Chapter 87: Who is the Mantis Stalking the Cicada?
The night sky, like ink, has been splashed across Jinan, making Jinan resemble Bianjing (Kaifeng) tonight. There is no moon, and even the stars are pitifully sparse. Only scattered lights remain, and whose half-fearful eyes are struggling against the boundless darkness?
The river outside seemed unusually silent at this moment. The sound of its flowing water was quiet, lacking the unease of the Bian River in the darkness, as if still lingering in fear, unaccustomed to the fighting and killing, the life-or-death moments, simply flowing slowly forward. The river reflected little light; the faint ripples were like nocturnal fish, like fallen leaves. The buildings along the riverbank, layer upon layer, their dark outlines, occasionally illuminated by glimmers of light, were reflected in the water.
Xie Huailing walked out of the side room and stepped onto the wooden planks of the corridor. She lowered her head and let out a long yawn.
The two maids held their breath, while Shaman, her hand on the hilt of her sword, followed closely behind. The corridor was long, seemingly endless in the shadows of the night, and there was no one else around, only the sound of their footsteps and the howling wind outside the window.
After walking a few steps, Xie Huailing suddenly stopped. Her hand rested casually on the windowsill, and her gaze fell upon the deep river outside the window. The night had dyed the river water a thick, dark color, and the lights on the opposite bank were blurry, as if seen through a layer of window paper that could never be completely torn away.
The air was thick with moisture and a certain indescribable tension; I could hear my own heartbeat.
But Xie Huailing remained silent.
Her heart seemed still; her fingers tapped lightly on the windowsill, steady and rhythmic, just like her current state of mind. The river would still flow, but she would never.
She had only knocked three or five times when she got what she wanted.
A sharp whistling sound suddenly pierced the silence and tore through the air, the strong wind rushing straight at your face, so fast that it didn't give you any time to react.
However, the sword was even faster. Its sound was clear and melodious, and its movement was like a dragon. The sword was meant to be faster than anything else! For a swordswoman who had been learning swordsmanship since she was ten years old, drawing her sword was an instinct. No one could underestimate her. She judged the situation earlier than anyone else. The sword light was like a beam of cold lightning in the darkness. It slashed down with perfect precision, cutting the wolf-tooth arrow that was shooting from the shadows on the opposite bank of the river in half. The arrowhead hit the window weakly.
"An assassin!"
Sha Manqing gave a sharp shout, her figure moving like a cat, alertly protecting Xie Huailing. Her longsword gleamed coldly, and her eyes, like cold stars, quickly scanned the darkness outside the window. The two maids also reacted swiftly, simultaneously drawing their short swords.
Footsteps, heavy as raindrops, echoed from both ends of the corridor. Several windows were simultaneously smashed open, splintering wood. A dozen dark figures surged into the corridor, their movements swift and deadly, filling the limited space with a palpable sense of killing intent. Guards emerged from the shadows; the screech of blades blocking, the dull thud of razor-sharp cuts into flesh, and short, agonizing groans filled the corridor, as if to overwhelm it. The familiar stench of blood began to permeate the air; the tragedy of life and death was being reenacted, and Jinan had truly become Bianjing.
Shaman's swordplay was light and agile, yet incredibly fast, using speed to break through all techniques. Each strike aimed straight for vital points, each blow swift and decisive. She intercepted all the assassins surging towards Xie Huailing, her sword light weaving an impenetrable net, blood and smoke flying everywhere, her defeated opponents falling one after another.
In the midst of the chaos, her eyes met Xie Huailing's for a brief moment, too brief to see anything clearly, but enough for them to exchange thoughts.
With a sudden change in stance, Shaman let out a breath, her sword aura suddenly surging, forcing back the two assassins in front of her, and shouted sharply, "Take the young lady and go first, I'll cover the rear!"
Without hesitation, the two maids flanked Xie Huailing and retreated. The stairwell was blocked by men in black, and the sounds of clashing weapons came from downstairs, indicating that a melee had already broken out on the first floor as well. One of the maids made a quick decision to go upstairs, and the three of them swiftly ascended the stairs.
The sounds of fighting behind them were slightly cut off, but the footsteps of pursuers followed closely, relentlessly.
The third-floor corridor felt even more empty, with no candles or lamps lit, only the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. There was no safe place here tonight. The moment my foot stepped onto the third-floor floor, the doors on both sides opened silently, and a dozen or so waves of black energy surged out.
They were still dressed in black, wearing the same mask, but their movements were more composed and orderly. The weapons they carried were uniform in style, making them worlds apart from the ruthless assassins downstairs who couldn't hide their江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the world of martial arts and chivalry) air.
Xie Huailing knew perfectly well. These weren't desperate criminals from the Six and a Half Hall; they were assassins from the Southern Prince's Mansion.
Her mood actually improved considerably, even though the number of enemies was increasing, seemingly endless. The remaining guards and maids fought desperately, the incessant clanging of weapons echoing wave after wave. The black tide was determined to engulf her, the situation was constantly changing, the protective circle was being compressed, and whenever a new assassin appeared, someone had to stay behind to cover the rear.
