Chapter 68: The Beginning of Division (Third Update)

When Second Brother Ye was lovesick, after days of contemplation, various nobles of the capital began to move about, often gathering in groups to discuss countermeasures. With Ye Feng’s powerful arrival in the capital, anyone with a bit of wit could foresee that the Empire’s mortal enemy, the Holy Land, was soon to descend as well.

The fierce battle between the Empire and the Holy Land fifteen years prior, once again resurfaced in the minds of these nobles, spread by storytellers throughout the city. The frequent interactions among the elite and the subtle maneuvers from forces already aligned with the Ye family all foretold the coming of another storm. The seeming tranquility on the surface was merely the calm before the tempest; only a single catalyst was needed for the storm to break, and none would escape its wrath...

The timing of this catalyst was uncertain—perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in three or five years—no one knew. Amidst this suffocating calm, some families sternly warned their younger generations to act discreetly. No one wished to become the spark that ignited the storm, for the first to perish in war would surely be the one who lit the fuse.

Under this strange atmosphere, another dozen days passed in the blink of an eye.

On one of these tense days, Ye Feng quietly left the Ye residence. It was his first time venturing out since arriving in the imperial capital.

He walked silently through the streets, his mind racing as he pondered how to shake off the tails trailing him. Today, he was heading to the slaughterhouse where the deal for the “Burrowing Rat” was to take place. He needed no confirmation to know that spies sent by hidden hands followed him.

Strolling as if at leisure, he unknowingly shook off most of his pursuers, but two or three still lingered, keeping their distance with keen senses, trailing him like shadows. Though he couldn’t see them, Ye Feng was certain they watched him coldly from somewhere close by. This instinct came from his years as the King of Assassins; though he had no concrete evidence, he trusted his judgment implicitly.

Ye Feng found himself deeply intrigued by these hidden followers. As the King of Assassins, if he couldn’t even root out the tails stalking him, what was the point of his reputation?

He continued to wander aimlessly, extending his senses to the fullest. Every detail around him imprinted itself on his mind, as if liquid mercury had seeped into every corner.

Yet despite this, he could still feel the presence of the tails, persistent and unshakable. What frustrated him even more was his inability to pinpoint their exact location.

At that moment, a thousand meters away in a tavern, five burly men sat inside, drinking strong liquor heartily, their laughter and conversation boisterous.

If Ye Feng could have heard their words amidst their table-slapping and laughter, he would have raised his thumb in admiration:

“Could it be he’s spotted us?” one man laughed as he spoke, squeezing the words discreetly from between his teeth.

Smack!

The companion across from him slammed the table, one leg sprawled carelessly over the bench, speaking loudly. Just as the previous man had, he let slip quietly, “He’s damnably alert!”

All five were peak Spirit King-level experts; even a Spirit Sovereign might not detect their presence during a tail. Yet today, a mere youngster had sensed something amiss, vexing them greatly.

When they first received such a simple assignment, they scoffed, thinking it beneath them. Now, they’d set aside their arrogance.

As they tracked Ye Feng, he darted left and right, sometimes ducking into dead-end alleys. Had they not ignored his antics, they would’ve been exposed long ago.

“Yeah—he’s slippery as hell!” Amid their feigned conversation, they suddenly saw Ye Feng quicken his pace and enter a cosmetics shop.

The men exchanged helpless glances—what trick was he up to now?

After waiting a long while with no sign of Ye Feng, impatience got the better of them. They rushed over for a peek, only to find he had slipped out the back door.

“What else can we do? Report back. This job’s out of our hands.”

As dusk slowly descended and the sunset faded, night unfurled its savage jaws, poised to devour the land once the last light vanished.

Ye Feng hid in a teahouse corner for a long time before finally strolling out, a smug smile tugging at his lips. As the King of Assassins, he might not have found his pursuers, but when it came to shaking off a tail, he claimed second place—no one dared claim first! He chuckled to himself: the revolution is not yet won, comrades must still strive!

With the tails gone, Ye Feng wandered leisurely through the bustling capital, gradually approaching the slaughterhouse.

Suddenly, his body tensed mid-stride. Without betraying a hint, he slowly turned, a dagger slipping silently into his palm.

Several chilling auras converged from every direction, icy and indifferent, targeting Ye Feng in the mid-sized alley where he now stood.

The same kind of aura! Yet clearly not masters at concealing their killing intent.

Assassins!

“Damn it! Six Spirit Sovereign-level assassins! Are you kidding me? I’ve just shaken off those tails, and now an ambush? Six Spirit Sovereigns…” Ye Feng kept walking at a steady pace, feigning ignorance.

“Is the fool up ahead mad? How dare he block Princess Anran’s royal procession?” Amidst the rhythmic march, a team approached, with a sedan at its center. The canopy was bright yellow, strands of pearls hanging on either side, swaying gently with crisp, melodious sounds. A guard beside the sedan halted, pointing at Ye Feng and scolding him.

This was the royal procession of Princess Anran!

“Uh!” Ye Feng suddenly looked up—his attention had been focused entirely on the assassins, oblivious to the sedan before him.

“Could it be that these killers aren’t after me, but after Princess Anran?” Sensing the murderous intent waver at this scene, he stood silently among the crowd.

Ye Feng quickly calculated, and realized it was highly possible. He had wandered casually to this spot; if someone wanted to assassinate him, there were many better places along his route. No assassin would wait until here, of all places, to strike!

But who would dare attempt an assassination on Princess Anran in broad daylight, right in the capital?

His mind was entirely on Princess Anran now; he never considered that among the Thirty-Six Stratagems, one was the tactic of sowing discord.