Chapter 235: Loyal Hearts Shining Like Snow

Chapter 235: Liver and Gallbladder Reflect the Snow

"Since you never believed me from beginning to end, why bother bringing me all the way to Chongqing Prefecture? Wouldn't killing me directly have been clean and neat?"

"There is a saying that a man can be a thief for a thousand days, but there is no logic in guarding against a thief for a thousand days. I came to Chongqing Prefecture just to see which wire is crossed in this Prince Qin's head, that he would actually entertain the suicidal notion of striking at the Honghu."

Qi Huai felt a desolate chill in his heart upon hearing this, and found himself utterly speechless.

A majestic Imperial Prince of the Great Ming, at this moment, had become a 'thief' in the mouth of a rebel—truly, how bitterly ironic.

"Hahaha, just a joke. I am but a guilty commoner; how would I dare call Your Highness a thief?"

Ding Huan waved his hand, a sinister smile hanging on his face. "This trip of mine serves only to plunge the Empire's Southwest into deeper chaos. After all, nothing breeds chaos quite like the violent death of an Imperial Prince in his own fief. Chaos—that is the stage for the Strategists!"

"You intend to kill the Prince of Qin?"

Qi Huai's face instantly drained of all color, his widened eyes holding nothing but sheer horror.

This madman!

Ding Huan smiled faintly, neither confirming nor denying, merely murmuring, "I said just now, Qi Huai, you are a rare talent. The meaning behind those words, you should be able to understand."

What is a talent? One who knows the times, who can bend and stretch; who doesn't hesitate to take the money, who doesn't hesitate to sell out.

Even with the realization clear in his heart, Qi Huai still couldn't help but ask: "You want me to become the Honghu?"

Ding Huan glanced at him. "Aren't you one already?"

Qi Huai froze, then let out a mute, bitter laugh.

Right. In the eyes of the world, he had long since become a rebel Honghu.

"Right now, a fortune vast as the heavens lies before you. Whether you seize it depends entirely on how you choose."

"I will not betray His Highness the Prince of Qin."

Qi Huai's words carried a weakness never before heard, sounding laughable even to his own ears.

"A rebel, a charlatan—let's not speak of loyalty between us. I have only one sentence: what you bartered with your whole family's lives to exchange from the Prince of Qin, you will get far more of right here."

Ding Huan smoothed his shirt cuffs and stood up.

"Enough said. Whether it is one man's wealth and glory, or the whole family reunited in the underworld—the road is right before you. You choose."

Choose? There was no need to choose at all.

Qi Huai followed him up in silence, bowing deeply to the Hidden King of the Honghu before him.

"Truly a talent."

Ding Huan smoothed the wrinkles on his coat with deliberate calm, striding past Qi Huai.

"Let's go. Up to the Golden Tower. Let's have a chat with that Prince—see if the shod fear the barefoot, or the barefoot fear the shod."

The howling wind and rain could not drown out the thunder of footsteps.

Wang Xie drove the carriage speeding down the long street, rainwater backflowing through the open windows, splashing onto his face.

The bone-piercing chill could not extinguish the murderous aura in his heart.

Wang Xie's face was twisted into a grimace, muttering to himself: "You son of a bitch Zhang Ruzhen, once I catch you, I'll make you, this eunuch, taste what it means to be beaten to death with chaotic sticks!"

Fortunately, it was already deep in the night; the streets were empty. Otherwise, at his current speed, who knew how many people would have been crushed beneath the wheels.

Screech!

The wheels ground against the ground, emitting a piercing shriek. The smell of burnt rubber and the fishy stench of dampness rushed into his nostrils together.

Wang Xie's pupils suddenly contracted—the neon sign of the Yunbin Pavilion was right before his eyes.

Bang!

The main door was smashed to splinters; the front of the car nearly embedded itself in the doorframe. Wang Xie threw himself from the driver's seat, hitting the ground running. Right hand, saber drawn; left hand, round chambered!

Behind him, countless Flying Fish robes and embroidered gowns billowed, charging in recklessly, heedless of whether ambushes lay within.

