The Ghost Gate Chamber assassin disguised as the old sedan bearer crouched down and pressed his hand against the spear wound on Cao Zhengchun’s right shoulder.
He then peeled back the eunuch's eyelids to check his pupils before standing up.
“The right shoulder was pierced through. Lingering cold spear intent remains around the wound, and his meridians have suffered more than thirty percent damage. The internal injuries are even more severe than the external ones; there are also traces of a backlash from his own poisonous energy.”
The black-clad man from the roof leaped down and landed beside Cao Zhengchun, frowning as he observed the dying Seal-holding Eunuch lying in the mud.
The other two assassins also gathered around.
The one wielding a Miao Dao looked down from above at this once-mighty Seal-holding Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial.
“Besides Liu Yinsheng, who else in The Academy could fight Cao Zhengchun to this extent? Who could force him into such a corner?”
“It wasn’t Liu Yinsheng.”
Old Fourth shook his head. His voice remained flat, but a faint, nearly imperceptible ripple of emotion flickered in his tone.
“Liu Yinsheng was the last to strike. Before he even made his move, Cao Zhengchun had already taken this spear strike.”
“A spear?”
The Miao Dao assassin was stunned for a moment. “A spear master? Are there still Spear Grandmasters in this day and age?”
“Not a Grandmaster.”
The black-clad leader who had descended from the roof looked down at the wound on Cao Zhengchun’s shoulder.
The edges of the spear wound were clean, indicating that the spear tip had entered with extreme speed and pure force.
“Though the spear intent at the wound is cold and strange, its foundation does not exceed the Second Rank.”
At those words, the other two assassins fell silent for several breaths.
“Fourth, just what realm was that spearman in?”
“Mountain-Viewing Realm.”
“What? A Mountain-Viewing Realm expert heavily injured a Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster? Even if Cao Zhengchun is only half a Grandmaster, he is still in the Wind-Riding Realm. They are an entire major realm apart; that’s impossible.”
Old Fourth did not answer immediately. He pulled a dry cloth from his robes and slowly wiped the blood from his hands.
His gaze drifted toward the distant direction of The Academy on the official road. He remained silent for a moment before speaking slowly.
“There are only two possibilities for a Mountain-Viewing Realm to heavily injure a Wind-Riding Realm. Either that person’s technique naturally countered Cao Zhengchun’s, or that person’s spearmanship has reached a level we cannot comprehend.”
He tossed the blood-stained cloth into the rain, then picked up Cao Zhengchun’s Crimson Lotus Whip from the ground, weighing it in his hand.
“That young spearman left his own moves inside Cao Zhengchun’s body.”
His voice was as calm as ever, but the other three assassins could hear a trace of wariness hidden deep within his words.
“The injury this spear strike left on Cao Zhengchun appeared to be a piercing wound to the right shoulder, but the true killing move was the spear intent lingering in his meridians. That spear intent is cold but not wicked, a complete polar opposite to Cao Zhengchun’s internal energy. The moment he exerted his full power, it was destined to erupt. The reason we were able to succeed so easily just now wasn't because our plan was so brilliant. It was because before Cao Zhengchun even set foot on this road, he had already been turned into a partial cripple by that young Mountain-Viewing Realm spearman.”
Rainwater dripped from the edges of their bamboo hats, creating tiny splashes in the mud.
The assassin with the iron palms remained silent for a long time before squeezing out a single word from between his teeth.
“Monster.”
The Miao Dao assassin sheathed his blade.
“We certainly caught a lucky break this time, killing a half-crippled Grandmaster. When we return to report, the reward will be doubled, and we can add the achievement of killing the Seal-holding Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial to our records. Though, having said that, I really would like to meet that spearman.”
“Don’t look for trouble,” the leader said coldly.
“Our mission was to kill Cao Zhengchun, not to provoke more trouble. Clean up the body; leave no traces.”
At his command, Old Fourth knelt down and gripped the hilt of the black-bladed dagger buried in Cao Zhengchun’s heart. With a twist of his wrist, he pulled the blade out.
