Chapter 298: Passion Comes from the Heart

**The Beacon Fire Deceives the Lords**

Xu Fengnian sent the two clever men, Han Fang and Zhang Xiucheng, to pack their belongings at Zhongyi Village. He descended the mountain alone and arrived at the tavern, where he found Qingzhu Niang sprawled in a deep sleep. He thought, if a randy beast like Skinny Monkey saw her like this, wouldn't he drag her into the deep forest or a field and treat her like a mare? Xu Fengnian sat down and reached out to tap her cheek. She startled awake. The unfortunate woman instinctively wiped the corner of her mouth, afraid of appearing unseemly. Most women are like this: they value beauty, cherish their reputation, fear pain, and fear death even more. Of course, there are exceptions. Xu Fengnian had seen too many women who could hold their own against men, and he dared not underestimate them. Furthermore, he was quite good-tempered with any woman whose looks were "worth more than seventy coins," regardless of her age, as long as she wasn't a mortal enemy.

Qingzhu Niang, still groggy, immediately clutched her collar tightly. When she didn't sense anything amiss, she secretly let out a sigh of relief. This expression made Xu Fengnian feel a bit hurt. Qingzhu Niang was a woman of experience, well-versed in the ways of men and women. Catching a glimpse of the young man's helplessness out of the corner of her eye, she smiled faintly. 'Little brat,' she thought, 'I'll make you so frustrated you won't even dare knock on a widow's door!'

Xu Fengnian stated directly, "Zhongyi Village has angered the devils from Shenmen Thatched Hut. Han Fang and Zhang Xiucheng, along with the other leaders, will take you south to Jizhou to escape. I imagine the journey might be a bit bumpy, but it should be better than being exploited here, and you'll live a freer life. However, whether you go to Jizhou or not depends on your own wishes. I won't force you. I should tell you beforehand: Zhongli Handan of Changle Peak Thatched Hut is dead, so you've lost your protector."

Qingzhu Niang looked stunned, then murmured, "Dead? Finally dead?"

Xu Fengnian nodded, "As dead as can be, I'm not lying."

Qingzhu Niang lay sprawled on the table, lost in thought, her prominent bosom seemingly out to "frighten" people again. Wasn't she afraid of collapsing the table? Xu Fengnian openly glanced at her a few times, then asked with a smile, "Can you ride a horse?"

Qingzhu Niang cast him a flirtatious look. "Your old lady can even make human flesh buns, so why wouldn't she know how to ride a horse?"

Xu Fengnian's expression became strange. He nodded, enlightened, "Oh, you can ride a horse."

Qingzhu Niang's eyes were like silk. Under the table, she gently stepped on the foot of the sword-carrying wanderer, and softly said, "Isn't that right? If Young Master doesn't believe me..."

Xu Fengnian shook his head, "I am not a casual man."

Qingzhu Niang stopped her teasing, lowered her eyelids, and softly said, "I am a casual woman, aren't I?"

There was not even a hint of a question in her tone at the end.

Xu Fengnian paused, then reached out a finger and flicked her forehead. He saw her put both hands to her forehead, like a girl chastised by a strict elder, her eyes clearer than they had ever been. Xu Fengnian pinched her cheek, then drew his hand back and smiled, "You are more virtuous than any virtuous woman, I say."

Qingzhu Niang didn't seem to take it too seriously. With a worried expression, she asked, "What can I do in Jizhou?"

Xu Fengnian caressed the empty wine jar with two fingers and gently said, "Continue being a tavern owner. Remember to sell good wine and don't run a black inn making human flesh buns."

The sound of hooves approached.

Han Fang and Zhang Xiucheng descended the mountain with fewer than twenty riders. They dismounted and approached the table, behaving with utmost respect. Qingzhu Niang watched the two bandit leaders, who looked like mice seeing a cat, completely bewildered.

Xu Fengnian counted the numbers and smiled, "With you two, it's just twenty riders. Did the second leader stop you? Did he prevent you from bringing the entire village, families and all?"

Han Fang looked embarrassed.

Zhang Xiucheng's lips curled up; he had hit the nail on the head. If he hadn't strongly insisted on only taking eighteen strong men to Jizhou, Han Fang would have wanted to bring the entire village south.

Only then did Xu Fengnian slowly rise, walk around the table to Qingzhu Niang, pick her up, and place her on his horse. He looked up and said, "Qingzhu Niang, go to Jizhou. Find a man you like and remarry. If anyone dares to gossip about you, I'll have the two leaders tear their mouths apart."

On horseback, the young woman, still somewhat intoxicated, suddenly burst into tears. She bent down and hugged the scholar-wanderer's head, refusing to let go.

A very long time passed.

Xu Fengnian finally managed to speak with great difficulty, "I can't breathe."