"Zhang Ruzhen, hm?"

Wang Xie drew his blade and scanned the room, only to find a floor littered with mutilated corpses, and blood splattered across the blown-out walls.

A white-haired old man lay in the styling chair, beneath his crossed, outstretched legs, a head that died with eyes wide open rested as a cushion.

"The money for repairing the door comes out of your monthly salary."

Wang Xie grunted an acknowledgment, his face expressionless, but his pupils trembling violently.

"Boss, you..."

"What 'me'? A useless Sequence Six Weapon Path who can't even overclock his Core Heart, plus a motley crew of misfits, thinking they can kill me in the Jinyiwei's Household Division—what a joke. Your boss is just old, not finished."

Wang Xie's jaw tightened, his feet shifting inch by inch, as if every step bore a thousand pounds.

"Is the matter at He Cangjia's side settled?"

"Settled."

"Good. Bring those people from the Sichuan-Chongqing Gambling Convention under our command to serve as eyes and ears. Your Second Division's intelligence work will be much easier from now on. Saves you whining to me every day about being short-handed."

Yan Bahuang kept his eyes closed, seemingly unaware that Wang Xie had circled to the other side of the styling chair.

"Boss, your hand..."

Wang Xie's voice trembled; the blade of his Embroidered Spring Saber tapped the ground, ringing with a sharp *zheng-zheng*.

Piercing and high, like a human voice wailing in grief.

"Just a left arm. Trading it for the life of that castrate Zhang Ruzhen—a bargain."

Yan Bahuang's aura was domineering: "This old man disliked him long ago. Daring to swagger before me draped in a tiger's skin—courting death!"

"Where are the Medical Puppets? Why the hell aren't they rolling out here!"

Wang Xie's voice cracked, echoing miserably in the room.

"Stop howling. Just a minor injury, doesn't need treatment."

A thread of fatigue finally seeped into the old man's voice. "Since everyone's back, it's time for proper business."

Wang Xie roared, spittle flying: "What proper business! Treating your wounds right now is the proper business!"

"Enough nonsense."

The old man rose slowly. His tiger-like frame was covered in wounds, yet none diminished that mountain-like imposing manner.

Indeed, that knife-edge sharpness was even greater than before, awe-inspiring.

"Follow me up the Golden Tower!"

"Go to the Golden Tower for what? He's capable of doing something like this, why should we still care about him..."

Wang Xie's collar suddenly tightened, the rest of his words forcibly choked back into his stomach.

Heels leaving the ground, he was hauled up by a withered hand.

"Wang Xie, you listen to me! As long as you still wear this Flying Fish robe, as long as you still hold this Embroidered Spring Saber, you cannot watch him die before your very eyes!"

Yan Bahuang was like an enraged, ancient lion. "Whether he is deluded or deranged, he represents the face of the Great Ming Empire!"

"The Imperial House of the Great Ming will absolutely never, and cannot, be entangled with rebels, let alone die at the hands of rebels!"

The old man released Wang Xie's collar, gently prying open his fingers where blue veins bulged, and took the Embroidered Spring Saber into his own hand.

"This—this is what we of the Brocade Guard ought to do."

Saber in hand, he strode forward.

The old man walked into the wind and rain, and all things before him retreated three leagues.

Wang Xie raised a hand to wipe the water from his face, and facing the Brocade Guards around him, silent as green mountains, he roared in fury: "Brocade Guard, draw your blades!"

Amid the clatter of steel leaving scabbards, behind the newcomer, followers gathered like clouds.

In the Cloud-Tress Pavilion not a single standing figure remained; from the sound system still came the pipa's rhythm like iron hooves, a weathered lao sheng aria singing the tragic grandeur of "the state shattered, mountains and rivers remain."

"This three-foot frame upholds heaven and earth—how dare I retreat half a hair's breadth? This heart's only wish: in wind and rain, may liver and gall illuminate frost and snow!"

The lingering notes curled on, circling the beams without end.