In the height of summer, Hou Shen felt like ice water had been poured down his trousers, shivering with cold.
“Virtuous, virtuous Brother…” Their relationship was usually terrible, but Hou Shen started calling him “brother” three times in a row, emphasizing the word “virtuous.”
It was clear who he was trying to enlighten.
Rong Juan reassured him: “I’m joking. Killing is physical labor.”
He generally didn’t do it.
Hou Shen was still a little uneasy.
Who in their right mind would even joke about this?
Rong Juan at this moment was truly as calm as a placid lake: “I couldn’t beat them even if I tried, could I?”
Despite saying this, from feeding the bird behind Hou Shen initially to now, his gaze had never left the Wurong people for a moment.
That kind of observation and measurement usually only appeared in extremely patient hunters in the jungle.
Hou Shen finally breathed a sigh of relief. Thinking about it, it made sense. On the way here, this guy had almost slept himself to death in the carriage.
Literally slept like the dead.
Experiencing Rong Juan’s shocking words invisibly weakened his fear of the diplomatic mission.
Hou Shen immediately gathered some courage and said, “Everyone is drunk and not thinking clearly. We will visit again tomorrow.”
Staying longer might lead to bad things. He even specifically tugged at Rong Juan’s arm when intending to leave.
Unexpectedly, seeing that they wanted to leave, the Wurong mission leader cooperated instead, gulping down several cups of wine.
“Wait.” The most arrogant leader stood up: “Didn’t you want to inventory and check the supplies? Let’s go now.”
Hou Shen didn’t notice the strange smiles on the faces of the other envoys behind the leader’s back.
They arrived at the backyard. The gifts brought by the mission were neither light nor heavy.
Hou Shen counted quickly until he was stopped by a large hand on the last few boxes.
The mission leader said gruffly: “These are for our trade, not tribute.”
Hou Shen frowned: “According to the law, they must also be registered.”
“You’ll see them in a moment.” The leader strode toward the trading area with a group of envoys: “Come, let us show you Wurong’s good stuff.”
The commoners in the trading area along the way didn’t want to court bad luck and moved aside one after another. Behind them, pairs of envoys carried large boxes.
Reaching a spacious area, the envoy waved to drive away the original vendors.
The boxes landed heavily. The surrounding people, fearful, disgusted, yet curious, all watched from a distance.
Confirming that what was spread on top were relatively normal utensils, the atmosphere relaxed slightly, and some people stepped closer.
As more people gathered, the envoy suddenly revealed a meaningful smile. He personally walked to the last iron box and threw it open.
This big movement scared people quite a bit.
But soon, everyone discovered it wasn’t weapons inside, but some calligraphy and paintings.
This was even more surprising than seeing weapons. Everyone knew Wurong had no interest in literature and ink.
The envoy stopped keeping them in suspense. He directly unrolled a scroll with the hand that had just gnawed a leg of lamb. With a shake of his greasy hand, whoosh, the expressions of everyone present suddenly became extremely ugly.
In those paintings, there were children forced to toast the Wurong leader with skull cups, and a piece titled “Cockfighting,” where men were dressed as roosters, fighting bare-handed until one died.
“Pretty?” the envoy asked.
Rong Juan didn’t look closely, but from the tip of the iceberg and the faces of the surrounding people, it wasn’t hard to judge what was depicted.
History is always bloody, like the infamous Jingkang Incident. After the defeat, countless members of the royal family, including the Empress Dowager, were immortalized in paintings, their bleached bones turning to historical dust on paper.
This was also why he firmly chose to support Xie Yanzhou.
Xie Yanzhou might not be Yue Fei, but Rong Chenglin was definitely ten Qin Huis.
If Wurong overthrew Great Liang one day, the Imperial City would become a true hell, and he would probably be burned as relics (sarira) as well.
A hall attendant recognized the place from a corner of the background and said with grief and indignation: “It’s Tongyuan City.”
Ten years ago, Old General Xie suddenly died. The court appointed a supervising official to take temporary command, which led to repeated defeats for the army and the fall of Tongyuan City.
It wasn’t until several years later that Xie Yanzhou, who was only a teenager then, recaptured it.
“Wurong has many branches. These tragedies have nothing to do with our tribe. Recently, Wurong has unified, and the new King desires friendship with Great Liang.”
The envoy spoke with emotion, “There are still many descendants with our Wurong blood in Tongyuan. The Great King wants to take them away.”
“Outrageous!” Hou Shen’s face turned red with anger, his lips trembling.
With just one look from the envoy, he ultimately didn’t utter a second sentence.
No one wanted to be the fuse for a war; that was too heavy.
