A person sacrifices himself to become a saint in a chaotic world of martial arts.

Chapter 172 News of Deputy Inspector Feng's Death

The constables looked at each other, their eyes filled with terror.

Some people instinctively gripped the hilt of their knives so tightly that their knuckles turned white.

Some people took a step back, as if to move away from the imagined danger.

Some people's lips trembled, as if they wanted to say something, but they couldn't utter a single word.

Tang Dingzhen's face turned ashen.

He had also thought of this.

His hands pressed against the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white, the veins on the back of his hands snaking like snakes. He took a deep breath, then another, to suppress the fear that surged from the depths of his heart.

He spoke in a deep voice, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth: "From this moment forward, no one is to leave their post. City gates, streets, and warehouses will be under increased patrol. Three men per team, swords at all times, armor never removed. Anyone who dares to cause trouble at this time will be killed without exception!"

He spoke the last four words with great emphasis, almost as if he had used all his strength.

"yes----"

There were scattered responses. Some answered listlessly, some simply nodded, and some didn't react at all.

He stood there blankly.

Tang Dingzhen looked at Tang Dingzhen and asked in a low voice, "Has Lord Su sent anyone to pursue him?"

Tang Dingzhen nodded. His expression was still very bad, but it was more stable than before.

"I've already sent people. Lord Su went north, into Qishan." He paused, then estimated, "Even on horseback, it would take at least two days to catch up. Once we find him, it will take another two days to send the message back. At the very least, it will take four or five days."

Four or five days.

Tang Dingzhen was silent for a moment, then whispered, "I hope—I hope Lord Su can return soon."

What he didn't say was that if Su Bai didn't come back, or came back too late, the sky over Qingyuan County would probably collapse.

The news spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of Qingyuan County.

In the teahouse, the storyteller had barely begun when the audience erupted in chaos. Some slammed their fists on the table, some whispered amongst themselves, and some turned pale, their teacups trembling unsteadily.

Inside the restaurant, the patrons put down their glasses and looked at each other in bewilderment. Someone asked in a low voice, "Really?" The person next to him shook his head, then nodded, his face full of doubt and uncertainty.

At street corners and alleyways, groups of two or three people gathered together, whispering among themselves.

Some looked excited, some looked worried, some were gloating, and some were terrified.

The entire county town was like a hornet's nest that had been poked with a stick, buzzing and in complete chaos.

The Wei family mansion.

The study was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering in through the window and being cut into pieces by the carved window frames, falling onto the blue brick floor.

A landscape painting hangs on the wall, and on the desk in front of it are the Four Treasures of the Study (writing brush, ink stick, inkstone, and paper) and a letter.

Wei Zhenghong sat behind his desk, holding the letter in his hand, his expression shifting.

The letter trembled slightly between his fingers, making a soft rustling sound.

His brows were furrowed, a knot forming between them, his eyes fixed on the words on the letter, yet he seemed not to be absorbing anything.

Wei Mingyuan stood at the lower end, sweating profusely with anxiety. He paced back and forth, his robes whipping around, his boots making rapid, clattering sounds on the blue bricks.

"Brother, Deputy Chief Constable Feng is dead! This is a golden opportunity!" He stopped, gesturing with his hands, his voice urgent and loud. "All those gifts we gave him before, all those grievances we suffered, we can get them back this time! As long as we contact the other families and put pressure on them together, those people in the Garrison Command won't be able to withstand it!"

Wei Zhenghong raised his hand to interrupt him.

"Don't rush."

He placed the letter on the table, his fingers tapping lightly. One tap, one tap, one tap. The tapping sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet study, like a slow heartbeat.

Wei Mingyuan said urgently, "Brother, what are we waiting for? What if someone else gets there first—"

"Is the source of this information reliable?" Wei Zhenghong looked up at him, his gaze sharp.

Wei Mingyuan was taken aback, and opened his mouth: "It came from the Zhenfu Division, it should be—"

"Should?" Wei Zhenghong sneered, a hint of mockery mixed with caution in his smile. "What's the use of 'should'? What if this is a trap set by that Su Bai?"

He paused, and his fingers slowed down their tapping.

"Vice Chief Inspector Feng just died, and Su Bai has already left the city? What a coincidence! The moment we make a move, he'll have a perfect excuse to strike. At that time, the fate of the Golden Knife Alliance and the Blood Knife Gang will be our fate."

Wei Mingyuan opened his mouth, but then remained silent.

The urgency on his face faded, replaced by contemplation and hesitation.