The sound of the blade sliding against bone and flesh was a low, dull squelch.
Cao Zhengchun’s body convulsed once. Another surge of black blood poured from his mouth, and then he went completely still.
The Seal-holding Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial.
A dignified Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster.
He died just like that, lying face down in the filthy mud, eyes wide as he breathed his last.
Old Fourth used the rainwater to wash the blood from his blade, sheathed the dagger at his waist, and stood up.
The Miao Dao assassin pulled a small celadon vial from his robes.
He uncorked it and evenly sprinkled a dark yellow powder over Cao Zhengchun’s corpse.
The powder dissolved instantly upon contact with the blood.
A faint hissing sound followed.
The body began to melt at a visible rate.
In less than half the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, the corpse of the once-powerful Seal-holding Eunuch had turned into a pool of yellow water.
The torrential rain washed it into the roadside ditch, leaving not even a fragment of bone behind.
“Let’s go. Time to report.”
The leader retracted his gaze and turned toward the forest.
“Report to the Chamber Master that the job is done. Also, report the information regarding that spearman.”
“Why report that?” Old Fourth asked with a hint of curiosity as he followed.
The leader did not stop. His voice drifted back through the curtain of rain, cold and clear.
“Anyone capable of threatening our Ghost Gate Chamber must be recorded. Regardless of whether they are friend or foe.”
The four black shadows vanished into the rain one after another.
All that remained was the empty, crooked vermilion sedan chair on the official road, its curtains flapping violently in the wind and rain.
The rain grew heavier, washing away the blood, the footprints, and every trace from the road.
Between heaven and earth, only the sound of the pouring rain and the faint, distant tolling of a bell from The Academy remained.
...
Meanwhile.
Deep within the imperial palace, thousands of li away.
The night was as dark as ink.
The candles in the bedchamber were all extinguished, save for a lone Everlasting Lamp hanging three chi away from the Dragon Couch.
The bean-sized flame flickered in the darkness, casting the magnificent gold and jade carvings of dragons and phoenixes into a dance of ghostly shadows.
The scent of ambergris mixed with the bitterness of medicinal soup permeated the hall, so thick it was almost stifling.
Zhao Heng, the Emperor of Grand Zhao, leaned against the Dragon Couch.
Though only in his early forties, his hair was already mostly white.
His cheeks were sunken, and his cheekbones protruded sharply. The bright yellow night robe embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons hung loosely on his frame, making him look like a child who had stolen an adult’s clothing.
His eyes were deeply recessed, yet they shone with an unnatural brightness—the clear light of a flickering lamp before it burns out.
He set the medicinal bowl on a small red sandalwood table beside the couch. More than half the soup remained, long since gone cold.
“All of you, withdraw.”
His voice was not loud, but its raspiness carried an authority that was beyond doubt.
The eunuchs and palace maids in the hall bowed silently and filed out.
As the last old eunuch closed the doors, he couldn't help but look back at the thin figure on the Dragon Couch. His eyes reddened, but he didn't dare say a word as he gently pulled the doors shut.
The hall fell into complete silence.
Zhao Heng leaned against the soft pillows, his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow and rapid.
His chest barely rose or fell, as if he were using some method to forcibly hang onto his last breath.
After a long time, he slowly opened his eyes.
Staring up at the bed curtains embroidered with auspicious clouds and cranes, a mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Forty years.”
His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.
“Cao Zhengchun, you have served by my side for forty years. You were there since I was a child in split-bottom pants. I grew accustomed to the tea you served and the sound of you grinding ink. Of everyone in the palace, I thought you understood my mind best.”
He coughed violently, his entire body doubling over.
He hastily covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away, it was stained with a dark red clot of blood.
He stared at the blood for a few moments, then expressionlessly crumpled the handkerchief and tossed it into the bronze basin at the corner of the couch.
“But you ultimately chose the wrong path.”
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