The Wurong envoy was very satisfied with everyone’s appearance of daring to be angry but not daring to speak. The depression from the defeat a few days ago was swept away.
He subconsciously looked at Rong Juan’s pretty face again.
Unfortunately, this one remained the same as before, not flushed with anger like the others. Otherwise, it would have had a different flavor.
Hou Shen didn’t understand why Rong Juan could endure it, acting as if nothing had happened.
Since walking out, he hadn’t said a word from beginning to end, occasionally looking around, his thoughts unknown.
It was an indescribable indifference.
Finally, Rong Juan spoke, but he said: “Brother Hou, it’s time to get off work for the morning.”
“Indifference” was too kind a word; this was basically cold-blooded. However, Hou Shen didn’t want to stay a moment longer anyway. “I’ll go call the carriage.”
Wurong always pushed their luck. Seeing no Liang person dared to rush up and argue, the last bit of apprehension disappeared.
He threw some of the scrolls directly toward Rong Juan, his gaze even more lewd than when drinking.
“I heard Great Liang hangs important notices on the city gate bulletin board. You guys help write one too! If we find our tribe’s bloodline, the new King will thank you all.”
The scrolls were thrown over in a mess, and a few hit Rong Juan’s side.
Next to him, Hou Shen was hit in the midsection and heard an envoy muttering that officials like “two-legged sheep” couldn’t even catch a painting.
Hou Shen finally couldn’t bear it anymore, rolling up his sleeves to rush over.
Beside him, Rong Juan stopped him with one hand, repeating in a low voice: “Brother Hou, it’s time to get off work.”
Fighting was the most time-wasting thing. Often, there was no result, and both sides would get punished.
So he never fought.
Hou Shen glared at him.
The barbarians were arrogant. Getting no response, they made a gesture to paste it on the city wall themselves.
“Hurry up and follow them. If something really happens, you and I will be the first to take responsibility.”
Watching the Wurong’s arrogance reach its peak with his own eyes and seeing no one step forward to stop them, the envoy lost his initial vigilance completely.
This was the best time.
Rong Juan bent down on the spot, quietly placing the birdcage aside, speaking words no one understood: “A bowl of fish soup.”
Wonder if it can make up for the energy spent today.
I need to arrange another annual leave for myself.
When Rong Juan stood up again, the sleepiness in those perpetually drowsy eyes suddenly vanished.
The light in his pupils turned abruptly cold. Rong Juan moved his wrist slightly. The movements, expressions, and positions of all the envoys seemed to completely turn into a static painting before him.
At this moment, the mission leader had already stepped past them. Walking further forward would lead out of the hall area. Matching his loud laughter was the sound of a blade being drawn without warning.
The saber hanging on that robust waist was drawn by a hand other than its owner’s.
Rong Juan drew the blade extremely fast. The jet-black hilt and the thin, pale wrist were completely mismatched.
He raised the butcher’s knife.
Previously, the Wurong envoy raised his arms high to display the paintings, indirectly giving others a perfect opportunity to snatch the weapon.
Rong Juan chose the timing perfectly. The companions behind were either talking or in a position where they couldn’t rescue in time. They were scattered like they were holding an art exhibition.
The swish of the blade drawing pierced eardrums.
The Wurong leader’s face changed drastically. Ignoring the painting, he immediately tried to counterattack while dodging the first thrust of the sharp blade.
Left-handed.
This was observed earlier.
Rong Juan anticipated the direction seconds in advance, dodging toward the safe side.
The fist wind scraped past his ear.
He said softly: “Koukou.”
[Temporarily mobilizing energy—]
[Irrigating nutrient solution—]
The mechanical lifeform cooperated decisively, temporarily leaving his body in a transparent form. A strange thing happened: the envoy’s massive body seemed to hit the air and bounced back.
Due to inertia, the envoy stumbled.
The world had its own restrictions. The power the System could use was quite limited, especially against nobles and ministers; pure force would be suppressed to the extreme.
But temporarily activating a “firewall” for Rong Juan was still easy.
Knowing the most important step had to be done by himself, Rong Juan used the arm infused with the System’s power to stab toward the opponent’s chest.
“Pfft.” The side effects of the poison, usually suppressed by the System, flared up.
After the System forcibly infused power, Rong Juan instantly became weak.
This scene exceeded everyone’s expectations.
By the time they reacted, the perpetrator had rigorously stabbed another symmetrical knife wound to prevent the envoy’s heart from being on the right side.
Pfft.
Pfft.
The stabbed and the stabber, the envoy and Rong Juan, face to face, spat blood at each other mouthful for mouthful.
Rong Juan was exhausted.
The envoy was dying.
