The aroma of tea filled the private room, replacing the smell of alcohol from before.
Feng Qinghe picked up the purple clay teapot and poured hot tea for each person, filling it about seven-tenths full.
Her movements were not as bold as when she was drinking but rather leisurely.
She pushed a cup of tea in front of Ah Chen, her gaze falling on his perpetually cold and hard profile.
“Brother Achen,” her voice was low, slightly hoarse from the alcohol, yet clear and distinct, “you’ve been following me since we entered the city, and you haven’t uttered a single word.” She tapped the table lightly with her fingertips, her eyes sharp enough to pierce through to the heart.
“Tell me, what have you seen along the way, from the city gate to here?
Is my eighth city even worthy of your attention?” When Feng Qinghe asked this question, she asked it casually, as if she were asking about something trivial.
However, her gaze swept over Achen as she asked the question.
Xie Daoan paused slightly while stroking his beard and looked at Achen with a smile.
Gu Anqi also put down his teacup and calmly looked at Achen with a subtle, probing look.
Ah Chen picked up the teacup in front of him but didn’t drink.
He looked up and met Feng Qinghe’s smiling eyes.
He didn’t answer immediately, and only the faint sound of boiling tea remained in the private room.
After a few breaths, he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, his speech slow: “The city brick, the third layer, the west side, has a three-inch crack, a new one.” “Soldier, the change of guard password is half a breath too late.” “The sentries in the granary are hiding; their breathing is heavy and cannot be concealed.” “The market, the blacksmith’s shop, the quenching water—it doesn’t taste right.” “And another thing,” he said, his gaze sweeping across a certain direction outside the window before finally settling on Feng Qinghe’s face, his tone flat, “that lame old soldier who came into the city with you; his left hand is calloused, but he wields a knife in his right.” With each word he spoke, Feng Qinghe’s smile deepened.
By the time she finished speaking, her eyes were filled with undisguised admiration.
Xie Dao’an’s hand, which was stroking his beard, stopped completely, and a glint flashed in his eyes.
Gu Anqi nodded slightly, seemingly unsurprised that Achen could observe these things.
After Ah Chen finished speaking, he fell silent, lowered his head, and blew on the tea foam, as if he had only commented on the weather.
Feng Qinghe was silent for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter.
Her hearty laughter filled the small room.
She picked up her teacup and gestured to Achen: “Good eye.
Brother Ah Chen, your eyes are like an eagle’s, even sharper than the best scout in the city.” She downed her tea in one gulp and said to Xie Daoan, “It seems that the New Year in the Eighth City won’t be so easy.” Xie Daoan stroked his beard and took over the conversation, his face bearing the gentle smile of an elder, yet his eyes were clear and bright as he looked at Achen: “Commander Feng is absolutely right.
Brother Ah Chen’s keen insight and meticulous mind are truly like an eagle soaring through the nine heavens, surveying the entire situation and discerning every detail.” He first praised Feng Qinghe, then subtly changed the subject, his tone remaining calm: “Since that’s the case, I’d like to test Eagle Eyes again.
In Brother Chen’s opinion, from the moment we stepped into this ‘Drunken Immortal Pavilion’ until now, as we sit here drinking together, how many of us are our own people, both inside and outside the pavilion, openly and secretly?
Or rather, how many eyes has Commander Feng arranged to watch over this ‘peaceful’ meal?” This question was far more sensitive than the previous inquiry about the city’s defenses; it directly touched upon the most secretive deployment of Feng Qinghe’s forces and even concerned her personal safety.
Xie Daoan was both further testing Achen’s insight and silently reminding Gu Anqi and Achen that even a simple meal was never outside the game of power.
For a moment, the private room fell silent, and even the noise outside the window seemed to fade away.
Gu Anqi lowered his eyes to look at the tea leaves floating in his cup, his expression calm, as if he were detached from everything, yet he took it all in.
Feng Qinghe picked up her teacup, a thoughtful smile on her lips, and looked at Achen with a leisurely air, as if she was also looking forward to his answer.
Ah Chen remained expressionless.
He put down the teacup he had been caressing and slowly scanned every corner of the private room—the carved window frames, the gaps in the screen, even the beams overhead.
His gaze was almost tangible, and wherever it passed, even the air seemed to freeze.
Then his gaze turned to the window, sweeping over the bustling lobby downstairs, the quiet eaves across the street, and the dim lights on the distant street corner.
The whole process took only a few breaths.
He withdrew his gaze, looked back at Xie Daoan, his lips moved slightly, and he uttered a few clear numbers without any explanation: “Inside the building, there are seven people.
