SF 15

Long before sending a calling card to Ling Xun, the Minister of Civil Affairs had already devised a layered scheme. He chose Ling Xun to assassinate Qin Chao not only because he was a formation master, but also because he had once been courted by Qin Chao, and had turned him down.

Among the Three Excellencies, the Minister of Civil Affairs was the only surviving elder statesman. The reason he had managed to endure until now was because he had always maintained a posture of neither servility nor defiance toward Qin Chao. He did not, like other old officials, throw himself against a pillar in despair, wishing to die alongside that treacherous eunuch. Nor did he, like certain flatterers, immediately surrender to Qin Chao’s power. Because of this, Qin Chao had never gone to great lengths to eliminate this last surviving relic. On the contrary, he tried every possible way to win him over, never hesitating to lend money or send manpower whenever there was a wedding or funeral in the Minister’s household.

But the old fox was born cunning. Like a courtesan in a pleasure house skilled in manipulation, he always assumed the posture of half-yielding, half-refusing, reaping all the benefits while refusing to commit his tender body, never giving a clear answer.

This time, the Minister’s scheme was to pretend to submit. He would feign having successfully persuaded Feng Wuge to defect, making it seem as if he now willingly wished to serve under the Ninth Lord. Qin Chao, seeing this gesture of goodwill, would naturally be pleased and would be reluctant to reject it outright. He would surely accept Feng Wuge’s allegiance. Once Feng Wuge was under his command, he would then seize the opportunity to strike.

Ling Xun had always known that the old fox was sly, but he hadn’t expected him to be this shameless. This so-called layered scheme, for all its cleverness, completely absolved the mastermind of responsibility. If the assassination failed and the plot was exposed, the Minister could simply wash his hands of it and claim ignorance. Even if Qin Chao grew suspicious, without tangible evidence, he could do nothing against the venerable Minister of Civil Affairs. At most, the two would develop some friction. And once the matter reached the mouths of those upright officials who thrived on moral posturing, it would morph into a tale of national righteousness, adding another undeserved stroke of glory to the Minister’s name.

In the end, all the credit would belong solely to the Minister of Civil Affairs, while he, Ling Xun, would be the only blade to take the fall.

Yet Ling Xun did not mind. He acted as though he had no idea he was being led in circles, merely telling the Minister that he would proceed according to plan once his leg had healed. Ever since that outburst of madness that night, the Minister no longer dared provoke him. He simply treated him as an eccentric wandering swordsman and provided food and care without complaint.

Ling Xun’s injury was at the knee. With his level of skill, after two or three days of recuperation, he could grit his teeth through the pain and just barely move like a normal person. But if he were to run, leap, or climb rooftops, he was still a little short of full capacity.

On the fourth night at the Minister’s residence, as usual, the household physician came to apply a new external dressing. Ling Xun looked at the evening meal brought in by the maid and felt a sudden ache in his teeth. After days of nothing but bone broth, he thought, this old man must really want him to heal fast so he could hurry off to die.

He slipped a hand into his inner shirt and gave his belly a squeeze. It felt noticeably plumper after just a few days. Ling Xun seriously suspected that if he kept drinking like this, his stomach would get big enough to go into labor before his leg had time to heal.

“Take it away,” Ling Xun said, the stench of beef marrow soup making him nauseous. He kicked at the small table, motioning for the maid to remove it.

“Master, the Minister gave orders. This broth is good for your injury. You must finish it all,” the maid said, her voice soft and tremulous like a mosquito. She looked weak and harmless, but Ling Xun knew better. These girls who grew up in deep inner courtyards of noble households were not to be trifled with. Sweet or stubborn, blade or shield, they were unmoved by any trick. Since the Minister had instructed them to watch him finish every last drop of the soup, even if he rolled on the ground throwing a tantrum, these little maids would find a way to grind him down until he ate every bite.

Ling Xun lazily leaned against the couch, resting his head on one hand and watching the maid. Suddenly, he gave a wicked smile and crooked his finger at her.

“Come here,” he said.

The maid raised her head and saw the beautiful young man before her, robe half open, eyes like spring water, and lips so red they looked ready to bleed. Her face flushed at once. But it wasn’t because she had fallen for his seductive charm. It was because she felt outmatched. Even as a young girl in her prime, she had to admit she could not hold a candle to this man’s allure.

“What are your instructions, Master Feng?” she asked, approaching slowly.

Ling Xun extended a hand and tugged at her sleeve, pulling her to sit beside him on the couch.

“It’s boring to eat alone. Keep me company.”

“But the Minister said…”

“Oh, must you bring up another man in front of me?” Ling Xun smiled faintly, picked up his chopsticks, and with a posture both elegant and flirtatious, lifted a piece of lamb from the bone-repair broth and brought it to the maid’s lips. His voice softened. “This lamb is cooked perfectly. Won’t you try it?”

“Master Feng, I…” The maid tried to refuse, but before she could finish, a chunk of lamb had already been pressed into her mouth. To avoid embarrassing herself, she had no choice but to bite down and chew, swallowing it reluctantly.

“Well? Is it good?” Ling Xun’s smile turned even more tender, so soft it nearly turned him into a pool of spring water ready to drown the little maid in his rippling charm.

The maid was quick enough to sense the danger and was just about to break free from this demon’s silken web when he made his next move. As soon as she stirred, he leaned in with his whole body. His jade-white forefinger lifted to her red lips, shushing her with a soft shhh.

“Don’t speak,” Ling Xun whispered, the words like a spell to her shallow cultivation. “Now, try some of the soup…”

And so, bit by bit, Ling Xun fed the entire table of food to the maid, stuffing her until her waistband strained and her soft belly protruded.