Wei Zhenghong was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "Send someone to verify first. Be quick and accurate. Check if Deputy Chief Constable Feng is really dead, and check if Su Bai is really not in the city. We'll talk after we've confirmed everything."

His hand, which had been tapping on the table, stopped and clenched into a fist.

"This time, we can't rush it."

The Wu family.

Wu Shirong sat in the armchair, his face as calm as a stagnant pool.

He was dressed in a dark brown silk robe and held a cup of tea in his hand. The teacup was made of fine blue and white porcelain, and wisps of steam rose up, forming a thin white mist in front of him.

His face was expressionless, except for the occasional glint in his eyes.

Wu Shixun stood to the side, leaning slightly forward, and said in a low voice, "Brother, Deputy Chief Inspector Feng is dead, and the Garrison Command is now leaderless. Should we—"

He made a gesture, the meaning of which was quite clear: take action.

Wu Shirong did not answer.

He picked up the teacup and slowly took a sip. As the tea entered his mouth, he closed his eyes, as if savoring the aroma, or perhaps lost in thought.

Wu Shixun dared not speak again, but just stood there, watching his expression.

A moment later, Wu Shirong put down his teacup and opened his eyes.

"Is Su Bai still in the city?"

Wu Shixun was taken aback, and quickly said, "I heard that he left the city a couple of days ago, saying that he went to Qishan to inspect and suppress bandits."

"Out of the city?" Wu Shirong raised an eyebrow slightly, a strange glint in his eyes. "Out of the city at this time?"

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled.

The smile was faint, just a slight upturn at the corners of the mouth, but there was a light in those eyes.

"interesting."

The Xie family.

In the garden, the autumn wind rustled the leaves.

Several osmanthus trees are planted by the pond, and they are in full bloom now. The golden petals have fallen to the ground, and the fragrance is so rich that it is almost intoxicating.

Xie Yulang was standing by the pond feeding the fish.

He held a small blue-and-white porcelain bowl in one hand and picked up fish food with the other, scattering it into the pond.

The pond water was crystal clear, and a group of koi carp huddled together, their red and white plumage vying for food, splashing up tiny droplets of water.

A servant rushed over and whispered a few words in his ear.

Xie Yulang's hand trembled, and the fish food spilled all over the ground. The golden particles rolled onto the blue bricks, spreading everywhere.

He stood there stunned for a long while before muttering, "Deputy Chief Inspector Feng is dead? That old guy—is dead?"

His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself, or as if he were asking the servant.

The servant said cautiously, "Third Young Master, the Master wants to see you. He has something important to discuss."

Xie Yulang snapped out of his reverie and nodded. He handed the blue-and-white porcelain bowl to the servant, dusted off the fish food from his clothes, straightened his cuffs, and then walked toward the study.

After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

He turned around and glanced back at the pond.

The pond water remained clear, and the koi carp swam leisurely, completely unaware of the changing world.

Sunlight shone on the water, creating shimmering waves. The koi fish darted through the light and shadow, their red and white forms appearing and disappearing.

Xie Yulang looked at the fish and remained silent for a long time.

Then he murmured, his voice so low that only he could hear, "Su Bai, Su Bai—what are you going to do now?"

Ten thousand families.

In the backyard of Wanchuntang, there was a row of three rooms. The east room was the storeroom, which was filled with medicinal herbs. The west room was the living quarters for the shop assistants. The smallest room in the middle was Wan Youcai's accounting office.

The accounting room was small; a table, a chair, and a bookshelf took up most of the space.

The window faces north, so the light isn't very good; we have to keep the lights on even during the day.

It was afternoon, and the sky outside the window was overcast, making the room even darker. Only the oil lamp on the table flickered with a dim yellow flame, casting Wan Youcai's long and distorted shadow on the wall.

Wan Youcai was sitting at the table reviewing accounts.

He was wearing a dark brown silk shirt, the material was very good, but the style was simple, and the cuffs were a little frayed.

He was slightly hunched over, one hand fiddling with the abacus beads, the crisp, clattering sound echoing in the small room.

With his other hand, he held a brush, dipped it in ink, and occasionally made a note in the ledger.

The ledger was laid out, with densely packed numbers arranged neatly.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps came from outside the door.

The footsteps were hurried, thumping on the blue brick floor, and they ran all the way to the door before suddenly stopping.

Wan Youcai paused, his pen poised.

The brush spreads across the paper, the ink seeping into the fibers of the Xuan paper, forming a black blob the size of a fingernail, a flat, black mass that stands out starkly against the neat rows of numbers.

He raised his head.

