Yin Qiubai turned back and looked at the people behind her. Every one of them had tears soaking their robes. These were her Soldiers and Generals—how could they not understand what chaos among the people meant? The phrase “mountains and rivers shattered” was never just four simple words. Who among them didn’t carry painful memories?
This poem contained not a trace of sorrowful tone, yet it cut like a sword through iron armor, piercing directly into the heart.
“Young Master Mu was wrong. How could it not fit the moment?”
Yin Qiubai wiped the corner of her eyes and suddenly realized autumn was near—the air had grown slightly cold.
“Miss, it’s all in the past now… don’t be sad,” Old Huang comforted her softly.
Yin Qiubai sighed faintly and turned to Wu Hong.
Wu Hong quickly clasped his fists, “Marshal Yin, rest assured! I will die before Lord Mu does!”
Old Huang shook his head at him.
Wu Hong was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly added, “Even if I die, Lord Mu will not!”
Old Huang nodded approvingly and patted his shoulder, “Then set out.”
Yin Qiubai gazed once more at the distant carriage.
Young Master Mu… take care.
…
“Young Master Mu, Miss Bai seemed to be crying.”
“You must have seen wrong. How could that be?”
“Haha, not to brag, Young Master Mu, but my eyesight is sharp as a hawk’s!”
“Stop talking nonsense and pick up the pace!”
“I can’t go any faster—the carriage will fall apart. Besides, Young Master Mu, are you all right? You look pale.”
Mu Qingbai’s face was indeed pale—the classic sign of motion sickness.
The little monk slowed down slightly.
“Don’t stop! Keep going!” Mu Qingbai urged anxiously.
The little monk glanced into the distance, worried. “Young Master Mu, are you expecting someone else to see you off?”
Mu Qingbai shook his head. Friends? Him? Not in the capital, not in the entire world!
The little monk pointed ahead. Mu Qingbai followed his finger and indeed saw a group of people standing by the roadside in the distance. Their position was well hidden—if the little monk hadn’t pointed them out, he might not have noticed at all.
The little monk said seriously, “Since you’re leaving the capital and those people aren’t friends, they must be assassins!”
Mu Qingbai’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Mu Qingbai looked back—the grain convoy was already some distance behind them. He finally felt at ease. “Slow down a bit.”
The little monk nodded. “Good idea. It’s safer to wait for the grain convoy to catch up.”
As he spoke, he pulled the reins and stopped the carriage.
Mu Qingbai stared at the distant group with confusion. “If they’re assassins, why aren’t they attacking?”
The little monk scratched his head, “Maybe they’re hesitating because of the soldiers behind us?”
Mu Qingbai paused, then understood—the assassins feared the officials and guards accompanying the convoy.
“Quick! Gallop forward!”
“Huh? I thought we were waiting for the convoy?”
“They’re too slow! The disaster is urgent, we must hurry! I’m the imperial envoy for disaster relief—how can I not reach the site first?”
Mu Qingbai was anxious. He couldn’t let Wu Hong’s soldiers follow too closely, or the assassins wouldn’t dare make a move!
The little monk asked nervously, “Young Master Mu, do you have many enemies?”
“What’s wrong?”
The little monk trembled and said, “So many—so many assassins!”
Mu Qingbai looked and was instantly delighted. So many wasn’t even the word for it—there were so many he couldn’t count them at a glance. It was enough to form a full battalion!
He thought this many assassins could probably clash with the convoy behind them.
The little monk’s face turned ashen. “Young Master Mu, have you offended a lot of people?”
“Of course. In life, who doesn’t?”
The little monk swallowed hard. “You’re right… but this is too many. Still, don’t be afraid. They might look fierce, but they don’t have killing intent. Maybe they won’t actually attack you.”
Mu Qingbai’s face fell. How could that do? If they didn’t attack, how was he supposed to die?
“What do you mean they won’t attack?”
“How should I know? I’m just a monk—I can’t know everything!”
Mu Qingbai roared in frustration, “Damn it! I went through so much trouble leaving the capital so they’d have no scruples about killing me, and now that I’m here, they’re backing down?!”
He grabbed the reins, yanked hard to stop the horse, turned it around, and snapped the whip.
“Hyah!!”
The little monk’s face turned pale. He clung to the side of the carriage and screamed, “Young Master Mu, no! Save me! He’s gone mad again!”
A young assassin asked, “Boss, are we really not attacking?”
The leader replied coldly, “Don’t meddle. Just watch.”
The young assassin hesitated. “But so many of us watching at once—does that even count as watching?”
The leader said sharply, “Each group has its own orders. You watch your side, they watch theirs. Now stop talking!”
“I feel like we’re not watching—we’re glaring,” the young one muttered.
The leader smacked him on the head. “You’re an assassin, not a shy maiden!”
The young man pouted, “But aren’t scholars said to be proud and unyielding? What if he feels insulted by all our glaring and charges us out of anger?”
“Impossible! Scholars treasure their lives—they’d never charge us. Scholar’s pride? Don’t make me laugh!”
“Uh oh!” the young assassin suddenly shouted in terror. “Boss, he’s charging at us!”
“What? Is he insane?!”
“Do we fight?!” The young man’s eyes glinted as his hand went to his blade.
The leader panicked and grabbed his arm. “This is outside the capital! You know how many heads your family has to lose if you draw that blade here? Orders are clear—we just track him until he’s out of the city!”
“Get out of the way!!!”
“Ahhhh!!”
The carriage thundered forward, crashing straight through several groups of assassins, scattering them in chaos.
The little monk clung to the rail, drenched in cold sweat.
Mu Qingbai stood tall on the carriage, reins in hand, eyes bloodshot, looking completely deranged.
“These bastards call themselves assassins? Do they look like assassins to you?!”
He turned the horse again and lashed the reins. The frightened horse neighed and charged at another group.
Screams erupted as the assassins—bound by strict orders not to strike—fled in panic.
Never before had assassins been chased by their own target!
The little monk crouched low on the carriage, staring up at the upright Mu Qingbai as if gazing at a war god.
One man, one carriage—he had scattered dozens, even hundreds of assassins, leaving them broken and fleeing without daring to fight back.
Such ferocity… truly worthy of a madman!
No normal person would ever dare to do this!