we meet face-to-face.”

Alright, alright, we get it, you have a wife.

…

The beginning was all about concern for Madam Zhang, such as reminding her to dress warmly in the cold, to close the windows at night, that XX (a maid) was capable—so she should be asked to handle things so Madam wouldn’t tire herself out. The prescribed medicine must be taken on time, don’t be stingy with money, buy whatever she needs. He wrote that he heard a merchant caravan had arrived in Chenliu, so she should go out more often, but remember to take Zhang Biezhi with her. It never hurts to be cautious.

This already took up two pages, and there were two more. These two pages were filled with concern for others, including Jian Qiao’s brother-in-law, his household staff, the injured old comrades staying in Chenliu to recover, and even people in the Prince’s residence like Xiao Rong and Gao Xunzhi.

After learning from this, Qu Yunmie understood how he should write his own letter. Then he snorted coldly at Jian Qiao and said, “Let a woman steal your soul, you really are something.”

After saying that, he slapped the letter paper onto Jian Qiao’s chest. Jian Qiao caught it on reflex, and only after Qu Yunmie strode away did Jian Qiao remember how he should have refuted him.

“That’s my wife! What- what’s wrong with doting on my wife?!”

Qu Yunmie had already left. Instead, it was Gongsun Yuan who happened to be passing by and heard this. It almost gave him a toothache.

Thinking back, it was after Jian Qiao got married that he started to become less sociable. Tsk, that’s why a man shouldn’t just marry one woman. Look at him—he married ten. The wives were so busy fighting amongst themselves they completely forgot they even had a husband. Competing for favor? Asking him to write family letters? Impossible. These women were ruthless. Even after his heroic death, they argued several times about who should kneel at the front of the mourning hall.

…

Meanwhile, Qu Yunmie returned to his bedchamber, and the first thing he did was write a letter to Xiao Rong.

He stumbled at the opening. Jian Qiao had written “My wife, these words are as if we meet face-to-face”—those two words: “my wife,” were intimate and concise. Qu Yunmie liked it, but he couldn’t use it. If he wrote “Xiao Rong, these words are as if we meet face-to-face,” it would sound too distant.

He hesitated for a long time. Then, a flash of inspiration struck him. For some reason, like a thief, he looked around to make sure no one was watching. Only then did he cautiously write six characters on the paper:

—“A Rong, these words are as if we meet face-to-face.”

Such a simple form of address, yet after writing it, Qu Yunmie’s palms grew hot and sweaty. Even the pen became sticky in his grip. He stared at the words, his heart pounding faster—whether from nervousness or excitement, he couldn’t tell.

So this was the good part about writing letters. Things he normally didn’t dare do—across thousands of mountains and rivers—no longer seemed frightening. He wasn’t afraid of being rejected by Xiao Rong.

After pausing for a moment, he continued writing. Once the beginning was done, the rest flowed easily. He had mocked Jian Qiao for being too wordy, but when it was his turn, he wasn’t any better. Especially since Xiao Rong’s health was far worse than Madam Zhang’s—when it came to caring for someone, Qu Yunmie could write until the troops set off the next morning.

…

Fortunately, he didn’t really write that much. Just like Jian Qiao, he filled two pages. Once finished, he sealed them in an envelope. Staring at the letter that would be sent the next morning, Qu Yunmie sat quietly for a while before stepping outside the hall.

In ancient times, the sky was unpolluted, so the stars should have looked the same everywhere. Qu Yunmie just felt that the night sky above Yanmen Pass was more densely filled with stars. The moon was larger and brighter here too.

The moon in the sky would accompany him every night. Whenever he looked up, it would be there, full or crescent, but the moon in his heart—he wouldn’t see it again for a long time.

＊

The next morning, just as this letter was sent out, the one Qu Yunmie had written three days ago arrived.

Xiao Rong opened it with a blank face. As expected, there were only two lines on it:

Everything is proceeding as usual. I’m still alive.

Xiao Rong thought: You might as well just drop dead.

