Chapter 23
Chapter 23: Admiration from So Close
The figure wore a deep grey Night-stalking Outfit, with a slender frame and an unremarkable face—the kind a person would forget the moment they looked away.
A Second Rank Martial Artist.
Qin Junyue's hand tightened around the hilt of the Flexible Sword at her waist. She held her breath, and her expression grew focused.
An unfamiliar Second Rank Martial Artist, infiltrating the Song Family Estate in the dead of night, heading straight for the Bridal Chamber?
Her expression turned deeply unpleasant.
Inside the Bridal Chamber, the red candles were still burning.
Qi Chuyao's groggy voice drifted out from within, murmuring something incoherent, entirely unaware of the danger drawing near.
Qin Junyue kept one hand on the sword hilt and, holding her breath, moved silently across the rooftop.
Her movements were feather-light, without a whisper of sound, in harmony with her technique—as if she moved with the wind itself, nearly impossible to detect.
She was searching for the perfect position.
A position from which she could protect the person inside the Bridal Chamber without being discovered by the intruder.
The figure advanced to a point not far from the courtyard's outer wall, then suddenly stopped.
Qin Junyue's heart clenched sharply.
Had the intruder already noticed her?
That shouldn't be.
She was confident her breath-suppression technique was exceptional. At this distance, in these conditions, she wasn't moving in wide sweeping strides the way the intruder had been—how could she possibly have been detected?
Qin Junyue's strong and luminous Phoenix Eyes fixed unblinking on the shadow in the darkness. She readied herself, poised to draw her sword at any moment.
But the figure did not look in her direction.
The figure stopped, expression turning strange. With a sudden leap, they landed atop a roof and stood motionless, beginning to hesitate.
In the moonlight, the Black-clad Figure's gaze swept toward the Bridal Chamber, listening carefully to the sounds from within. A slight frown crossed their brow.
Something was wrong.
These two should have, by all reasoning, gone to bed after the Shared Cup Ceremony—so why were they still talking? And why hadn't the door of the Bridal Chamber even been closed?
The plan they had devised was foolproof. They had personally tampered with the wine used in the Shared Cup Ceremony; whoever drank it would fall unconscious as though drunk, drowsy and half-asleep.
Then she would slip into the room, eliminate that blind Song Ning, and stage the scene to look as though Qi Chuyao had killed her husband in a drunken stupor—then move Qi Chuyao away.
Leaving behind a clear trail of evidence, with Qi Chuyao absent from the Bridal Chamber on their wedding night, she would be unable to clear her name even if she threw herself into the Yellow River.
With a rift opened between the 2 families, Lord Wei would then be able to draw one side closer, expand his power at court, and more effectively control the government and the Capital's defenses.
The entire plan rested on the premise that the newlyweds would drink the Shared Cup Ceremony wine.
After all, who gets married without drinking the Shared Cup Ceremony wine? And even if they didn't drink it, she had tampered with the fruits and sweets on the table as well.
But even if they proved immune to all of it, it didn't matter.
The Black-clad Figure touched her chin and reached into her chest to produce an incense stick.
The incense was entirely black, etched with fine dense patterns, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
She had prepared for every contingency—if they didn't fall unconscious, lighting this incense and letting the smoke drift into the room would achieve the same result.
In short: tonight, Qi Chuyao would absolutely be made to commit a drunken killing of her husband.
The Black-clad Figure nodded, quite satisfied with her own plan.
She held the incense stick between her lips and reached behind her, groping for a fire-starter.
Tss!
A faint rasping sound rose from just behind her ear.
The sound was so soft—as soft as wind brushing through blades of grass.
The Black-clad Figure snapped her head around.
A pair of icy eyes. Right before her face.
Those eyes held no emotion whatsoever. Qin Junyue had somehow slipped behind her without her knowing.
She raised her Flexible Sword. The blade was thin as a cicada's wing, sweeping a silver-white arc in the moonlight—silent and swift, like a serpent flicking its tongue.
The Flexible Sword trembled lightly, something clinging to it—red, and warm.
The Black-clad Figure felt a surge of searing pain from her right hand a moment too late.
She looked down.
Her right hand had been severed clean at the wrist, blood gushing out in a torrent.
The hand fell to the ground, its 5 fingers still frozen in a groping posture, a fire-starter pinched between them; it struck the ground, bounced, and rolled twice.
Her eyes went wide, her mouth fell open, and she was about to scream.
Qin Junyue gave her no chance.
She lunged forward and seized the Black-clad Figure in both arms; together, the 2 of them tumbled from the rooftop.
Thud. A muffled sound as they landed in the grass outside the courtyard wall.
The blades of grass were crushed in every direction, and a spray of dust rose up around them.
Only then did the Black-clad Figure manage a muffled groan—but Qin Junyue's palm clamped hard over her mouth, smothering it.
In her agony, the Black-clad Figure's body acted on instinct. She clenched her left fist and drove it with surging Inner Energy straight at Qin Junyue's face.
Qin Junyue turned her head aside; the force of the blow grazed her cheek, and the branches and leaves of a small tree behind her rustled and scattered with a shush.
That sword strike had been carefully calculated by Qin Junyue—at maximum range, with her Inner Energy condensed and her full focus brought to bear, it was meant to be a killing blow.
A pity she still wasn't strong enough. Had she been even a little closer, 1 strike could have taken the head clean off.
The 2 of them rolled across the ground twice before springing apart.
The Black-clad Figure staggered to her feet. The severed stump of her wrist was still seeping blood, staining the grass beneath her a deep, dark red.
She drew the sword at her waist with her left hand; its blade gleamed cold in the moonlight.
"You! Qin Junyue!"
She glared at Qin Junyue, her eyes full of shock and venom.