The Wurong leader felt as if he had hit a ghost wall; his body couldn’t move. But the person across from him was spitting blood more and faster than he was.
His eyes, filled with reluctance, nearly bulged out. He wanted to say something, but all he could manage was a few broken words: “You… mad…”
The envoy wanted to ask if he was crazy, but his throat was blocked by blood.
Rong Juan didn’t even give him a look.
His official hat had fallen due to the large movements. To prevent the other party from having infectious diseases, Rong Juan kept his eyes tightly closed the moment he stabbed.
His strange posture made him look devoid of any heroic demeanor, as if he dared not face reality.
Only Hou Shen was close enough. When Rong Juan withdrew his hand, he heard that soft, gasping, terrifying voice—
“Brother Hou, now we can get off work.”
Hou Shen’s hair stood on end.
It wasn’t until the mission leader fell to the ground, dust flying, that everyone finally realized what had happened.
The scene instantly fell into chaos. Seeing their leader killed, the envoys rose in fury, only to be stopped by the Tao brothers, who arrived in time upon hearing the commotion.
Hou Shen forced himself to recover, shouting to the soldiers with his remaining composure: “Why aren’t you arresting the perpetrator!”
The soldiers maintaining order in the hall immediately surrounded Rong Juan. They acted in perfect tacit understanding, all turning their backs to Rong Juan, forming a solid wall, watching the Wurong people defensively.
Now it really couldn’t be cleaned up.
Hou Shen tried to push Rong Juan toward the center of the soldiers, his eyes about to split: “Didn’t you just say you were joking?!”
Rong Juan took out a handkerchief, unsure if he was wiping blood or coughing it up: “Yeah, the joke got a bit big.”
He’s killed him anyway. It’s not like apologizing would get him off with just two days of grounding.
“…”
Given the Emperor’s soft nature, even the Gold Medal of Immunity from Death might not protect him from such a grave crime. Hou Shen was anxious like an ant on a hot pan, almost cursing.
The mission was already shouting for a life for a life.
“Quick, take him away!” Hou Shen ordered seamlessly.
After all, the mission had fewer people and couldn’t break through. They were clearly furious, reverting to their native language.
Hou Shen bit the bullet and roared: “This is Great Liang territory. If a Liang person committed a crime in the Wurong tribe, would you transport him ten thousand miles away for accountability?”
While the two sides wrangled endlessly, Rong Juan had already been escorted out. Outside, more soldiers had rushed over.
The leader didn’t put shackles on him, whispering: “Brother, I respect you as a man.”
Rong Juan leaned against the door, clearly unable to walk. Killing someone almost tired him to death.
“Can you call a carriage for this man?” he asked.
A horse carriage was definitely out of the question; it would look bad.
But thinking of Rong Juan’s fearless stab, the soldier insisted on satisfying this wish no matter what: “I’ll push you.”
At worst, use a pushcart.
As long as there was a vehicle to sit in. This bloodstained appearance wasn’t suitable for boarding his beautiful mink-furred carriage anyway.
Rong Juan said, “Thank you for your trouble,” and leaned against the door to nap calmly.
A moment later, he was helped onto a small pushcart used for selling vegetables, voluntarily sponsored by a vendor.
The commoners on the distant streets didn’t know what had happened yet.
Seeing an official with a bloody face being pushed away, they asked around in shock.
Among them, a figure observing from a street corner dared not delay for a moment, heading straight for the Superintendent Bureau.
“Where is the Lord?”
“The Lord is discussing matters; no entry unless urgent…”
“Quick, announce me. Something big has happened!”
After gaining permission, the spy entered the inner chamber almost without stopping.
“My Lord, it’s bad!”
The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the room. The Chief Superintendent was talking to Bu San at the main table. Interrupted, he sat down, took a sip of tea to moisten his throat, and waited calmly for the rest.
The subordinate stated the key point immediately: “The mission leader has been killed.”
Bu San’s expression changed.
The Chief Superintendent’s hand holding the tea only slowed slightly. He looked up: “Did Yuzhong do it?”
Yuzhong was Xie Yanzhou’s courtesy name.
“It has nothing to do with the General.”
The Chief Superintendent finally seemed genuinely interested. It seemed the murderer was more worthy of attention than the envoy’s death itself: “Besides my adopted son, who else in the capital dares to do this now?”
“Also your son.” The subordinate said in a low voice: “Noble Son Rong Hengsong.”
“…”
Author’s Note:
Rong Juan: It was the deceased who disturbed my sleep first. It was the deceased who walked in front of me first. It was the deceased who provided the weapon. I was forced and had no choice.
Finally, calmly shouting in opera style: I am wrongly accused—