Chapter 308: A Duel of Wits (3)

Qiu Sinian knew the time had come for him to show himself.

Ji Zhun didn't carry enough weight, and Wang Cheng belonged to the Lord.

As the deputy commander of the Changmen Guard, he ought to witness this crime firsthand, so he could later file a report that would go straight to the top.

With three accounts cross-checking each other, link by link, only then could Zhou Wenchang's guilt be nailed down!

On the other side, though Ji Zhun was soaked to the bone, his blood was still running hot.

He knew he'd landed a big one!

After all this time under Qiu Sinian's watchful eye, stuck doing nothing but tailing people and running petty errands, being a Changmen Guard had become a total bore.

Ji Zhun was young, itching to earn merit, make money, get ahead, and build his godfather a proper grand tomb!

If he pulled this off, he'd really shine in front of Lord Wang!

His eyes lit up as he grabbed Wang Cheng's drenched sleeve and mouthed carefully: "Should we head down now and catch him red-handed?"

Wang Cheng gritted his teeth, pushed past the headache, and ran the calculations fast.

If the guy was planning to haul the gunpowder in and blow himself up along with everything else, Wang Cheng would have to charge in and take him out right away—if only to save his own skin.

But the ignition device he was using had a delay built in.

Clearly, this guy wasn't planning to quietly martyr himself and get blown to bits here.

So taking him alive shouldn't be too hard.

The real question was whether the gunpowder had to go off.

If it blew, the already shaky mountain could take more damage, and with the heavy rain, it could easily set off another disaster.

The Lord might already be down at the base of the mountain by now.

But if it didn't blow, once the guy was caught, he could just deny everything—say the gunpowder was only stored there for now, and he'd been sent to check on it.

Without hard proof, they might not be able to nail Zhou Wenchang in one go.

No time to waste.

Wang Cheng made the call in a split second.

No way!

The Lord trusted him enough to hand him the heavy job of stirring up trouble—so he should trust the Lord right back.

Getting Zhou Wenchang to confess could be left to the Lord.

He couldn't just ignore the lives down at the mountain's base!

The second his mind was made up, Wang Cheng moved—

Snick!

A sharp, grating scrape of flint on metal ripped through the rain.

...This guy, scared he might back out, saw the flint was dry and in good shape, so he rushed to get it done and fired up the device.

Then he scrambled out of the cave, quick as a cat. The second he looked up, he was staring straight at three faces with three very different expressions.

He was so shocked he almost had a heart attack on the spot. After a stunned second, he yelped and spun to run—but his foot slipped, and he went down face-first in the mud with a splat, two teeth popping out.

Ignoring the pain, he scrambled and clawed his way forward in a panic.

Seeing the guy had already lit the thing, Wang Cheng made the call on the spot.

"Xiao Ji! Go get him! He's all yours!"

Fired up by the double lure of a promotion and staying alive, Ji Zhun shot up like a rabbit and took off after him!

Wang Cheng knew he couldn't move well—running too fast would make him lightheaded—and Ji Zhun was honestly a wild card, so he took the riskiest job for himself.

As he fought to crawl toward the cave, he yelled to Qiu Sinian: "Brother, sound the alarm and get help—the mountain's about to come down!"

Qiu Sinian: "..."

Instead of running, he jumped down, grabbed Wang Cheng by the scruff—who was still crawling desperately toward the hissing fuse—and with a grunt of effort, hauled him out. Then, without a word, he slung him over his shoulder and bolted!

Having served the Lord for years, Qiu Sinian knew how firearms worked. He knew that once the device was triggered, there was no telling exactly when the hammer spring would spark and light the fuse.

The best move was to cut the fuse before the pre-set line got sparked and lit, before it could set off the whole load.

Even then, stray sparks could still set the whole thing off.

No one was closer or saw it clearer than Qiu Sinian: to stash the explosives out of sight, the cave was crazy narrow. That attendant, with his skinny shoulders and slim waist, still had to wiggle and squirm just to squeeze in.

Neither Wang Cheng nor him—both big-shouldered, tall guys—could get in and cut the fuse in time with the device in the way.

Barging in would most likely mean getting killed in that cave.