The door was pushed open, and a servant rushed in, panting, his face pale and his forehead covered in sweat.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but because he had run too fast, he couldn't catch his breath and just stood there breathing heavily.

Wan Youcai looked at him without saying a word.

The servant caught his breath and finally caught his breath, then lowered his voice and said, "Second Manager, something terrible has happened!"

Wan Youcai put down his brush and leaned back in his chair. The bamboo back of the chair creaked slightly.

His expression was calm, only his eyes were slightly narrowed, revealing a glint of intelligence.

"What is it?"

The servant stepped forward, lowering his voice even further, almost whispering, "Deputy Chief Eunuch Feng is dead! He died at Qing Shi Ridge, and all of his dozen or so brothers are gone! The news has spread far and wide, and the Zhenfu Division is in complete chaos!"

Wan Youcai's eyes widened instantly.

He stared at the servant without blinking, as if trying to find some flaw in his face.

The servant, feeling a little uneasy under his gaze, quickly replied, "It's absolutely true! I went to the gate of the Garrison Command myself; it was a complete mess, with people coming and going, and many constables were panicked. Some were even crying, crying terribly!"

Wan Youcai remained silent for a moment.

He lowered his head, his gaze falling on the ledger, on the ink stain. The ink stain had dried, a dark blob, like a wide-open eye staring back at him.

After a long while, he sighed.

The sigh was soft, yet it seemed to be squeezed out from deep within the chest, carrying a hint of weariness, a touch of helplessness, and something else indescribable.

"The world has changed," he murmured.

The servant was taken aback: "Second Manager, what did you say?"

Wan Youcai waved his hand without answering. He picked up the brush again, looked at the dried ink on the tip, dipped it in the inkstone, and added a stroke next to the ink stain, circling it.

"I understand," he said, his voice returning to its usual gentle and warm tone. "Go now. Watch your mouth and don't gossip."

The servant nodded, turned, and left. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded away, disappearing in the direction of the courtyard gate.

Wan Youcai sat there, staring motionlessly at the circled ink stain on the ledger.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered, casting an intermittent glow on his face.

The smile that usually graced that round face vanished completely, leaving only a complex expression—as if pondering, as if hesitating, or as if calculating something.

After a long while, he slowly closed the ledger and stood up.

He walked to the window and opened it.

Outside the window is a small courtyard with a pomegranate tree growing in it. The tree is long past its flowering season, leaving only bare branches.

The sky was overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low as if they were about to collapse.

He looked at the sky and remained silent for a long time.

Chamber of Commerce Alliance.

Zhou's Cloth Shop is located on the main street in the east of the city, and it has three spacious storefronts.

A black sign with gold lettering hangs in front of the door, and two rows of shelves are piled up with fabrics of various colors, which are quite a sight to behold.

As dusk approached, the streets were nearly deserted, and the shops were empty.

The workers are packing up the goods, preparing to close up shop.

Zhou Fulai sat in the back room drinking tea.

The back room was small, with an eight-immortal table, a few chairs, and a banner on the wall that read "Harmony Brings Wealth," written in neat handwriting by an old scholar from the county town.

On the table was a set of rough porcelain teaware, with ordinary jasmine tea brewing in the teapot, steam rising gently and carrying a faint fragrance.

Zhou Fulai picked up the teacup, brought it to his lips, and was about to drink.

Suddenly, a series of hurried footsteps came from the front hall, and then a waiter lifted the curtain and rushed in.

"Manager! Manager!" The waiter, pale-faced and panting, cried out, "Something terrible has happened!"

Zhou Fulai was stunned, and his hand trembled.

The teacup slipped from my hand and fell straight down.

He frantically reached out to catch it, his fingertips barely touching the rim, but he couldn't grasp it. The teacup flipped in mid-air, spilling scalding tea all over his hand, before crashing to the ground with a "smash" and shattering into pieces.

He was completely unaware of the burn on his hand; he just stared wide-eyed at the waiter.

"What?! Deputy Inspector Feng is dead?!"

His voice was high-pitched and shrill, completely lacking its usual composure.

The waiter nodded and lowered his voice, saying, "It's absolutely true. The news has spread throughout the Garrison Command: Deputy Chief Inspector Feng was assassinated at Qing Shi Ridge, and all his entourage is gone!"

Zhou Fulai sat there blankly, motionless.

His hand was still holding the cup, his fingers slightly bent, and tea dripped down the back of his hand, soaking a small patch of ground.

He seemed completely oblivious, staring blankly ahead, his eyes unmoving.

It took him a while to come to his senses.