Chapter 33

A group of rough-looking men barged in, their raised torches of rosin wood casting a bright light across the great hall, revealing the fierce menace etched on their brows.

Seeing people already inside the hall, the group was taken aback.

Seeing such a group enter, aside from the burly-faced man who continued adding firewood to the flames as if oblivious, Fu Tingjun and the others were equally surprised.

For a moment, the great hall fell silent, broken only by the struggling sobs of two young women held captive by the group. Their struggles exposed the peach-pink and onion-green undergarments they wore, lending the summer night an eerie stillness.

"Ha ha ha!" Someone burst into wild laughter. "Who would've thought someone dared to occupy our turf!" His voice was cold, laced with murderous intent.

Fu Tingjun quickly followed the sound.

It was a man in his thirties with a square face, wearing a short coarse garment open at the chest, revealing a scar-covered torso. He stood at the front of the group, speaking while glancing back over his shoulder.

The men behind him immediately joined in with raucous laughter, as if Fu Tingjun and the others had done something utterly foolish.

From the group in the northwest corner, a man who looked like the shopkeeper walked over with a smile, cupping his fists amiably toward the square-faced man. "Elder brother, we are traveling merchants who missed our lodging while passing through. We truly had no idea this was your esteemed territory." As he spoke, a sharp "shing" rang out—he suddenly drew a soft sword from his waist. Without any visible movement of his hand, the blade flickered, producing six sword blossoms in quick succession, then let out a crisp "zheng" as it straightened, gleaming like autumn frost under the torchlight. "If we have been discourteous, please forgive us!" He said, pointing the sword tip at the ground, carving a deep groove into the bluestone floor that cut deep enough to reveal the earth beneath. Then, from somewhere, he produced a money pouch and tossed it toward the square-faced man. "Consider this my apology to you brothers—a little something for you to buy a drink. Please, honored hero, allow us to stay one night. We'll leave at dawn."

Fu Tingjun's heart shook violently.

A Sen had said the burly one was a martial artist, but she never expected this mild-mannered shopkeeper to be one as well. Though she knew nothing of martial arts, anyone who could make a soft sword as rigid as an iron rod and carve such a deep groove into the ground surely possessed extraordinary skill.

The square-faced man clearly recognized this too. He didn't take the money pouch but instead stared at the groove before him, his expression shifting unpredictably.

Another man stepped forward.

He was in his early twenties, tall and powerfully built, with a simple, sturdy frame—comparable in stature to the burly man in the northwest corner, though the former looked coarse and brutish while the latter seemed bold and heroic—one like a butcher, the other like a knight-errant.

He picked up the money pouch, opened it, and glanced inside, a hint of delight spreading across his face.

"Big brother!" He called out loudly to the square-faced man, then lowered his voice. "Genuine official silver, gleaming white—a hundred taels."

The hall was small, and everyone heard him clearly.

The square-faced man's gaze wavered, but the men behind him erupted into chatter.

Some whispered: "Big brother, why don't we just kill them? The silver will be ours anyway!"

Others murmured: "Big brother, a hundred taels is too little—we should ask for two or three hundred!"

Still others said: "Big brother, since we're staying in the rear wing anyway, why not just lend the main hall to these merchants for the night?"

Fu Tingjun's heart was in turmoil.

That man had first demonstrated his skill by carving a deep groove with his soft sword, then offered a hundred taels of silver—combining force with persuasion. The group would likely let them go. But that put the others in the hall in a difficult position—if they tried to bribe with silver like this man, they lacked his martial prowess; if they didn't, why would those men let them go...

She couldn't help but glance toward the burly-faced man in the southwest corner.

He was pouring something from an iron pot into a large bowl on the ground, the aroma of meat wafting through the air. He looked utterly unconcerned.

Fu Tingjun's heart sank.

It seemed this man also had the means to protect himself!

The thought flashed through her mind when the square-faced man bellowed: "All of you, shut up!"

The noise behind him ceased abruptly.

"Since you know some manners, I'll show some leniency." The square-faced man said. "But you'll need to add another two hundred taels!" His tone carried a hint of uncertainty, and a hint of testing the waters.

"Thank you, thank you!" The man who appeared to be the shopkeeper revealed a smile that was both surprised and grateful. He hastily instructed the burly man, who took out a red lacquered box from the small cart and then produced a money pouch from his bosom, handing it to the shopkeeper-looking man. The shopkeeper opened the pouch, examined its contents, then spoke a few words to the handsome-featured man. The handsome-featured man hesitated for a moment before also producing a money pouch and handing it to the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper opened it, looked inside, then placed the money from both pouches into the red lacquered box. With a beaming smile, he handed it to the square-faced man: "This is the remaining two hundred taels."

Fu Tingjun's heart sank to the depths.

The shopkeeper's elaborate performance made it seem as though they had no money left on them, which would reduce the square-faced group's greed toward them, making them relatively safer.

The sturdy, simple-looking man took the money pouch and carefully counted its contents.

The snow-white silver gleamed with a cold, refined luster under the torchlight.

Fu Tingjun's heart stirred.

Only official silver would have such fine quality!

They claimed to be traveling merchants—how could they be carrying official silver?