Qiu Sinian might not like anyone who now stood openly at Le Wuya's side, but the last thing he wanted was to see the Lord heartbroken.

Once Wang Cheng got inside the cave, he also saw how bad it was. His shoulder nearly wedged against the rock, stuck between going in and backing out—lucky for him, Qiu Sinian had sharp eyes and fast hands and yanked him out, or he couldn't even have turned around.

Seeing the blast couldn't be stopped, Wang Cheng, slung over Qiu Sinian's shoulder, let out a roar that shook the woods: "Run! The mountain's gonna blow!"

Qiu Sinian ran like the wind, light on his feet. Even with a full-grown man on his back, he moved like a tiger or leopard on the hunt.

Behind them, a muffled, thunderous blast suddenly went off!

The ground shuddered and shook like a dying beast, groaning low as if about to give out.

It was like the mountain god of Xiaolianzi Mountain itself was furious at all the poking and desecration.

Wang Cheng's heart was hammering: "Brother, thanks—"

Qiu Sinian couldn't answer.

Two men's weight was no joke. The ground under his feet was starting to crumble. He suddenly leaped, hooking one hand like an iron claw onto a thick old tree that was leaning dangerously, using it to swing himself clear. His feet hit a more solid patch of slope, and without a second thought, he kept running for his life.

"Mind telling me your name, brother?" Wang Cheng asked again over the howling wind.

Qiu Sinian didn't have a free hand to write, so he just stayed quiet.

Wang Cheng had sharp eyes. He'd already caught the easy trust and reliance on Xiao Ji's face when Qiu Sinian showed up: "Brother, you know Xiao Ji?"

"Qiu Sinian: Enough with the questions—annoying as hell. You love to talk, don't you? Then talk!"

He said nothing, hoisting Wang Cheng onto his shoulder and bounding away in three quick leaps to a clearing on a bare rock ledge.

Below, the soldiers guarding the mine looked up at the mountain, clearly hearing the commotion and shouts from above.

Tiny stones skittered beneath their feet.

Qiu Sinian raised a hand and slapped Wang Cheng's waist.

You love to talk, don't you?

Then yell!

Wang Cheng, though puzzled by Qiu Sinian's silent assessment of him, quickly caught on. He cleared his throat and, with all the strength he could muster, bellowed: "Zhou Wenchang is blowing up the mountain! He's going to bury you all with him! Run!!!"

The lord had sent him to stir up trouble, and he was determined to see it through.

Qiu Sinian's gaze drifted down with casual indifference.

He couldn't give a damn about the lives down there.

Ever since he'd discovered the dismembered corpses and overheard the miners' talk, he'd known—not a single innocent soul among them. Every last one of them deserved what was coming.

Dogs tearing each other apart—dying that way was a fitting end.

But then his eyes swept past a thatched shelter, and his face went pale. His pupils shrank.

The lord?

What the hell was the lord doing down there?!

...

Meanwhile, at the foot of the mountain, the soldiers felt the ground trembling beneath them.

The trembling was familiar—and terrifying.

Back then, they'd stood by with folded arms, watching as the three villages were swallowed by the surging mud, their screams and wails drowned beneath the roaring flood.

Now it was their turn.

The mountain's belly rumbled; rocks flew and thunder boomed.

Amid the mountain's roar, the first to move was Zhou Wenchang.

He broke away from the crowd and sprinted for the high ridge!

Only then did the soldiers snap out of their daze at the distant shouts.

They'd been tricked by Zhou Wenchang again!

That dog-bastard!

He was going to get them all killed!

Some, eyes bloodshot with rage, drew their blades and gave chase, intent on tearing him apart. But he was heading straight for Little Lianzi Mountain, as if he were courting death. The soldiers' courage faltered—their legs went weak, and none dared follow.

Then one man dropped his weapon and screamed, "Mudslide! Run!"

One man running set off the whole crowd.

In sheer panic, the soldiers became a routed mob—howling, crying, shoving, trampling each other as they fled like a filthy flood in full retreat!

Zhou Wenchang, fleeing for his life, forced down his terror.

He had no time to wonder who was up there or why they'd shouted. He just kept his eyes fixed ahead, climbing against the reeking wind.

The past flashed by, but he didn't look back.