…

Annoyed, he tossed that letter aside and opened Jian Qiao’s. Ever since Jian Qiao met Yuan Baifu, it was like he had entered disaster victim mode—whatever Yuan Baifu did, he found suspicious. He insisted on writing it all down and sending it to Xiao Rong for judgment. If Xiao Rong truly said Yuan Baifu was problematic, Jian Qiao would probably charge off the moment he received the reply to arrest him.

To be fair… Yuan Baifu’s behavior really wasn’t suspicious.

They were both in the army now, and Jian Qiao was watching him like a hawk. If Yuan Baifu had met with outsiders, Jian Qiao would definitely have noticed. The timing was wrong anyway—the army hadn’t even fought the Xianbei yet. Everything was still uncertain. If Yuan Baifu really tried to betray them now, he’d be signing his death warrant. Qu Yunmie wouldn’t even care about the Xianbei, he’d kill Yuan Baifu first.

…

So it wasn’t him. The person or thing that would affect Qu Yunmie’s fate was still lurking beneath the surface.

Xiao Rong felt like a headless fly—he couldn’t find where the threat was coming from, but he refused to sit and wait for death. Although what had happened only made him faint, and thus wasn’t completely irreversible, he knew the system’s warning mechanism wasn’t that sensitive. It just alerted him when his fate value dropped. It wouldn’t keep warning him, so whether it was fainting or coughing up blood, once that moment passed, he would recover.

That didn’t mean the issue had been resolved. In fact, it might still be fermenting—just without the system’s ongoing reminders.

There’s a saying: “You can be a thief for a thousand days, but you can’t guard against one for a thousand days.” Even if Xiao Rong wanted to try, he didn’t have the energy. After all, he was just a fake mystic—he had no powers of divination or foresight. Things beyond his ability were simply out of his control.

Though his rebellious mindset had improved, his anxiety hadn’t. He knew his efforts were a drop in the ocean, but he still reviewed everyone who could potentially threaten Qu Yunmie and investigated them one by one.

…

With someone like Huang Yanjiong, he checked through investigation—what he had done before leaving Chenliu, whether there were hidden plots. When it came to huge forces like Nanyong and the Qingfeng Sect, even if Xiao Rong wanted to investigate what they were doing, he couldn’t.

Their spies and operatives had been developed over decades, even centuries. A small place like Chenliu simply couldn’t compare.

So Xiao Rong’s method was: If I can’t investigate you, then you don’t get to investigate me either. Let’s see if once chaos breaks out in your own backyard, you still have the energy to deal with the front yard.

Xiao Rong quickly printed a batch of the best essays from the anthology and sent people south to post them in major cities’ teahouses and restaurants across Nanyong. He also sought out local aristocrats and clans, saying he wanted to expand theater performances to the south—asking if they were interested in joining the venture.

After the grand literary assembly of a thousand people ended, those scholars continued to discuss the matter even after returning to the South. Jinling was already in turmoil, and now had to endure this group of scholars stirring up public sentiment. Sun Renluan even issued an order forbidding them from speaking of the Chenliu affair again. However, attempting to control the mouths and pens of scholars had always provoked fierce condemnation from them. At first, they stayed quiet for a while and stopped criticizing Sun Renluan’s grip on power, but now, it backfired—they remembered again and resumed their furious attacks on Sun Renluan through their writings.

…

Meanwhile, another force, the Qingfeng Sect, wasn’t much affected. After all, Chen Jiancheng was in Xiakou, beyond the reach of Xiao Rong’s hand. Yet, the people he had stationed in Chenliu suffered greatly. Xiao Rong launched a spy-catching operation, and most of the spies Chen had deployed in Chenliu were captured. The Qingfeng Sect had a huge number of followers, and generally, local believers protected these spies. They wept and begged the officials to release them. When thousands of people pleaded, no official could withstand that pressure.

Chenliu was different. In Chenliu there was a Buddhist disciple, and also a devout Daoist believer, Gao Xunzhi. The former came with a large fan base, which was still steadily growing. The latter supported local Daoist temples and regarded the Qingfeng Sect as a heresy—he expelled them without giving the slightest courtesy.

