Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ambushed

“I hadn’t expected Brother Yang to be so accomplished in both the literary and martial arts—not only does he compose exquisite poetry, but he is also well-versed in music. Truly admirable.” Lin Renzhao held Yang Lian in high esteem. Today, Zeng Yiling had chosen Yang Lian, and Yang’s impressive display had nearly rivaled Yiling’s own, making Lin feel a sense of pride.

Yang Lian, his face unflushed, simply waved his hand and smiled. “It was nothing,” he said. Inwardly, he thought: Though I was a bit of a rake before, at least I have some talents—reading poetry, playing the zither—these had been hobbies of mine, little did I know they would serve me so well now.

Chen Tie, somewhat confused, asked, “Renzhao, can Brother Yang compose poetry as well?”

Lin Renzhao smiled slightly. “Brother Yang’s poetry is truly peerless.” With that, he recited “Yu Meiren.”

The old lands of Min had been seized by the Tang, and for Chen Tie, the pain of a lost country ran deep. When he heard the lines “The carved balustrades and jade steps should still be there, though the rosy faces have changed,” an old wound was reopened in his heart, a wound deeper than Lin Renzhao's.

Chen Tie still remembered that fateful battle: everyone fought desperately, brothers fell one after another, the earth soaked in blood, their numbers dwindling as the enemy grew ever stronger. In the end, thanks to a few brothers fighting to the death, he alone managed to escape. It wasn’t that he feared death, but he knew that, by himself, he could not possibly turn the tide. He needed to wait, to lie in ambush like a venomous snake, biding his time for the perfect moment to deal a fatal blow.

But the outcome shattered him: Min was lost. The palace with its carved balustrades and jade steps had a new master; it belonged to Min no more—never again.

Chen Tie slowed his steps, savoring the moment, and gained a deeper understanding of Yang Lian.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps rang out, and seven or eight men dressed in black appeared before them. Their faces were masked with black cloth, and each held a dagger, exuding murderous intent as they closed in on Yang Lian, Chen Tie, and Lin Renzhao.

“Who goes there?” Yang Lian was the first to react, his voice low and steady.

“We’re here for your lives,” one of the black-clad men replied.

Yang Lian snorted coldly, “You must be sent by Li Hongji!”

“How dare you speak Lord Dongping’s name so brazenly!” one of them cursed.

At this, Chen Tie was incensed. “So the dignified Lord Dongping resorts to such base, despicable means!”

Lin Renzhao said nothing, his hawk-like eyes sweeping their surroundings. There were no other ambushers; it seemed only these few.

After the man spoke, the leader sneered. “Even if you know, what can you do? Tonight, you’re all dead men.”

Chen Tie rolled his wrists and grinned menacingly. “It’s been a long time since I had a proper fight.”

Yang Lian laughed coldly. “To think that under the Emperor’s very nose, someone would dare to impersonate Lord Dongping and commit murder—an unpardonable crime. Brother Lin, Brother Chen, let us join hands to apprehend these vile scoundrels and clear Lord Dongping’s name!”

The man in black was momentarily startled, not grasping Yang Lian’s true intent, but before he could respond, Yang Lian had already thrown a punch. It was swift and fierce; the man instinctively tried to dodge but was half a beat too slow. The blow landed squarely on his jaw, bringing tears to his eyes from the pain.

As Yang Lian’s fist landed, his other hand was not idle—he deftly snatched the dagger from the man’s grip. With a flick of his wrist, he slashed out, not caring where the blade landed. In moments like this, chaos and ferocity ruled the fight—victory went to those with the greater momentum.

Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie were both seasoned from the battlefield, their skills not lacking. At Yang Lian’s cue, they sprang into action: Chen Tie’s fist slammed into another man’s gut, and Lin Renzhao, barehanded, wrenched a blade from his attacker, instantly arming himself.

The black-clad assailants were taken aback—how could these three be so formidable? The clash of blades filled the air as Yang Lian brought his dagger down in a sweeping arc. The man raised his own blade to block, and with a metallic clang, sparks flew.

Yang Lian, having grown up brawling, knew the key was speed and brutality. In a fight, hesitation meant death. He raised the dagger and swung again. He was strong to begin with, and his wild, relentless attacks threw his opponent into disarray. In the confusion, Chen Tie darted in from the side, delivering a punch to the man’s back. Staggering, the man exposed himself, and Yang Lian followed up with a strike that landed squarely on his back.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the night.

Yang Lian didn’t pause; he raised the dagger again and, with a single stroke, severed the man’s head. Blood spurted, splattering Yang Lian and soaking his once-clean clothes. For a moment, he stood frozen. Though in his past life he’d been a fighter and had broken men’s legs, he had never killed before.

Now, he had. Even if the victim was an enemy, the act thundered through his soul.