He focused only on the escape route he'd scouted long ago.

Old wisdom says: when a mudslide comes, run for the ridge—don't worry about your stuff, and don't look back!

Wen Huan was still too young, always scheming to kill Wen Ren in the county town of Dansui.

But Wen Ren's only true death—the one that mattered—was here, in this second wave of mud and rock. That was a fitting death, and a timely one.

Even if those stubborn soldiers below turned on him, he had all the time and means in the world to deal with them and clean up the mess.

Zhou Wenchang didn't dare stop. He finally scrambled onto solid high ground!

He collapsed against a thick tree, his legs giving out, gasping for air, his mouth tasting of blood and bile.

As he struggled to catch his breath, grinning through the torrential rain at his narrow escape, a handsome face popped up slowly over the edge of the small slope before him, smiling lazily.

"Tsk."

A light, lazy click of the tongue nearly scared the soul right out of him.

"Magistrate Zhou," Le Wuya tilted his head, enjoying the terror in the man's eyes, "quite the runner, aren't you? Thanks for leading the way."

...

By the time Zhi Jie and his party neared Little Lianzi Mountain, the sky had turned ink-black and rain was pouring down in sheets.

Ru Feng squinted through the storm and pointed ahead. "Master, look—is that someone over there?"

There was indeed someone by the roadside—a thin, hunched old woman.

She held a huge paper umbrella, its handle as thick as her wrist bone.

She stood there, as if waiting for someone.

Granny Sun was indeed waiting for Le Wuya.

She was old and slept lightly; the pounding rain had her worried and unable to sleep. She'd finally given up on sleep and gotten up.

Her heart was set on that little one—afraid he'd been chased off like a stray dog with no place to go.

She figured, if he came, at least she could lead him home and get him out of this god-awful rain.

As for these uninvited guests, Granny Sun couldn't be bothered. She pretended her old eyes were too blurry to see them.

Zhi Jie dismounted, his straw cloak dripping, and walked over to her. "Granny, do you live nearby? Is there somewhere we can take shelter?"

Granny Sun pulled out the same trick she'd used on Le Wuya, cupping her ear. "...Eh? What's that you say?"

Zhi Jie raised his voice. "It's late and cold in this rain! You'll catch a chill—best get home quickly!"

"I can't sleep." Granny Sun finally answered stiffly, picking up on Zhi Jie's good intentions. "When you get old, you don't sleep much."

Zhi Jie unfastened a sachet from his waist and said gently, "Granny, I have the same problem. It's got some calming herbs in it to help you sleep. I find it works pretty well—please, keep it."

Seeing the fine stitching and pricey fabric, Granny Sun immediately waved it off. "No, no! What would I do with this?"

"Please, take it," Zhi Jie said in a gentle voice. "I'm about to see the one I've been pining for, so I won't need it anymore."

Ru Feng: "..."

Holding the umbrella for Zhi Jie, he silently turned his face away and gave a big eye-roll.

His master's lovesickness was terminal—so gone over this person that he'd even sweet-talk a random old lady on the street.

Maybe he'd rolled his eyes too hard, because he felt a little dizzy.

But soon, Ru Feng realized it wasn't just in his head.

The whole world seemed to give a violent shudder.

Granny Sun yelped, almost stumbling.

Ru Feng quickly steadied her, staring in horror toward where the shaking came from.

He stammered, "Is… is Little Lian Mountain trembling?"

Granny Sun's withered fingers tightened around Ru Feng. "Yes! Yes! It shook exactly like this a few days back!"

Wen Huan, traveling with them, went pale and blurted out, "My brother!—My brother and Commissioner Wenren are both up on Little Lian Mountain!"

Zhi Jie spun around, staring at Little Lian Mountain, where black clouds churned and the storm raged.

His heartbeat quickened.

Each beat felt like a hammer slamming a rusted anvil.

A dull echo, tinged with a sharp, rusty smell, rose in his throat.

Zhi Jie looked down, as if looking for something, and only after a long pause remembered—he was reaching for the reins.

The sachet, still warm from his hand, slipped from his fingers into the muddy roadside ditch, soaked by the rain in an instant, swallowed up by the mud until it disappeared.