Looking at the now-empty bowls and plates, Ling Xun felt deeply satisfied. Only then did he cast off his net and release the maid. As he pulled out a silk handkerchief to wipe his hands, he coaxed her in a gentle, persuasive tone.

“Look at you, little beauty. You’ve gone and stolen the meal that the Minister of Civil Affairs had prepared for me. Now what shall we do about that?”

The maid glared at him with wide eyes, struggling to hold back a burp. In her heart, she wanted nothing more than to slap a big meat pie right onto his head. She had never met anyone so shameless.

“If the Minister finds out, I imagine he’ll punish you quite harshly,” Ling Xun went on, speaking entirely to himself. “But seeing as you’ve served me so diligently these past few days, let’s just say I ate it all. We won’t tell him, alright?”

The maid said nothing.

“There, there. What’s this? Crying now? Such a small matter. No need to be so moved. Off you go and get some rest.”

That night, for once, Ling Xun was not stuffed full of strange medicinal soups meant to strengthen his bones. He felt blissfully at ease and slept especially well. But perhaps the heavens simply couldn’t stand to see a scourge like him living too comfortably. Just past midnight, he was jolted awake by the commotion outside.

What was going on?

Ling Xun flipped upright on the bed almost instantly. The moment his eyes opened, they were sharp as lightning. His mind was clear, with no trace of sleep-induced haze.

“Fang Jue?” he called softly, but there was no response.

That was highly unusual.

Since entering the Minister’s residence, Fang Jue had stayed close, always guarding him without drawing attention. The entire household remained unaware of his presence. By all reason, with such a ruckus going on outside, Fang Jue should have come to wake him immediately. But now, not only had he failed to appear, he was nowhere nearby. That was not normal.

Ling Xun straightened his clothes, slipped quietly from the bed, and walked to the door. Peeking through the crack, he saw that the two guards usually stationed outside his room had vanished without a trace.

Without further delay, he pushed the door open. The noise was coming from the courtyard wing. He was about to follow the sound and investigate when, upon turning a corner, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Instead, he looked up toward the top of the wall.

The wall in front of him was part of the outer perimeter of the Minister’s residence. Beyond it lay the main street. It was the middle of the night, a time when every household should have extinguished their lamps and candles. Yet the sky beyond the wall was bright as day, as if stained red by a great blaze in the heavens. Listening more closely, he thought he could hear the sound of voices singing in unison from afar.

After a moment’s thought, Ling Xun understood that the chaos had originated from outside. The noise within the Minister’s residence was likely a reaction to it. So he did not head toward the main quarters but instead vaulted over the outer wall, chasing the source of the light.

“Once there was a mountain, its name was Zhou…”

Ling Xun quickly realized that the light was coming from somewhere near the palace. The closer he got, the clearer the ethereal chanting became, like the wailing of a hundred ghosts. Gradually, he began to make out the lyrics. But they came in fragments, impossible to piece into full lines, interrupted by sounds of fighting, screams of pain, and the weeping of women and children, making it hard to distinguish anything clearly.

“Help, summon the capital guard! Formation masters! A whole group of formation masters have turned traitor…”

Just then, a man dressed like a city guard burst out from the end of an alley, startling Ling Xun. But the man didn’t even glance at him. Clutching his chest, he staggered down the street toward the city gate, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

As he rounded a corner, a streak of light shot out with a sharp whoosh. It dragged a long tail behind it, like a child waving a sparkler. The thing appeared from thin air and darted after the guard as if it had eyes of its own. Whatever it was, its searing light made Ling Xun’s eyes sting. In the blink of an eye, it caught up with the man. The instant it made contact, a burst of white light flared outward, and the guard let out a pig-slaughtering shriek before disintegrating into a small heap of ash.

Ling Xun inhaled sharply at the sight.

He had heard the guard cry that formation masters had rebelled, and his first thought was that the mutineers from Liangzhou had arrived. But the more he considered it, the more something felt off.

If the ones causing this chaos were Chen Bing’s formation masters, then the Liangzhou forces should already be at the gates, coordinating an internal-external assault. There would be no reason for the formation masters to be raising havoc alone inside the city without outside support.

And if the Liangzhou troops really had reached the capital, the capital guard should have already been deployed and engaged in battle. There was no way it would be this quiet. Yet that guard had been shouting for someone to report to the capital guard, which meant they had not even been alerted yet.

From this, it was clear the chaos was confined within the city. It had started from the inside.

So what exactly was going on? Where had these formation masters come from?

Ling Xun could not make sense of it. The more he puzzled over it, the more curious he became. After a pause, he pulled something from his sleeve.

It was light as silkworm thread, black as ink. In the palm of his hand, it looked no larger than a hen’s egg. As he carefully unfolded it, it turned out to be a small, square piece of black gauze, folded multiple times.

At that very moment, the once-fragmented singing finally drew close and joined into a full, uninterrupted song.

Once there was a mountain, its name was Zhou.
It pierced the clouds, towering between heaven and earth.
Spears struck it, yet still it stood.
The heavens had suns, nine wheels of light.
They scorched the fields and seared the homes.
Feathered arrows flew, and only ashes remained.
The waters held a dragon, it brought ruin to the world.
It churned the rivers, stirred the tides.
A wild blade fell, and broke the dragon’s bones.
The kingdom had a king, but virtue was lost.
He fed on loyal bones, drank children’s blood.
A hundred ghosts march—
Is the king safe?
A hundred ghosts march—
Is the king safe?

The song drifted, haunting and unreal, vast as the sea and mournful as a mountain’s cry. It rang with a deep, lingering sorrow, like the wail of a thousand ancient souls.