Just then, Feng Qinghe suddenly stood up, stretched, and her bones cracked slightly, dispelling the oppressive atmosphere.
A slightly languid smile returned to her face, her gaze falling on Ah Chen’s cold, hard back by the window.
“Alright, we’ve had enough tea, and sitting here like this is boring.” She said in a light tone, “Brother Ah Chen, don’t just stand there in the cold wind.
Come on, let’s go somewhere.” Ah Chen slowly turned around and looked at Feng Qinghe.
Feng Qinghe said to herself, her voice carrying an alluring leisure: “I heard that there is a good place in this Eighth City, the ‘Wangbei Pavilion’ in the west of the city, which is the highest point in the area.
Standing there, you can see the lights of the entire city, and you can also see the continuous mountain shadows to the north.
The scenery is quite good.” She strolled to Achen’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, gazing at the darkness outside the window.
Her voice carried a hint of sharing a secret: “Especially at this hour, when all is quiet, the stars are dazzlingly bright, and you can hear the wind blowing across the mountain ridges clearly.
It’s lonely to look at it alone, but it’s just right to look at it with someone else.” She turned her head and invited Ah Chen with a smile, “How about it, Brother Ah Chen?
Would you like to come with me to see the best scenery ‘next door’?” Ah Chen’s gaze was like two sharpened knives, piercing straight into Feng Qinghe’s smiling eyes, as if trying to see through that smile to discern the true intentions hidden beneath.
He remained silent, his back subtly shifting its weight, indicating that he was weighing his options.
Feng Qinghe met his gaze calmly, her smile unchanged, even carrying a hint of provocation: “What?
Are you afraid of heights?
Or are you afraid of me?” A few breaths later, Ah Chen squeezed out a short syllable from his throat, his expression unreadable: “Walk.” After saying that, he stopped looking at anyone, turned around, and walked out of the private room first.
His steps were steady, but he carried an aura that said, “Do not disturb strangers.” Feng Qinghe looked at his tall and solitary figure, a glint of triumph flashing in her eyes.
She turned back and casually waved to Gu Anqi and Xie Daoan: “Mr.
Gu, Mr.
Xie, please sit a little longer.
The hangover tea should be ready soon.
I’ll go with Brother Achen to relax.
I’ll be right back.” Gu Anqi stood up and nodded slightly: “Please proceed, Commander Feng.” He looked at Ah Chen in the distance with concern in his eyes.
Xie Daoan smiled and cupped his hands: “Commander Feng, you seem to be in high spirits.” Feng Qinghe said no more and quickly followed Achen’s steps.
The two disappeared at the end of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion corridor, one after the other.
Silence returned to the private room.
Gu Anqi sat back down and sighed softly.
Xie Daoan slowly sipped his tea and said quietly, “Mr.
Gu, there’s no need to worry.
An eagle must soar in the sky to fully realize its potential.” Gu Anqi took a sip of tea and looked out at the dark night.
At this moment, Feng Qinghe and Ah Chen, one after the other, walked under the cold moonlight towards the “Wangbei Pavilion,” which stood on the high ground in the west of the city and overlooked the entire city.
The night was deep, the pavilion was high, the wind was strong, and the cold was biting.
The lights of the thousands of homes in the Eighth City spread out at their feet like scattered stars.
The outlines of the distant mountains appeared dark and silent under the moonlight.
The north wind whistled through the pavilion pillars.
Feng Qinghe and Ah Chen stood side by side before the railing in the pavilion, their clothes fluttering in the wind.
She didn’t look at Achen, her gaze fixed on the city below, as if the topic of the twenty-two spies had never been mentioned.
After a long silence, just when Achen thought she would remain silent forever, Feng Qinghe suddenly spoke.
Her voice was somewhat scattered by the wind, but it clearly reached Achen’s ears: “Brother Ah Chen,” she turned her head, the moonlight outlining half of her face, her eyes appearing particularly deep in the starlight, “having seen my ‘eyes’ today, I’m sure you have your own judgment.
I’m curious, if it were you… how would you train them?” Ah Chen’s gaze shifted from the darkness to Feng Qinghe’s face.
The pavilion was unlit, only illuminated by starlight and moonlight, casting a soft glow on his sharply defined features.
He didn’t answer immediately; only the howling wind filled the space between them.
After a long silence, he finally spoke: “Your people are like a net,” he uttered with disdain.
Feng Qinghe raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting for the next part to continue.
“A net, dense enough, can catch fish, but it can also entangle oneself,” Ah Chen continued, speaking slowly and with weight in every word.
“A spy shouldn’t be a net.” “Then what should it be?” Feng Qinghe pressed, her eyes sharp.
Ah Chen paused for a moment, then uttered two words: “Shadow.” “Shadow?” Feng Qinghe pondered the word.
“Everywhere, nowhere to be found.” Ah Chen’s voice was flat.
“Its form is unseen; only its blade is felt.
One man can be worth ten.
Ten men can wreak havoc on a city.” He paused, then added the most crucial sentence, which was also the core of his philosophy: “The best spies aren’t trained.
They are…
themselves a blade.
Hidden in the streets and in the martial world, they are ordinary people, children and old women.
When unsheathed, they are thunder.” After listening, Feng Qinghe remained silent for a long time.
She gazed at the faint lights within the city walls below, as if imagining how the “shadows” Ah Chen had described lurked among them.
After a while, she suddenly chuckled softly, the sound drifting in the wind: “Shadow… what a clever idea.
Brother Achen, your method certainly saves on supplies.” Her tone was ambiguous, neither praising nor otherwise telling.
“However, how does one hold the hilt of such a ‘knife’ to ensure it never harms its master?” Ah Chen turned his head, meeting Feng Qinghe’s gaze for the first time in a truly meaningful way.
Under the starlight and moonlight, something seemed to shatter in the icy depths of his eyes, revealing a cruel clarity: “No need to grip the handle.” His voice was deep, carrying a detached indifference that seemed to see into the darkness of human nature.
“Let him know that the price of betrayal far exceeds anything he can gain.
And you… will always have an even faster knife next time.” Replacing fragile loyalty with absolute deterrence is the most direct and effective rule in Achen’s world.
Feng Qinghe’s pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
She looked at Achen, as if for the first time truly seeing the vast wasteland within this taciturn man’s heart.
There was no warmth, no luck, only the nakedest laws of survival.
Feng Qinghe suddenly moved closer, the two so close they could feel each other’s breath.
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes, usually smiling or sharp, now fixed intently on Achen’s unfathomable pupils.
The night wind tossed a few strands of her hair, brushing against Achen’s hard jaw, but she remained oblivious.
“Cultivating a shadow,” she repeated the word, her voice low but demanding, “how long will it take?” A few breaths later, Ah Chen parted his thin lips slightly, uttering words that were brief and carried a cruel precision: “Check their qualifications.” “It takes three years to get started and five years to be truly proficient.” “Ten years is enough to make it a powerful tool.” He didn’t use the word “cultivate,” but instead used more concrete and ruthless terms like “entry-level,” “usable,” and “become a powerful tool.” In his eyes, this wasn’t cultivation but forging.
“Three years…five years…ten years…” Feng Qinghe repeated these numbers in a low voice, her gaze still fixed on Achen, as if weighing the weight of the time cost.
Her eyes kept changing, showing contemplation, weighing options, and a frown at such a long period.