Qin Junyue said nothing. She gave her Flexible Sword a flick; the blade quivered like a serpent's tongue, letting out a low hum.
She pushed off the ground and shot forward like an arrow, the Flexible Sword tracing a beautiful arc through the air—aimed straight at the intruder's throat.
The Black-clad Figure hurried to dodge sideways, not daring to meet the attack head-on, afraid of being entangled and unable to escape.
Qin Junyue's Flexible Sword moved like a living thing, gliding along the intruder's body and slashing toward her fingers.
The Black-clad Figure jerked her hand back in alarm, barely pulling free—but the blade still left a streak of blood along her arm.
Qin Junyue gave her no chance to catch her breath; her sword technique surged forward like a tide.
The Flexible Sword shifted unpredictably in her grasp—at one moment fierce and snapping as a whip, the next supple and sinuous as a snake, every strike devious and ruthless, targeting blind spots without mercy.
With one arm gone and severe blood loss, the Black-clad Figure's combat strength was drastically diminished.
She managed to parry a few moves, but dared not engage directly. Then Qin Junyue's foot connected with her wrist, and her sword flew from her grip and vanished into the grass in the distance.
Seeing that the fight was lost, the Black-clad Figure turned and ran.
Qin Junyue pursued; her Flexible Sword left 2 more bloody streaks across the intruder's back as blood welled out.
"And here I thought you were some great expert," Qin Junyue said with a cold snort, flicking her Flexible Sword into a sharp, imposing stance. "You've cultivated all the way to Second Rank and this is the standard of your swordsmanship?"
"Talk. Who sent you? What are you here for? Tell me, and I'll spare your life!"
The Black-clad Figure lurched forward a dozen or so steps, then suddenly spun around.
A look of desperate resolve and venomous hatred flashed in her eyes.
Splat!
A mist of blood exploded from her body, and the thick stench of iron flooded the air.
Her speed surged wildly—like an arrow loosed from a bow, she vanished dozens of Zhang away in the blink of an eye.
Qin Junyue's brow furrowed, and she was about to give chase—but her feet stopped.
She glanced back in the direction of the Bridal Chamber.
What if there were other assassins?
What if this was a ruse to draw her away?
She bit her lip, then sheathed her sword.
The Flexible Sword coiled back around her waist, once again disguised as an unremarkable sash.
She turned and strode toward the Bridal Chamber, her pace swift.
The door of the Bridal Chamber was still wide open; when Qi Chuyao had stumbled drunkenly through it earlier, she hadn't had the presence of mind to close it.
Qin Junyue stepped into the courtyard. Her footsteps slowed without her meaning for them to—she held her breath, walked to the doorway, and peered inside.
Qi Chuyao was slumped at the table, nodding and swaying, a wine jug still dangling from her hand.
"I've still got things to do," she murmured incoherently, then upended the wine jug and drained whatever remained inside.
Then her eyes began to spin.
"This wine is so strong… how can it be this strong…" She swayed and tilted, her mind utterly lost, like a tree blown sideways by the wind.
She reached out to steady herself against the table—but found only air. She crumpled bonelessly and fell forward with a thump, collapsing face-down on the table. She was out cold.
Song Ning sat on the edge of the bed, brow faintly creased.
"Qi Chuyao? What is it? Have you had too much to drink?"
No one answered.
He waited a moment, then called again:
"Qi Chuyao?"
Still no response.
Song Ning let out a sigh, his face settling into an expression of helpless resignation.
How could she have already drunk herself unconscious? He didn't even know where she was—should he carry her to the bed? How was he supposed to manage that as a blind man?
He was being made to suffer on his own wedding night!
The wedding night was supposed to mean getting a good night's sleep until daybreak! What an absolute mess!
He was famished right now, and Qi Chuyao was managing to be completely useless about it.
Qin Junyue held her breath, suppressed her presence, and circulated her Inner Energy as she slipped silently into the room.
She looked first at Qi Chuyao, pressed 2 fingers to her neck, and channeled Inner Energy through her fingertips to probe her internal energy flow.
Nothing wrong—it seemed she had simply drunk too much.
She was genuinely concerned about her close friend.
After confirming that Qi Chuyao was all right, her gaze drifted, almost against her will, to the figure nearby.
Song Ning sat on the edge of the bed. His red Wedding Robes shimmered soft in the candlelight.
His brow was faintly creased, the corners of his mouth touched with a trace of helplessness, and his handsome face looked especially gentle in the glow of the candle flame.
His 'gaze' was tilted slightly in the direction of Qi Chuyao, waiting for a reply that would never come.
Those white eyes, at this moment, held a flicker of bewilderment and resignation.
Yet to Qin Junyue's eyes, they looked unbearably beautiful.
Her heart lurched.
Emotion surged up without warning—like a river bursting its banks, impossible to hold back no matter how hard she tried.
She stood there at the doorway, watching this person.
The red candles burned quietly on, their wax tears falling one by one.
The night wind swept in through the open door, making the candle flames flutter gently, casting shifting shadows of light and dark across his face.
Qin Junyue felt a sudden dryness in her throat.
She wanted to say something, but didn't dare let a single word out.
She wanted to walk toward him, but her feet were as though nailed to the ground.
So she simply stood there, watching, her heartbeat thundering in her chest.
And Song Ning—unable to see a thing—had no idea at all that someone was standing right there before him.
Even with his uncommonly keen hearing, capturing the movements of a Second Rank Martial Artist was no easy feat—especially one with cultivation as formidable as Qin Junyue's.
Qin Junyue stared at Song Ning's face, and a dangerous thought surfaced in her mind. She glanced down at the Wedding Robes on Qi Chuyao's body, then looked down at her own Night-stalking Outfit.