Lin Renzhao let out an approving shout, slashing his dagger in a flurry, forcing the others back. It was his valiant intervention that allowed Yang Lian and Chen Tie to join forces and kill one of the assailants. The remaining black-clad men, seeing their comrade slain, were shocked and furious, ready to fight to the death for vengeance. But then, someone barked, “Retreat!”

Chen Tie was not about to let them go, preparing to give chase, but at that moment, shrill whistles sounded from the street. Startled, the attackers lashed out with their blades, forcing Lin Renzhao back, then turned and fled. By the time Lin Renzhao tried to pursue, they were already several paces away.

“Don’t chase them,” Yang Lian said gravely. Now was not the time to pursue desperate foes. Whether these men had truly been sent by Li Hongji remained highly questionable. If this was a trap, a reckless pursuit could spell disaster.

Lin Renzhao came to his senses and halted.

Chen Tie laughed heartily. “Run, you little rats! Don’t let me catch you!”

Yang Lian sheathed his dagger. The attack had come as suddenly as it had vanished. These men had never meant to fight to the death. Of course, the curfew whistles had played a part. Still, their skill was lacking—they were likely mere household guards, not professional assassins.

A patrol of soldiers hurried over, lanterns in hand. Seeing the three, they drew their swords. “Out so late—who are you?”

Yang Lian smiled and saluted. “Brothers, we are soldiers of the Divine Martial Army. We were enjoying ourselves at the Xiaoxiang Pavilion tonight when, upon leaving, we were attacked by men impersonating Lord Dongping’s followers. Thus, this fight broke out.”

A squad leader stepped forward, puzzled. “Why would Lord Dongping send men to attack you?”

“Precisely—why would he?” Yang Lian replied with a smile. “It was merely the dying words of one of the attackers. It’s possible they were only pretending to act for Lord Dongping. I hope you’ll investigate thoroughly.” As he spoke, he held the blood-stained dagger, crimson drops falling to the ground.

The squad leader hesitated. If these three were truly Divine Martial Army men, he, a mere squad leader, dared not act rashly—he would have to report to his superiors.

“Though the man is dead, there may be clues on his body. Also, the dagger he carried is military-issue. It would be best to inform your commanding officer.” Yang Lian left the rest unsaid, but the implication was clear. If this incident really implicated Lord Dongping or involved military arms, it would be a thorny matter. With the most pressing issue in the empire being the southern campaign, no one wanted to provoke the emperor’s wrath over this.

Indeed, the squad leader hesitated, then asked, “Are you three truly of the Divine Martial Army?”

Yang Lian smiled, put away his dagger, and produced his waist token, as did Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie.

The squad leader examined them and his expression changed. Among the three, two were Vice Commanders, one was a Section Chief—all outranked him. He dared not be disrespectful and committed their names to memory. “I am aware of the matter and will report it to my superiors. You three may go.”

Yang Lian reclaimed his token, smiling. “This is a grave matter. If anything arises, you’ll find us at the Divine Martial Army.”

“Understood,” the squad leader replied respectfully. After all, these were officers of the imperial guard, and many high-ranking generals throughout the empire hailed from the Divine Martial Army—even regional commanders. He dared not offend them.

“Farewell,” Yang Lian said, still holding the dagger as he and his companions departed at a measured pace.

The squad leader squinted after them, their receding figures stirring unease in his heart—this was going to be trouble.

The residence of Lord Dongping, Li Hongji, was near the imperial city, by the banks of the Qinhuai River, close to the Confucius Temple—a prime location at the river’s crossroads.

Li Hongji stood with his hands behind his back, his expression heavy with thought. His dramatic appearance at the Xiaoxiang Pavilion today was far from coincidental. On the one hand, he truly coveted Zeng Yiling’s beauty and wished to take her as a concubine; on the other, he was suspicious of the pavilion itself.

Xiaoxiang Pavilion had only appeared in Jinling the previous year. Rumor had it that the madam had no powerful backers, yet she spent lavishly, purchasing much of the neighborhood’s property and land, so that the whole district seemed to belong to the pavilion. Such rapid expansion and extravagance could only mean there were secrets behind it.

Today, he had gone in person to test the waters, only to have his plans spoiled by an unexpected rival. With his status, no one in the pavilion dared contend with him—except for Yang Lian, who had done just that, without the slightest regard for his face.

When Zeng Yiling drew lots, it happened to be Yang Lian, and Yang’s forceful demeanor led Li Hongji to suspect there was some connection between the two. He had already sent men to capture Yang Lian, believing that, with his methods, even the staunchest of men would confess everything. Then, perhaps, the mystery of Xiaoxiang Pavilion would be unraveled.

With this thought, Li Hongji grew excited. Another great merit to present to his imperial father, another step closer to being named heir.