Chapter 61: Could It Be for Him…

The ambush had long been set, the encirclement and kill plan had long been in motion, everything was prepared, leaving him no chance to escape. The Death Warriors and Imperial Guards needed no torchlight for their actions, but as the Guard Army surged in behind them, torches illuminated the courtyard brightly. Ren Ping leaned against the doorframe, holding his blade, watching quietly.

The scene before him overlapped with one from years ago, the centerpiece still the same, only the setting had shifted from a downpour to a torchlit night. He had gone from being the victor, struggling to rise from the ground with his sword, barely clinging to life, to being the one on the brink of death, gasping for breath as he forced himself to stand here.

The youth was covered in blood, his combat strength far from its usual level. Over a month of joint encirclement and killing had forced even this monstrously tenacious and hard-to-kill person to show a vulnerability belonging to normal humans. His strength was visibly draining away.

In their world, death was all too common. Witnessing his death firsthand filled Ren Ping with both reflection and a faint sense of regret, along with a very secret pleasure. A difficult-to-kill genius was finally going to die, finally about to die.

The courtyard was already piled with twitching corpses. The youth, leaning on the ground, staggered to his feet once more. Ren Ping pressed him as usual: “Reveal Princess Yingrong’s whereabouts. If you confess truthfully, I can spare your life.”

Guan Xuan gasped violently, the blood from the wound on his forehead dripping faster with each ragged breath. He clenched his fist toward the blood dripping before his eyes, the droplets splattering, staining his palm lines. He wondered if, as a ghost, he could still kill for the Princess—those who bullied her, obstructed her, opposed her. Since he still had these last few breaths left, he should kill a few more people for her.

Seeing that he could still stand after all the killing, most were terrified by his inhuman vitality, only daring to approach slowly from a distance, holding long spears and halberds. Only Ren Ping, gripping his great blade, kicked aside corpses and walked toward him.

Ren Ping was prepared to deliver the final blow himself, sending him on his way. He had been his master, had personally trained him, and now personally sending him off would bring things full circle. Unexpectedly, after just a few steps, the youth’s expression suddenly turned fierce. Dragging his broken sword, leaving bloody footprints with each step, he actively walked toward Ren Ping.

Ren Ping frowned. The next moment, the broken sword cleaved through the rushing wind, heading straight for his face. He sidestepped to avoid it, raising his blade to slash at the youth’s back, but a bloody hand suddenly seized his wrist holding the blade. Ren Ping was startled; even gravely injured like this, his strength was still so immense.

The youth wasn’t resisting desperately; he was trying to seize Ren Ping’s blade. When Ren Ping refused to yield, he attempted to control Ren Ping’s hand, swinging the great blade toward the surrounding crowd.

Enraged, Ren Ping began to strike with lethal intent. The one-on-one combat also ignited the youth’s fighting spirit. Though constantly at a disadvantage, he still used Ren Ping’s blade to hack several people to death or injury.

Finally, Ren Ping swung the blade downward while simultaneously raising his knee to kick hard at the hilt. Though both of them were gripping it tightly, blood from the youth’s wounded arm kept flowing into his palm, making the hilt too slippery to hold. With that kick, the blade was knocked from their hands. The broadsword spun through the air with a “whoosh” twice before landing back in Ren Ping’s grasp. Ren Ping took two steps back, steadied his stance, and with the momentum, swung it toward the youth.

Guan Xuan felt his body grow heavy, barely managing to dodge the first strike. The next slash came, and he narrowly avoided it, yet still suffered a cut across his chest. Old wounds and new piled together, compounded by the impact of his opponent’s inner force, left him unable to catch his breath. Darkness began to cloud his vision for a long while, refusing to clear, and a persistent buzzing filled his ears.

He wanted to wait until it eased a little before rising, as he had countless times on the brink of death before. But breathing grew increasingly difficult, and the waves of darkness before his eyes refused to fade. Even lifting his eyelids felt like an immense effort. He even began to feel cold, colder and colder, a chill he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

His face slammed heavily onto the cold, blood-soaked grass, the scent of soil filling his nostrils with each breath. Guan Xuan wished he could die in the sunlit daytime, to be warmed by its glow.