Official silver was primarily used for military pay, official salaries, palace expenses, or disaster relief. Ordinary people who obtained it would have to recast it before daring to use it... and they were carrying three hundred taels at once!

"Brother!" The sturdy, simple-looking man interrupted Fu Tingjun's wandering thoughts. "Exactly two hundred taels."

The square-faced man nodded, wearing a satisfied expression, and his demeanor returned to the arrogant bearing he'd had when laughing earlier.

Fu Tingjun couldn't help but cling to a sliver of hope.

She hoped that the square-faced man, having gained three hundred taels of silver, would let them—these small fry—go, or that he would choose not to stir up trouble out of respect for the shopkeeper's martial prowess and simply ignore them...

She crept quietly toward Ninth Master Zhao, who lay behind her, wishing she could curl herself into a tight ball so that the group would overlook her entirely!

Unfortunately, her wish went unfulfilled.

A short, stocky man suddenly dashed over to their side, shoving the small cart aside with force and shouting loudly: "And what are you lot supposed to be?" He wore an air of a fox borrowing the tiger's might.

The cart toppled over, scattering straw mats, bowls, chopsticks, and other belongings across the ground.

Fu Tingjun breathed a sigh of relief.

Fortunately, she had sensed something was wrong earlier and hidden the gold, silver, and valuables beneath Ninth Master's straw mat.

She quickly said: "Spare us, great hero! We fled famine from Pingliang and arrived here. We stumbled into your territory by mistake. Please, great hero, show us mercy and allow us to stay for one night." With that, she retrieved a bundle containing food and a water skin from the corner of the hall. "Please accept these things—this is all we own."

Although Fu Tingjun tried to keep her voice low, she could not hide its crisp, melodious quality.

The people in the hall were taken aback, all turning to look at Fu Tingjun.

Only the man with the fleshy, fierce face gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, then picked up his bowl and continued noisily eating. His slurping was conspicuously loud in the hall, yet no one paid him any mind.

The short, stocky man's face lit up with excitement. Hopping with glee, he cried: "Brother, there's a woman here!" Even as he spoke, he rushed over to pull off her headscarf.

Fu Tingjun suddenly straightened her back, a flash of snow-white light arcing from her hand toward the man.

The man let out a miserable cry of "Ow!" and clutched his hand as blood immediately gushed from between his fingers.

Only then did everyone see the dagger in Fu Tingjun's hand.

Under the torchlight, the dagger gleamed with strange, intricate patterns, possessing a striking, almost aggressive beauty.

The hall fell into dead silence.

The man with the fleshy, fierce face showed a look of admiration in his eyes, while the man with the free-spirited bearing stepped forward a few paces, only to be blocked by the shopkeeper-looking man.

"You filthy bitch! You dare to ambush me!" The short, stocky man roared in fury, raising his foot to kick at Fu Tingjun's chest.

The free-spirited man let out an "Ah!" and clenched his fists, and even the fleshy-faced man set down his bowl.

Fu Tingjun's face was as pale as a magnolia flower in a storm. Gripping the dagger with both hands, she gritted her teeth and thrust it toward the man.

The kick landed solidly on Fu Tingjun's chest, but her dagger also plunged into the man's calf. As Fu Tingjun fell backward, the dagger sliced downward, peeling the flesh from his leg.

The man clutched his leg and howled in pain: "Brother! Brother!"

Everyone was stunned. It was only after a long moment that they noticed two severed fingers lying on the ground.

"Brother, kill this filthy bitch!" The men behind the square-faced man shouted, yet not one dared to step forward.

Fu Tingjun climbed to her feet.

Her hand gripping the dagger trembled violently. Disheveled strands of black hair fell across her snow-white face, beads of sweat the size of beans rolled down her forehead, and her large, almond-shaped eyes burned with a fiery intensity—brighter than the torches themselves. This lent her striking beauty a fierce, unyielding quality, like a blooming trumpet creeper—delicate, proud, and defiant.

The man with the square face stared at the dagger, clean as fresh snow, his expression as dark as the sky before a winter storm.

He clenched his fists and strode toward Fu Tingjun.

The hall fell silent at once.

The heavy footsteps of the square-faced man and the crackling of his knuckles— ba pa, ba pa —beat like war drums, each sound striking the hearts of all present.

In the northwest corner, the burly man frowned and stepped forward, but was held back by the man with an easy, unrestrained bearing.

"You filthy whore! If I don't ride you a thousand times over, my surname isn't Li—" the square-faced man roared with savage fury.

Fu Tingjun felt as though her organs had been knocked out of place, pain searing through her. Her vision blurred into overlapping shadows, and she could only make out a vague silhouette.

She was done for, wasn't she?

After that kick from the man... even trying to strike unexpectedly was impossible now...

She thought of the two women held hostage...

Raising her arm, heavy as if filled with lead, she pressed the dagger against her own throat.

She didn't know what would become of Ninth Master after she died.

It was all her fault—she had dragged him into this!

His kindness was something she could never repay in this lifetime; she could only wait for the next... though perhaps in the next life, she would still be the one to burden him. He might even flee before she could get close.

At that thought, a faint smile bloomed at the corner of her lips.

Like a small flower trembling in the biting wind—fragile, yet unyielding.