Chapter Sixteen: Together into the Purple Palace (Please Continue Reading)

The heavy rain had passed, leaving a darkened sky with only a fine drizzle still lingering. Min Ning stood by the door, clutching tightly the embroidered spring knife in her hand. Her thoughts were unsettled as she tried to clear her mind, occasionally closing her eyes.

Yet, her mind kept replaying every strike and movement Chen Yi had made in the alley. The technique he used—the family’s inherited Dragon-Slaying Blade style—yet it bore subtle, inscrutable variations. It seemed not merely meant to kill the river dragon but something beyond that. His footwork was also unlike the usual methods practiced by the brocade guards.

The more she recalled the scenes of him killing in the rain, the deeper her frown grew, her mind struggling to grasp something elusive, like a comet streaking across the sky but leaving nothing behind.

Outside, footsteps approached in waves. Min Ning’s eyes snapped open, her concentration shattered, and she anxiously watched the main door. It swung open, and Chen Yi, drenched in blood, stepped inside slowly.

Without hesitation, he loosened his belt and stripped off the blood-soaked clothes. The metallic stench assaulted Min Ning’s nostrils, and she frowned as she watched him nonchalantly change and then wipe the blood from his blade with a coarse cloth. The room fell into a heavy silence.

After a long moment, once he had cleaned the solidified blood from his knife, Min Ning finally spoke first:
“She’s inside. I’ve removed the silver needles and applied some ointment.”

The Min family had three generations of brocade guards; besides their inherited martial arts, their secret ointment recipes were a great asset. Chen Yi did not look at her or respond. Min Ning took a deep breath and continued,
“This matter… I, I...”

Her voice faltered. She wanted to apologize but didn’t know how. Though she considered using her sister as a shield to excuse herself, she knew that a mistake was a mistake—empty apologies, no matter how many times repeated, could change nothing.

Chen Yi lifted his gaze to her. Min Ning’s throat tightened.

“Don’t know what to say?” Chen Yi raised an eyebrow.

Min Ning silently nodded. She would not justify herself nor blame Chen Yi, although such thoughts briefly flickered in her mind. The Min family motto was always in her heart—short, just eight characters, the first four meaning “reflect inwardly and examine oneself.”

Seeing her like this, Chen Yi spoke calmly,
“Min Yuechi, if you intend to take her away, you’d better carefully weigh your own strength and consider whether you can truly protect her.”

Min Ning’s face turned pale.

“The ‘her’ I’m talking about is not just the princess of Xiang.”

Chen Yi added quietly,
“It is also your sister.”

Upon hearing her sister’s name, Min Ning’s brave face lost even more color. Her lips pressed tight. After a long pause, she let out a strained “hm.”

From Chen Yi’s words, Min Ning realized something—when he said “her,” he meant her sister too. If I were to… take my sister away… does that mean… he really intends to?!

A chill ran through her as she stared at this audacious subordinate.
“Don’t—don’t harm my sister…”

Cold sweat broke out on her brow as her voice trembled,
“If you want to… you can take me instead.”

“You’re not originally... not originally...”

Min Ning could not finish her sentence.

That day, she had clearly heard Chen Yi’s words and had goosebumps that lingered long after. But she was not a man! She did not know if Chen Yi would lose interest upon discovering her disguise, or worse, fly into a rage.

Chen Yi curled a meaningful smile,
“Zi Palace.”

Min Ning was stunned, as if from another world,
“What?”

Chen Yi sheathed his knife and smiled,
“Both of you, enter Zi Palace.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Her face, pale as paper, instantly flushed bright red with a mix of shame and anger, impossible to hide.

Not only me… but even my sister?

Her thoughts scattered, and she wanted to say something, but words caught in her throat.

Chen Yi stepped forward, one hand pressing against Min Ning’s cheek, and kissed her.

While kissing, he admired her face. Her head stiffened, and only after a long moment did she faintly struggle. She did not like this; negative emotions surged within her.

But what could she do? What could she do? She dared not push him away, only awkwardly and anxiously reciprocating, as if that one kiss could save her sister.

When their lips parted, Min Ning gasped for breath, her heart trembling wildly.

Feeling her heartbeat, Chen Yi glanced down and saw how different she was from her sister—otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to disguise herself as a man.

Min Ning was about to lift her hand to wipe her lips but caught Chen Yi’s urging gaze and lowered it again.

Chen Yi turned away and said,
“Go back.”

Min Ning bit her lip, nodded slightly, and slipped out into the fine drizzle.