The chaos around him grew faint and distant. All he saw was a torch shining directly into his face, blindingly bright, nearly engulfing his entire world. His world turned into a piercing white, and within it, the Princess’s face appeared. He knew he wasn’t completely dead yet; from this moment on, everything he saw was the final hallucination before death. But seeing the Princess, he felt such hatred and love, such sorrow and grievance, such unwillingness to let go.

He could not die with a soft heart. Would she let him die like this, cold and alone? Why had she given him only such a brief farewell before parting, why couldn’t she have held him tightly? Why couldn’t she have given him so much love? Why couldn’t she have given him so much love?

For a moment, he wanted to become a vengeful ghost; for another, a benevolent one; and yet another, he wished desperately to live. In the future, many Shadow Guards would surround her, many close companions. He hated it; he wanted to keep killing, to eliminate all who might replace him. He would kill them one by one, in batches, becoming a jealous ghost steeped in evil.

He would become a jealous, malevolent ghost. Guan Xuan released the broken sword, clutching the grass, trying to muster his last ounce of strength to ask the Princess for one final embrace. But he couldn’t lift his hand, not even a finger. And the Princess in his hallucination remained unmoved, simply watching him.

Resentment, unwillingness, grievance. Guan Xuan felt his face contort into a grimace.

He wanted to call out to her, to make her stay. He strained his voice, using the last shred of his strength.

“Prin…cess.”

The area around was crowded with people, yet so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Hearing his voice, Ren Ping looked astonished. Holding the torch, he tried to crouch down for a closer look, but his ear tingled as if the airflow far behind him had shifted. The other Imperial Guards also sensed it keenly, though usually by the time they noticed, it was too late. As Ren Ping stood and turned around, he saw a cloud-piercing arrow whistling fiercely toward him. He quickly leaned back to dodge, and the arrow thudded deeply into the tree behind him. Withered leaves shook loose from the tree, falling onto the youth’s body. The arrow’s fletching quivered.

What formidable archery.

Ren Ping glared furiously ahead as the rapid clatter of hooves approached. A young woman in bloodstained plain clothes, bow drawn, rode in on horseback, her face filled with rage as she charged into the scene.

“Move aside!”

Her arrow tip once again aimed at Ren Ping, the bow drawn taut as a full moon. Her voice cracked with the force of her shout.

“Princess Yingrong?” The anger on Ren Ping’s face instantly shifted to surprise and a hint of playful curiosity. His gaze drifted toward the blood-soaked youth on the ground. Was she really this foolish, walking straight into the lion’s den by barging into the city at this moment? If Mysterious Cat died, the imperial court would struggle to find her whereabouts. By appearing now, wasn’t she rendering Mysterious Cat’s sacrifice meaningless?

Could it be she came for him? For him? If so, it was even more regrettable. He hadn’t seen, nor had she heard him call out her name with his dying breath.

Ren Ping had no intention of opposing her. As far as he was concerned, capturing her was optional. His ambitions for glory and achievement had long since faded; he merely went through the motions of his court-assigned duties like a monk tolling the bell day by day. Yet, her delivering herself like this was an unexpected windfall—there was no reason to refuse it.

“Are you certain you want this humble officer to move aside?” If he did, she would step completely into their encirclement, unable to save Mysterious Cat and only trapping herself in the process.

Zhao Rongzhang grew impatient, firing several arrows in succession, each drawn with full force. Many in the courtyard fell instantly. One man, overcome with rage, tried to rush forward in defiance, only to be struck down by her arrow: “Who dares?! I am the only daughter of the late emperor, the sole Eldest Princess of the court. The Grand Empress Dowager demands my safe return—how dare any of you lay a hand on me?!”

Ren Ping stepped aside. The others had no choice but to lower their spears and retreat.

Zhao Rongzhang tugged the reins, guiding her horse toward the tree. The moon was bright, its light gentle and pale, casting a blanket of fallen leaves. The horse’s hooves crunched softly over the dry foliage.

