Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Failed Assassination

Lin Chong came from a military background, while Wu Song and Yan Qing were true men of the underworld. Not long after they checked into the inn, the two noticed something amiss: the army that ought to have been stationed close by had instead chosen lodgings a street away, and no soldiers had been sent to patrol near their quarters.

Such an abnormal situation was bound to be a harbinger of trouble. After informing Lin Chong, the two prepared themselves for any contingency.

The inn had been chosen at the last minute, so even if there were an ambush, it would be hastily arranged; there was no way the conspirators could have scouted out every nook and cranny. Once night fell, Wu Song donned his black garments and, under cover of darkness, took up position on the rooftop next door. Yan Qing, meanwhile, quickly made the cellar suitable for hiding—spacious enough for people, yet not easily discovered for some time.

The cellar, intended for storing vegetables and grain, was warm in winter and cool in summer, and most importantly, it was well-ventilated, so hiding inside was not suffocating.

No sooner had Zhao Yu and the two girls concealed themselves than flames suddenly erupted outside. Seeing this, Yan Qing and Lin Chong immediately jumped into the well to avoid being burned.

Wu Song, concealed on the adjacent rooftop, had a clear view. Nearly a hundred men, he saw, were moving firewood in the darkness. After setting the wood alight, they did not withdraw, but instead drew their bows and stood guard around the inn, clearly intent on preventing anyone from escaping.

Zhao Yu’s group were not the only guests in the inn. As the blaze took hold, panicked cries erupted as others fled for their lives. Without hesitation, the archers outside shot down anyone who tried to escape, showing a cruelty beyond compare.

The light of the flames and the shrieks of the dying echoed through the night, yet, strangely, no townsfolk or constables came to fight the fire, though the inferno raged for quite some time. Wu Song quickly deduced the reason: someone had blocked off the nearby streets or had arranged with the authorities in advance, ensuring there would be no rescue. As for who this person was, there was little need to guess.

By the firelight, Wu Song saw clearly that among the assassins were two leaders: a young man wielding a massive bow, and a middle-aged man with a thin mustache. Both stood watching the burning inn with grave expressions and sharp, vigilant eyes.

After a while, when no more people emerged and the fire had begun to die down, the middle-aged man gave a sharp command: “Go!” At his order, a dozen men in black created a gap in the encirclement and swiftly leapt inside, while the middle-aged man and the archer remained where they were.

Soon, more screams came from within, but the two leaders showed no satisfaction; it was clear they had not heard the sounds they were waiting for.

Then, more cries rang out from the blaze, and several dark figures flew out from the burning building. Before they could hit the ground, dozens of deadly arrows shot forth, turning them into human pincushions in an instant. Only then did the archers realize these were their own comrades who had entered earlier.

The middle-aged man, instead of anger, let out a hearty laugh: “Little Yu, hiding your head and showing your tail is not your style!...” Before he could finish, a blade flashed through the air, forcing him to twist away in alarm. Only then did he realize that one of the black-clad figures was already locked in combat with his own men.

Wu Song, with his keen eyes, immediately identified the young archer as the greatest threat. Since Lin Chong and Yan Qing had already engaged, that was his signal. Without hesitation, he charged straight at the young man.

Had Zhao Yu been there, he would have recognized Lü Shilang and Pang Wanchun, but his skills were lacking and Yan Qing and the others would not let him out. Pang Wanchun was now entangled with Wu Song, giving Lin Chong and Yan Qing the chance to break out. Ordinary archers posed no threat to them.

Lü Shilang’s men were skilled, but compared to Lin Chong and Yan Qing, they were outmatched. Lin Chong moved like a phantom, his spearwork divine; Yan Qing’s close combat was swift and relentless. When these two unleashed their fury, they tore through the ranks like tigers among sheep, leaving the so-called “elite” of the sect fleeing in all directions.

Pang Wanchun was in dire straits as well. Though a master archer, Wu Song gave him no chance to use his bow, pressing him with relentless, merciless strikes until Pang was almost overwhelmed.

Lü Shilang had some skill in martial arts, but his true talent was in running away. Having witnessed the terrifying prowess of Wu Song and his companions, he quickly thought only of escape.

“Protect Brother Pang! The wind’s changing—retreat!” he shouted, but even as he ordered his men to shield Pang Wanchun, Lü Shilang himself turned and ran without a backward glance.

With the boss fleeing, who would stay to fight? Nearly half their hundred-odd men had fallen in moments to these two fearsome opponents; to remain was to court certain death.

Though Lü Shilang called for Pang’s protection, his own men pretended not to hear, scattering in all directions.

Lin Chong and Yan Qing were not interested in a prolonged fight. After casting a glance at Wu Song’s ongoing struggle, they turned and slipped back into the smoldering ruins of the inn.

Only then, at last, did the distant sounds of people crying out for water and rescue begin to echo through the night.

Pang Wanchun was no match for Wu Song even at the best of times; now, with Lü Shilang leading the retreat, his spirit was utterly broken. In his panic, he failed to guard himself and was sent sprawling by a kick from Wu Song.

Wu Song had actually held back—he could have easily killed Pang then and there.

With a blade to his throat, Pang Wanchun’s face was ashen, but he forced himself to say, “If you’re going to kill or torture me, make it quick. If I flinch, I’m no true man.”

“I won’t kill you,” Wu Song replied. “Your sect is full of ungrateful traitors like you—frankly, that suits me just fine!”

As he spoke, Zhao Yu appeared behind Wu Song, accompanied by Lin Chong.

“You know him, Your Highness?” Wu Song asked.

Zhao Yu curled his lip. “He was caught by the authorities, and Brother Shi Qian begged me to save him. Ha! Brother Shi Qian really misjudged this one. Wu Song, let him go—don’t sully your blade on the likes of him.”

Pang Wanchun’s face was hard to see in the darkness, but his eyes held a storm of conflicting emotions; Zhao Yu’s words had clearly struck deep.

When Wu Song sheathed his blade, Zhao Yu continued, “Go back and tell Fang La—I have no interest in meddling in your petty affairs, but he’d do well to keep his head down. Otherwise, he’ll die a terrible death.”

It wasn’t that Zhao Yu was particularly merciful. With a coward like Lü Shilang and now a turncoat like Pang Wanchun, the sect was hardly a threat. Better to let Pang live and set him against Lü Shilang.

In truth, Pang Wanchun was not entirely to blame. He was not so much ungrateful as consumed by hatred for those officials who had destroyed his family. Without knowing Zhao Yu’s character, he had simply been manipulated by Fang La.

Pang silently picked up his great bow, then walked off into the darkness without a word of thanks.

Zhao Yu paid him no further mind. By now, the din of approaching footsteps grew louder, and glancing around, he saw a sea of constables and imperial guards.

As these men reached the scene of the fire and saw the corpses and wounded strewn everywhere, cries of horror burst from their lips, and the constables swiftly encircled Zhao Yu and his group.

Zhao Yu motioned to Lin Chong and Wu Song to stay calm—for he had already spotted Qin Xi, his face stricken with terror, among the crowd...