It was only because the Golden Wind and Fine Rain Pavilion was well-trained that they managed to temporarily halt the large number of pursuers by fighting and retreating a certain distance. But at this moment, Xie Huailing was all alone, with only a maidservant by his side.
She leaned against the door of a side room. A maidservant, having desperately parried a knife, tried to avoid injuring her and said urgently, "Miss, please go inside quickly!"
Xie Huailing did not hesitate and pushed open the door to enter.
The lingering stench of blood hadn't dissipated, and even through the wall, it was unusually strong; the sounds of fighting still echoed in her ears. Fortunately, Xie Huailing didn't need to calm her racing heart. Her usually placid eyes narrowed slightly as she looked inside. There were no lights on anywhere; the moonlight barely illuminated the general outline of the room, making it seem as if she were the only person there.
Is it safe?
no.
From the roof beams behind her and above her head, another dark figure nimbly swooped down, a long, narrow knife raised high, its cold blade aimed straight for the back of her neck. This strike was swift, precise, and ruthless; the angle and timing had been meticulously planned from the moment she entered the room.
But it failed; it didn't even get close to its target. The "unsafe" comment, of course, wasn't referring to Xie Huailing.
The assassin felt a chill on his neck, followed by a warm, damp sensation that quickly spread. All his strength was drained in an instant, his vision blurred, and he tried to shout, but only a whirring sound came from his throat.
He understood; it was his blood.
He died as soon as he understood, his heavy body crashing to the floor along with the knife. Just then, the moonlight struggled to pierce through more of the clouds, illuminating the blood gushing from his neck, a dark, meandering trail on the ground, flowing faster than his life itself.
A sharp sword, and a man who became completely different once he wielded it. He stood beside the corpse, the sword tip pointing diagonally at the ground, a drop of blood slowly sliding down the blade before finally falling into the pool of blood.
He had killed many people, those people were like this pool of blood, and killing this assassin was as easy as shaking off a drop of blood.
The shadows painted deep light and dark on his face, and Gong Jiu's eyes shone brightly in the dim light. Blood is the most suitable substance for a swordsman, and so is killing.
Xie Huailing lifted her gaze from the corpse on the ground, swept over the long sword, and finally landed on Gong Jiu's face. She didn't speak, but Gong Jiu spoke first, his voice flat and unconcerned about the little incident: "The Southern Prince's Mansion sent quite a few people."
"I can tell." Xie Huailing's tone was equally calm. She listened to the sounds of fierce fighting outside the door, then turned her gaze to the window, where the darkness outside was gloomy.
It was not just obvious; she had been waiting for this moment. The hunter is most likely to reveal himself when the prey's life hangs by a thread.
The Prince of Nan's mansion would not underestimate her; by dispatching so many assassins, they must be determined to achieve their goal in one fell swoop. Such a meticulous assassination, with so many people involved, would certainly require someone to direct and coordinate it closely, and afterward, someone would be needed to handle the aftermath and confirm the outcome.
That person can't be too far away. She must be nearby, somewhere where she can see this small building, waiting for good news, or waiting for a change in circumstances.
The variable was that she planned to go see her.
Xie Huailing raised his hand, his index finger pointing precisely to the opposite bank of the river, where a cluster of dark buildings stood on the water's edge, slightly higher than their current location.
"There."
Without uttering a single word, Gong Jiu's lips curled slightly—not a smile, but a cruel, unspoken understanding. The next second, he abruptly reached out and grabbed Xie Huailing by the waist, lifting her horizontally in his arms, holding her like a feather. Then, the wooden window shattered, and he and she disappeared into the boundless night outside, leaving behind only the lingering stench of blood and the moonlight reflecting off the devastation.
.
None of the shattered wood pieces hurt Xie Huailing. The night breeze swept over her, and her weariness vanished completely. The scenery was fleeting, passing by so quickly that she couldn't see anything clearly. She only felt a slight pain on her face, and the outlines of the buildings stretched into long lines.
The boundary lines then dispersed back into buildings, and she landed on the ground. Gong Jiu's lightness skill was not as good as Chu Liuxiang's, but about the same as Bai Feifei's. Fortunately, he was carrying Xie Huailing, so she didn't feel dizzy this time and was able to take a good look around.
Standing inside the pitch-black building, Xie Huailing looked around. Gong Jiu's movements were very quiet, as if he hadn't disturbed anyone. All around were dark walls and the reflections of carved paper windows. Behind the shadows of every pillar and every closed door and window, it seemed, lurked watchful eyes, brewing a silent killing intent.
Xie Huailing and Gong Jiu walked side by side into the depths of the building. Her steps were light, her eyes scanning the layout of the corridors. She was all too familiar with this layout, and the most important person must be in the deepest, most secluded spot, overlooking the entire building. She also remembered the direction of the lights in the building from a fleeting glance on the way here, and walked straight towards them without any hesitation.
The closer one gets to the lights, the more stagnant the air becomes. Sure enough, shadowy figures silently appear around corners or behind pillars, as if seeping from the wall plaster. However, their presence is fleeting, faster than the smile of a snowflake.