Little Mute lay on the ground, half-buried in leaves, only a sliver of his profile visible—his nose bridge and eye sockets, pale as snow, the same color as the moonlight.

Zhao Rongzhang waited a moment, but he showed no sign of movement. Slowly, she drew a long sword from its scabbard.

The blade was equally pale, colder than the moonlight. She lowered its tip to him, using it to brush aside the leaves covering his forehead and hair, revealing the dried blood at his temple, his relaxed brow, and his naturally upturned lips.

Zhao Rongzhang gazed at him quietly.

In her life, she had never known regret. Every decision she made—whether carefully considered or born of impulse or youthful folly—she never regretted, for she respected and trusted every choice she made.

She only felt sorrow. Only wondered, what if he had lived…

Holding the sword, Zhao Rongzhang dismounted, took his arm, wrapped it around his shoulder, and pulled him into her embrace. His body was still warm. Heavy, solid. Straining with effort, she lifted him, supporting him with the sword as she half-dragged, half-carried him toward her horse.

Everyone watched in silence, thinking the princess was engaged in the most futile of tasks. Yet, among all the corpses strewn across the ground, wasn’t he the only one being taken away—and by the one who cared for him most?

Finally hoisting him onto the horse, Zhao Rongzhang mounted the saddle again. She lacked the strength to position him properly, so she simply held him horizontally against her chest. She wrapped his right arm around her waist and nestled his head tightly against her.

Ren Ping said, “If the Princess wishes to return to the capital in this manner to admit her wrongdoing, that is acceptable. As long as the Princess removes her shield and quiver, discards her bow and arrows, and throws down her longsword from her horse, this humble officer can spare you the humiliation of chains, allowing you to return with dignity.”

Zhao Rongzhang lowered her gaze, looking at him calmly. Glancing at the others, she saw they likely shared similar thoughts, believing her arrival was a voluntary surrender.

How could she possibly surrender herself so willingly?

Zhao Rongzhang raised her fingers to her lips and let out a sharp whistle.

With a sudden “whoosh,” another person fell, struck by an arrow.

Everyone looked up, and in an instant, a dense volley of arrows—hundreds of them—rained down from the distance.

Zhao Rongzhang turned her horse, raised her shield in front of Guan Xuan, brandished her longsword, and tugged the reins. “Hyah—!”

Her horse trampled over those who rushed to block her path. Countless arrows whistled past her ears and shoulders, but Zhao Rongzhang focused solely on the long, straight road ahead, galloping forward with unwavering determination.

Tonight, to ambush Guan Xuan, nearly all forces within the city had gathered in the East City. Only a handful of guards remained at several city walls and the Water Gate, leaving an opening for her to exploit.

Though she couldn’t rendezvous with Shuang An and couldn’t rely on Prince Su, scattered throughout the city were the informants she had brought from the capital. They were embedded in various households and marketplaces, most of whom Ming Luo could contact. Once given the order, they could coordinate from within and outside the city, taking advantage of the weakened defenses to break through one by one. The only issue was their inability to hold out for long—their numbers were too few. So, they had to act swiftly.

After escaping the streets and alleys, Ming Luo arrived with reinforcements, escorting her swiftly toward the city gate. Ren Ping’s men pursued relentlessly from behind, but they were no match for the relentless rain of arrows. Corpses littered the ground as they watched helplessly while Zhao Rongzhang and her party fled beyond the city gate.

Even after exiting the city, Zhao Rongzhang dared not slow down. Ming Luo first inquired if she was injured, then glanced at the unconscious youth in her arms.

“Princess, let me take him. Carrying two people will slow the horse.”

“No need.”

At the crossroads, Zhao Rongzhang reined in her horse and turned toward the green hills of the outskirts. Ming Luo looked back and noticed their pursuers growing fewer and farther behind. Yet, the rain of arrows from the sky showed no sign of stopping. She immediately sensed something amiss: “We don’t have this many archers. Who is firing these arrows?”

Zhao Rongzhang also looked up toward the direction of the arrows, her brow deeply furrowed.