The men from Zhongyi Village were all dumbfounded. Who would have thought Qingzhu Niang could ever be as shy and delicate as a young maiden?

Xu Fengnian softly said, "Live well. There is no greater truth in this world than that."

She nodded, wiping away her tears.

The twenty-one riders gradually rode away.

Xu Fengnian waved his hand, touched his head, and softly said, "So fragrant, so heavy."

Du Qinglou, whose name was rather amusing, had a very ordinary face. Among the many non-Shen clan scholars and retainers at Shen Thatched Hut, his martial arts skill was neither exceptional nor poor. He couldn't participate in confidential affairs. Five or six years ago, he came to Changle Peak. Because he wielded a fierce sword technique not widely known in the martial world—his moves were not showy but carried intense killing intent—Zhongli Handan often sought him out for sparring matches to hone his swordsmanship. Du Qinglou was not a reclusive or isolated person. He got along well with many of the guest retainers on the mountain and was a minor figure willing to humble himself to build relationships. He was also one of the few distinguished scholars in the Thatched Hut who was willing to be kind to the bandit leaders, often descending the mountain to drink and joke with them.

Today, during a thrilling fight outside the main building's plaza, he immediately followed, but merely stood hidden around a corner, observing without showing himself. A passing retainer even sneered at him, but Du Qinglou didn't mind being scorned. After witnessing the splendid fight of the sword-hanging scholar, he silently memorized the moves, then returned to the second floor of his detached small building. Instead of picking up his frequently used large Frost Brush with a bamboo handle, he chose a rarely used mottled bamboo 'Spring Shoot' brush with a long goat-hair tip, skilled at writing tiny characters. He concentrated, quickly filtered what he had observed, then wrote rapidly on a small piece of processed Xuan paper. After blowing the ink dry, he rolled it into a tiny scroll with his fingers, inserted it into a short pen cap, sealed it with ink paste, and then stood up to open a vertical, ventilated nanmu cabinet. He took out a bamboo birdcage covered with black cloth, pulled off the cloth, and inside stood a 'Dili' pigeon, its eyes like green water, hence its other name, 'Green Droplet.' It was a top-tier short-distance homing pigeon, especially for messages within 500 li, with unparalleled speed, faster than a hawk. He tied the lightweight bamboo pen cap with silk thread and, under the cover of night, released this inconspicuous 'Green Droplet' out the window.

After releasing the homing pigeon, Du Qinglou went downstairs, took out a pot of wine, sat on a water-nanmu chair, and poured himself drinks at the table, one hand unconsciously stroking the nanmu chair armrest. Shenmen Thatched Hut did not favor the Northern Barbarian imperial woods like red sandalwood, boxwood, and rosewood. Instead, they had a particular fondness for collecting large zhennan wood for decoration. Nanmu was considered the foremost of the four famous woods of Jiangnan in the Central Plains, and since ancient times, there had been a saying that "nanmu fragrance prolongs life." Within the Thatched Hut, most direct descendants of the Shen clan used the exceptionally valuable golden-thread zhennan. Casual scholars and retainers like Du Qinglou, who were less important, could only use a lower grade, such as yellow-heart nanmu, for furniture and decor. Even this had a certain style, with beautiful grain and a faint purple fragrance. For martial artists who lived by the sword, having such a chair to sit on meant they had no worries about food, clothing, or women, and truly had nothing to complain about.

Unfortunately, Du Qinglou was no ordinary martial arts ruffian. He was a 'Dragonfly Catcher' from the Northern Barbarian Zhuwang. Like many of his colleagues who had infiltrated various martial arts sects, he was ordered to lie low at Shenmen Thatched Hut. Every detail, no matter how small, had to be reported truthfully via homing pigeon. Normally, this was done once every ten days, but in emergencies, he could use his discretion. As for the filtering and screening of intelligence, a mere 'Dragonfly Catcher' like him didn't need to worry about it. Du Qinglou believed his identity was well-concealed and hadn't been exposed by the Thatched Hut. Even if, hypothetically, those old foxes of the Shen clan saw through him, what could they do? Expel him from the mountain? Shenmen Thatched Hut wouldn't dare, not even with the courage of a bear and a leopard. That would be challenging Zhuwang, tearing off all pretenses, and the peace of Changle Peak Thatched Hut would come to an end.

Du Qinglou's mood gradually improved, and the wine tasted better and better, its aftertaste lingering on his tongue. Suddenly, his pupils contracted sharply. Du Qinglou stood up and asked loudly, "Who's there?"

No one answered. The securely fastened door bolt was severed by something sharp, and then the door was gently pushed open. Du Qinglou kicked away the nanmu chair. A figure in beautiful brocade, graceful as a butterfly, glided in. Without any apparent movement, the chair silently landed, and the door closed. Du Qinglou pressed himself against a pillar, about to draw his sleeve-sword, when he looked up and saw two magnificent sleeves swirling around the pillar.