There was no sword light; Gong Jiu was so fast that Xie Huailing couldn't even see the sword light. Everything was pure to the extreme. In a flash, the sword accurately pierced a person's throat, taking a life as easily as brushing away dust.
The assassin only had time to feel a cold pierce his throat before his life was drained away. Blood barely had time to spread a small patch of color at the wound, and the smell hadn't even disturbed the air before the chilling death had already arrived.
As they continued forward, the number of corpses dwindled. Xie Huailing saw a tightly closed, carved wooden door, through which warm, bright candlelight streamed, casting a narrow strip of light on the ground outside.
The door was ajar, and the lights inside remained on.
She knew she had arrived, knew about the dramatic change in the plan, and knew that there was no need to pretend anymore in front of her.
But she was also quite composed. Xie Huailing stopped in her tracks. Because she had someone to rely on.
What is this reliance?
Xie Huailing knew. Although she didn't understand martial arts, she was insightful and knew better than anyone what would happen next.
Just as she paused, a tall and imposing figure emerged slowly from the darkness in the corridor on the left side of the room and stopped in front of the door. Dressed in pristine white, his face was as hard as jade, and his eyes were indifferent as if looking down upon the world. He stood there like a solitary, towering snow-capped peak, and the mere sight of him holding a sword emanated an invisible aura.
Sword Immortal, Ye Gucheng.
The very title itself signifies the most transcendent swordsman in the martial world. His strength and martial arts have long surpassed the standards of ordinary martial artists. At this moment, he stands before Xie Huailing, carrying with him his killing intent.
Ye Gucheng's deep gaze lingered on Xie Huailing's face. Though his voice was not loud, it was clear enough to echo in the corridor: "To come uninvited is neither the behavior of a gentleman nor the way of a lady."
Xie Huailing met his gaze and retorted sharply, "Weren't you invited?"
She turned her head. Outside the window, in the darkness of the river, the place she had come from was probably the body of some assassin who had been eliminated and disposed of, kicked off the building and sunk to the bottom of the river, the deeper blood staining the river, and tomorrow, the wails of people on both banks could be heard.
"You were invited, weren't you?" Xie Huailing withdrew her gaze and said, "Moreover, compared to coming uninvited, it seems even more impolite to try to take lives and set up a trap to kill. It's really disappointing."
Ye Gucheng maintained his perpetually icy expression and calmly asked, "What disappointment?"
Xie Huailing replied, "A dignified sword immortal actually associates with such people, even going so far as to personally act as a executioner. Lord Ye, isn't this utterly disappointing?"
Ye Gucheng's gaze changed, a deeper coldness taking over. Regardless of his thoughts or whether he had been offended, he no longer lingered on the veiled meaning in his words, saying, "Further words are useless. Tonight, I will kill you."
Xie Huailing showed no fear; instead, she took a step forward. She retorted, "Will you kill me?"
Having said that, his gaze shifted to the sword in his hand. The sword, still sheathed, was already a terrifying presence in this place. Xie Huailing, as if he hadn't heard his threat and had forgotten the occasion, asked, "Is this your sword? How many inches is it? How much does it weigh? Who forged it? And what kind of refined iron was used?"
The rambling questions made Ye Gucheng scrutinize Xie Huailing. She suddenly changed the subject, leaving him to judge whether she was genuinely curious or just stalling before her death.
Ultimately, perhaps out of confidence in his own swordsmanship, or perhaps out of a strange pity for the dying man, he actually answered: "It is three feet seven inches long and weighs seven pounds and thirteen ounces. It was forged from black iron from the South Sea and quenched with spring water from White Cloud City, taking three years to complete. The swordsmith was a descendant of Ou Yezi, who is now deceased."
“It’s a fine sword.” Xie Huailing nodded, but then her gaze sharpened, piercing Ye Gucheng’s deliberately suppressed eyes. “However, why draw such a fine sword?”
Ye Gucheng frowned almost imperceptibly: "Killing doesn't need a reason."
“Killing may not need a reason—” Xie Huailing was someone he couldn’t fool, and his words were firm and resolute, “But a swordsman needs a reason.”
As if burned, alarm bells rang in her mind. Knowing she couldn't let her continue, Ye Gucheng raised his sword, but it was too late. Facing his blade, Xie Huailing actually took another step forward, the tip of his sword just a finger's width away from her life.
With her life hanging by a thread, the sword's intent capable of tearing her apart, the wind around her still and breathless, her fate uncertain, she paid no heed to it all, only asking him, pressing him for an answer: "Lord Ye, why did you draw your sword?"
His mind was restless, yet he could not calm down; Ye Gucheng could no longer retract his sword.
His eyes were fixed intently, impossible to look away from. He felt his blood congeal, his blood turned cold, and his suppressed inner turmoil flared up at the question, as if it were a hidden ailment unique to him. She had hit the nail on the head; she had indeed hit the nail on the head. The situation had been turned upside down by this one question, and he could no longer remain indifferent.
Ye Gucheng shuddered. He was wrong. She was someone who didn't know martial arts, but she was definitely not someone who didn't know swordsmanship. Tonight, there were clearly three swordsmen standing here!
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Ms. Xie: To challenge Ye Gucheng (not really)
It's show time!
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