Outside the building, there are eleven people in three groups.” He paused, then added the last sentence, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over Feng Qinghe: “Two hundred and thirty paces from the southeast corner tower, there is another one.
He is an archer.” When Ah Chen clearly said “eleven people,” the air in the private room seemed to freeze for a moment.
Upon hearing this, Feng Qinghe was slightly taken aback at first, then lowered her head, her shoulders twitching slightly as she let out a suppressed chuckle.
Suddenly, she raised her hand and slapped Achen’s stiff shoulder hard, her laughter ringing out: “Hahahaha…Good!
Well done, Brother Ah Chen!
Your eyesight is indeed sharp!
Eleven of them, not one missing, you’ve found all the ‘eyes’ that I put out in the open for you to see!” She leaned closer with a smile, a mischievous glint in her eyes, her tone intimate as if teasing her own brother, yet her words were like a knife hidden in cotton: “However, you still need to practice your eyesight.
Just seeing the obvious stakes isn’t enough.” Just then, Xie Daoan, who had been stroking his beard and smiling, spoke slowly and calmly.
His voice was like a boulder thrown into a deep pool: “Brother Ah Chen’s observations are remarkable, truly admirable.
However,” he paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over the three people present, finally settling on Ah Chen’s face with a profound meaning, “even I only just learned the full extent of Commander Feng’s arrangements.
The overt and covert complement each other; the real and the illusory intertwine.
And these overt stakes—inside and outside the building, in all directions, including the manager and waiters of this Drunken Immortal Pavilion, even the old man who delivered firewood to us an hour ago… in total, twenty-two eyes are all in their proper places.” He gently set down his teacup, making a soft “tap” sound, and added the most crucial sentence: “Moreover, coincidentally, all twenty-two of these people had met you two to some extent after we entered this city.” “Twenty-two…” “We’ve already met…” These words were like a thunderclap, exploding in the private room, yet leaving no sound.
Gu Anqi paused in his cup-holding hand, a look of astonishment flashing across his gentle eyes.
Every scene he had witnessed since entering the city that day flashed through his mind—the crowded streets, the attentive waiters, the old man selling charcoal on the street, even the child who had accidentally bumped into him… All those seemingly accidental encounters were now shrouded in an obscure hue.
Ah Chen’s aura suddenly turned dangerous.
His gaze shot towards Feng Qinghe, surging with a furious rage at being fooled and disbelief.
He had only detected the obvious spies planted by the other side!
Even more terrifying was that these people had already met him before, without him noticing during the day!
For someone as vigilant as he was, this was an unprecedented provocation and humiliation.
Feng Qinghe took in their reactions.
She slowly refilled her teacup, her face still bearing that languid smile, as if they had merely discussed the weather.
“Mr.
Xie is right.
Brother Achen, don’t be angry.
I’m a man who values my life and is timid.
When I’m out and about, I always have to bring a few more ‘eyes’ to feel at ease.” Her tone was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp as knives, lightly sweeping over Achen and Gu Anqi.
“Besides, doesn’t this also prove that I really consider you two ‘one of my own’?
I’ve even shown you my family’s secrets.” Ah Chen’s chest heaved slightly, his fists clenched so tightly they ached all over, but in the end he could only manage to squeeze out an ambiguous sound from his throat: “snort.” He turned his head away, looking out the window, radiating a chilling aura that kept strangers at bay.
The night outside was dark, seemingly reflecting the turbulent emotions churning within him.
Gu Anqi remained silent for a moment, then slowly put down his teacup.
His face had returned to calm, and he even showed a helpless smile: “Commander Feng’s considerations are thorough.
Anqi…
admires you.” His tone was gentle, revealing no emotion, but deep within his usually calm eyes, a raging storm had been brewing.
Xie Daoan watched the scene before him, lowered his eyes to sip his tea, concealing the glint in his eyes.
Feng Shuai’s reveal of his true intentions, and the entanglements between these two “guests” and the Thirteen Alliance, would likely be difficult to unravel in the future.
Inside the private room, the aroma of tea lingered, but the relaxed atmosphere had vanished.
Twenty-two invisible eyes seemed to be watching from all directions, making this seemingly ordinary dinner party a nerve-wracking experience.
Gu Anqi sat quietly with his eyes lowered, his fingertips tracing the rim of the rough pottery cup, as if savoring the aftertaste of the tea or perhaps processing the shock brought on by the “twenty-two pairs of eyes” just now.
Xie Daoan, on the other hand, had already returned to his calm and composed demeanor, leisurely sipping his tea, as if the ripples that had just been stirred up had nothing to do with him.