After she left, Chen Yi glanced at the panel in front of him:
[Remaining True Qi: one hundred and forty years.]

Ten more years were needed to condense five True Essence cores, so that the Resentment Yin-Yang Technique could start to bear fruit.

“That’s fine. She’s injured now anyway,” Chen Yi muttered.

He was never impatient, especially since she was hurt. After all, she was his concubine; the shortage of True Qi was not serious enough to rush.

Chen Yi washed up and changed into clean clothes before pushing open the door and entering the bedroom.

She lay curled up near the wall, almost pressed against it like a little fox. Since coming to his home, she had been shrinking toward the wall.

He wanted to sleep there too, as it was his usual spot, but she had taken it.

Yin Tingxue’s eyelids were closed, her brows furrowed, as if even in her dreams she found no peace. Chen Yi gazed at her sleeping face, sensing her brows were too fragile, like brittle autumn stalks.

“You wouldn’t save me, I would hate you forever, only hate you…”

Chen Yi recalled her words in the alley, shaking his head with a wry smile.

He reached out and gently stroked her brows, murmuring to himself,
“But hatred... hatred is just a kind of desire.”

No matter what Yin Tingxue said then—even if she swore she’d rather die than be saved by him—he would still save her.

Though the pain of her meridians being severed that day seemed still to linger, he would never harm her.

Because he had once indeed hurt a woman.

That was in his previous life—or perhaps, the first chapter of this one.

He would never forget her name.

Yin Jian Mountain Sword Armor, Zhou Yitang, styled Zhua Yu.

As his thoughts drifted, the princess of Xiang on the bed stirred, her eyelids fluttering as if waking.

…………………

Curfew had fallen, and the capital city was shrouded in darkness, yet the Western Depot remained brightly lit.

“Deputy Supervisor Song, have the bodies been accounted for?”

Wu Qingsheng asked.

Song Tong pulled a newly written dossier from his bosom and said,
“All the fallen Eastern Depot brothers have been registered. Supervisor Wu can report to the Empress Dowager tomorrow.”

Wu Qingsheng nodded slightly, feeling somewhat reassured.
“The Eastern Depot suffered heavy losses to ensure the capital is free from the demonic cult. I will remember this deeply.”

Hearing this, Song Tong recalled something and flipped to a page hesitantly. He then spoke,
“I’m afraid... the demonic cult still has remnants.”

“Supervisor Wu, please take a look at this.”

Wu Qingsheng took the dossier. On one page, twenty-one names were listed, and the place of their deaths was the same narrow alley.

Wu Qingsheng’s pupils contracted sharply, and his fingers drummed on the wooden table.

Song Tong sighed,
“The executioner has examined the wounds. Almost all were killed with a single slash, at most two. The team leader didn’t last more than four moves.

“Supervisor Wu, twenty-one people were brutally killed within the time it takes for incense to burn. Tell me, who could do that...”

Wu Qingsheng lowered his brows and thought carefully before speaking,
“If it were Supervisor Xue... maybe half an incense stick’s time would suffice. But… Supervisor Xue is a Level Five martial artist.”

Song Tong said solemnly,
“That means... the demonic cult still has a master whose current whereabouts are unknown.”

Wu Qingsheng’s expression grew grave,
“Level Six?”

Song Tong was silent for a long moment before slowly uttering,
“Probably... far more than that.”

“Because that demonic cult expert seems to have teamed up with the cult elders, facing off against Supervisor Xue.”

He did not call him a master like Wu Qingsheng but cautiously referred to him as a high-level figure.

Wu Qingsheng pondered and muttered,
“No wonder Supervisor Xue sacrificed himself, exploding his body... after all, two fists can’t fight four hands.”

“Deputy Supervisor Song, then tell me... what level do you think this expert is?”

Song Tong fell silent again.

Wu Qingsheng looked at him confusedly, fingers tapping rapidly on the desk.

“Level Five?”

Song Tong shook his head.

“Level Four?”

Still shaking his head.

Wu Qingsheng’s breath caught. He stammered,
“A Level Three minor grandmaster?!”

The words slipped out before he could hold them back. Even he found it hard to believe; there were only a few Level Three minor grandmasters in the entire capital, and several guarded the imperial city day and night.

Song Tong hesitated, shook his head slightly, then remained silent for a long time before finally saying,
“I’m foolish; I don’t know his level...

“I only know that the True Qi he infused into Supervisor Xue...”

“...was no less than two hundred years!”