Like a cluster of brocade hibiscus flowers blooming around a beam.

The next moment, he found his throat seized. This filled Du Qinglou with regret. According to Zhuwang's internal "secret laws," Dragonfly Catchers carried a hidden poison sac under their tongue, meant for suicide if their identity was exposed. However, Du Qinglou had never believed anyone in the Thatched Hut would kill him, so he had grown lax in the past two years. After joining this "spiderweb," he hadn't heard of any colleagues being forced to bite the poison to commit suicide; he'd only heard of one poor soul who accidentally killed himself from excessive drinking. Du Qinglou immediately realized how foolish he had been. The attacker not only gripped his neck but, almost simultaneously, used her other hand to sever the meridians in all four of his limbs. Even if she let go, he would only collapse onto the ground like a puddle of mud, unable to move. Such a technique was as practiced as a skilled cook chopping vegetables.

And yet, the woman before him was so alluring!

Most strikingly, her lips were an unusually vivid crimson. Du Qinglou, knowing his death was inevitable, vaguely wondered what kind of rouge could make her so alluring yet so cold and glamorous.

She chuckled softly, "I intercepted the secret message you sent to another Butterfly Catcher in Xiongji Town, three hundred li away."

Du Qinglou, only able to produce a hoarse sound with difficulty, asked, "Who are you?"

She hadn't intended to answer, but then, for no reason, she narrowed her eyes, alluring like crescent moons, and chuckled sweetly, "I'm your long-lost mother. Isn't that a beautiful answer?"

Du Qinglou, having "capsized in a ditch" (meaning, suffering an unexpected, humiliating defeat), almost vomited blood from the sheer indignation of her words. Born into Zhuwang, he was not greedy for life nor afraid of death; he even regarded severe torture as child's play. However, being trapped in a deadly situation with no power to fight back, and his assailant being such a young woman, like a fox spirit that had cultivated for a thousand years to assume human form, left Du Qinglou somewhat bewildered. He couldn't even summon any ferocity. As for the common saying in the martial world, "a beheading is just a bowl-sized scar, and eighteen years later, another hero will emerge," he couldn't even bring himself to say it; it felt too foolish. Du Qinglou stared intently at the killer. He only knew she had come up the mountain alone, an envoy from Dunhuang City. All this information was in that letter. Because releasing homing pigeons during the day was too conspicuous, for caution, Du Qinglou usually sent secret messages around midnight. He had just been congratulating himself that sending the message later had its benefits, that it was better to be opportune than early, as he could now include the news of the young swordsman. How could he have known that all his efforts would come to nothing?

She asked, "That Green Droplet isn't dead yet. How about you write a different secret message and send it?"

Du Qinglou's eyes were as still as an old well. He asked calmly, "If I do that, will I live?"

She stated as a matter of course, "No."

Du Qinglou scoffed, "Then why should I write it?"

She blinked, and with a charming smile, said, "I always thought living a long life in one's youth was a very fortunate thing."

Du Qinglou suddenly said, "I'll write!"

She shook her head, "Just a few words. Since I know you're not afraid of death, I won't give you the chance to play tricks or tamper with the letter."

With a crisp *crack*, the sound of bone shattering, the poor Dragonfly Catcher died with his eyes wide open, slumped down the pillar, his head askew as he sat on the ground.

The woman didn't even glance at the corpse. Her brocade skirt swayed as she gracefully walked up to the second floor. She eyed the ivory brush holder, immediately picked out the 'Spring Shoot' goat-hair brush, and, using her fingers like a knife, bent down to cut a piece of processed Xuan paper precisely the same size as the secret message in her hand. She didn't rush to fabricate a message. Instead, she moved several books that Du Qinglou frequently read on the desk, carefully examined some of his handwriting samples. Only then did she reach into her collar and retrieve the 'Green Droplet' pigeon from between her ample and impressive breasts. If Du Qinglou had witnessed this scene, his eyes would have popped out. The woman casually placed the homing pigeon on the desk, untied the silk thread, removed the pen cap, peeled off the sealing wax with her fingernail, and pulled out the secret message. Comparing the handwriting, it was indeed very different. She tapped the 'Green Droplet' pigeon with her finger and softly chuckled, "Just like you, a sly one who refuses to be honest."

She suddenly put down the long goat-hair brush, her eyes burning with intensity. One hand reached between her breasts, her gaze distant, and a faint, lamenting whisper escaped her lips. After a long while, she finally stopped her cloying gasps, suppressing a long sigh, and said, "His Royal Highness, the Heir Apparent."