As a result, there was no space within Chenliu for the Qingfeng Sect to grow. Even though those spies tried very hard to develop followers, they still could not compete with those two giants.

That wasn’t even what angered Chen Jiancheng the most. When he heard that Xiao Rong had locked up the captured spies and was interrogating them one by one, he finally couldn’t sit still.

In his room, Chen Jiancheng jumped up and down in fury. He kept cursing Xiao Rong, showing none of the appearance of a refined, immortal-like man. At that moment, he was like a street ruffian, and one who raged helplessly.

After venting his anger, Chen Jiancheng immediately ordered his subordinates to go to Chenliu and retrieve those who hadn’t yet been exposed. As for those who had already been captured—he told them not to bother.

After giving the order, Chen Jiancheng composed his appearance and hurried off to find Zhou Liang. He acted as if nothing had happened, but Zhou Liang still saw through his bluster. Last time, when they talked about killing Qu Yunmie, Chen Jiancheng had remained calm. This time, Zhou Liang clearly sensed the urgency that Chen Jiancheng accidentally revealed.

Zhou Liang didn’t understand what caused this change, but after thinking it over, he felt it posed no harm to himself.

If it succeeded, his position in the Qingfeng Sect would be solidified. If it failed—well, he was just the one offering ideas, and Qu Yunmie wouldn’t be able to take revenge on him.

So, after pondering for a moment, Zhou Liang asked Chen Jiancheng, “Master, you know all under heaven without leaving your house. Then do you know that after Huang Yanjiong left Chenliu, he made a move against his nephew Huang Keji?”

Chen Jiancheng nodded. “I know.”

Zhou Liang smiled. “Huang Yanjiong publicly claimed that Huang Keji accidentally fell off a cliff and his life or death was unknown. Based on what I know about Huang Yanjiong, once he made a move, it was always a killing blow. If he truly killed Huang Keji, he wouldn’t have announced such a vague and ambiguous outcome. The only reason he did that must be because Huang Keji didn’t die at all, and he doesn’t know Huang Keji’s whereabouts. Fearing he might reappear someday, he gave himself an excuse in advance. Tell me, Master—Huang Keji was just a boy barely of age. How could he have escaped from Huang Yanjiong’s hands and still not shown himself?”

Chen Jiancheng looked at Zhou Liang sincerely. “My Qingfeng Sect also had followers in Yanmen Commandery. I knew long ago that Huang Keji had arrived there. Don’t beat around the bush. Just tell me what to do.”

Zhou Liang: “…”

He silently re-added Chen Jiancheng’s name to the kill list in his heart, tracing it over again. Then he said concisely to Chen Jiancheng, “The solution lies in these two people. Qu Yunmie spared Huang Keji’s life, probably to use him to curb Huang Yanjiong’s momentum. Even so, no matter what, Huang Yanjiong is still family to the Huang clan. Qu Yunmie wouldn’t personally kill Huang Yanjiong. That is his fatal flaw—he is bound by gratitude. He didn’t know what kind of beast Huang Yanjiong was. This plan was clearly not Qu Yunmie’s idea, but Xiao Rong’s. Xiao Rong shares the same flaw as others—they all believe that one should leave a way out when doing things, so as not to push people to desperation.”

Just like back then, had their positions been switched, Zhou Liang would have killed the entire group on the day he discovered Huang Yanjiong’s intentions. Whether it was Huang Yanjiong or Huang Keji, not one would have lived. Reputation was important, yes, but if reputation became a burden, it should be discarded. There was no reason to let them live even one more day.

This was what Zhou Liang most despised about Xiao Rong, and it was also where he felt superior. He believed Xiao Rong was too soft-hearted, far less ruthless than himself, and thus inferior.

…

Thinking of this, Zhou Liang felt very pleased. He even treated Chen Jiancheng more kindly, and with a faint smile, he said, “What Xiao Rong won’t do, Master can do in his place. Please believe—no one in this world knows Huang Yanjiong better than I do. His ambition is vast and has endured for many years. To him, killing him was not as serious as destroying his grand enterprise. A beast gone mad wasn’t something anyone could withstand.”

 

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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