Nine Nights Owl Song

Ajiu did not return to the accommodation arranged by Qianjilou.

After leaving that alley, she walked alone on the streets of Luojing City for a long time.

I walked aimlessly from the West Market to the East Market, from the East Market to the South Gate, and from the South Gate to the North Bridge, like a fallen leaf blown by the wind.

It was already broad daylight.

The streets of Luojing City were bustling with people.

Ajiu walked among the crowd, unnoticed by anyone. She wore a drab gray cotton robe, her hair was tied back with a cloth strip, and she had no makeup on her face, looking like an ordinary girl.

As she walked past the wonton stall, the stall owner looked up at her and asked, "Would you like a bowl of wontons, young lady?" She shook her head and continued walking.

She walked past Chongrenfang, where the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence was located.

She didn't go inside, but stood at the entrance of the neighborhood for a while, staring at the three characters "Chongrenfang" above the gate for a long time. There were two vendors selling candied hawthorns, a peddler selling needles and thread, and several old people squatting against the wall basking in the sun at the entrance.

No one knew her, no one knew that she was the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan who had been missing for sixteen years, and no one knew that she was the Night Owl who struck fear into the hearts of powerful and noble people throughout the land.

She was just a stranger who wasn't worth a second glance.

This is good.

Ah Jiu thought. She didn't need anyone's gaze, anyone's attention, or anyone's pity or sympathy. She only needed herself.

Three days.

Three days later, she will walk through that door, bring the midwife before Su Zhentian and Madam Shen, and let them know the truth of what happened sixteen years ago. Then she will get her name on the family tree, and everything she deserves, not for the sake of recognition, but for leverage.

The identity of the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan's family is a trump card.

A card that could be used to fight against the Dark Pavilion, against the Blood Hall, against the Second Prince. She didn't care about her identity, but she cared about what this card could bring her.

That's why she went back.

It wasn't because of longing, it wasn't because of family ties, it wasn't because of those vague blood ties. It was because of self-interest.

Ah Jiu told herself this. She said it so many times that she almost believed it herself.

Three days later, on October 23rd, in the early morning.

Ajiu stood in front of the main gate of the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence.

She wasn't wearing that drab gray cotton robe today; instead, she had changed into a clean and sharp black outfit. Her hair was tied up high with a black ribbon, revealing her pale face and bright black eyes.

The narrow-bladed straight sword hung at her waist. Several white marks had worn into the black lacquer on the scabbard, but she had wiped it so clean that it reflected her image.

She walked through the main entrance.

Ajiu walked up the steps and reached out to grasp the brass ring on the door. The ring was cold, and it was engraved with patterns she didn't recognize, exactly the same as in her dream.

She held the brass ring, but didn't strike it. She stood there for three breaths, then struck it hard.

The sound of the brass ring striking the door panel was dull and heavy, echoing in the morning air.

The door opened.

The doorman who opened the door was an old man in his sixties, slightly hunched over, wearing a gray cotton robe, his face covered with wrinkles, and his eyes, though not large, were very bright.

He looked at Ajiu, sized her up, and his gaze lingered for a moment on the knife at her waist.

"Who is the young lady looking for?" The old gatekeeper's tone was neither humble nor arrogant, befitting a gatekeeper of a noble household.

"Su Zhentian," Ajiu said.

The old gatekeeper's eyebrows twitched slightly. Not many people dared to address the Marquis by his given name, unless they were of extremely high status or had ill intentions.

He couldn't tell which type the young woman in front of him belonged to.

"The Marquis is in the manor. May I ask who the young lady is...?"

Tell him that the person who came to collect the account books three nights ago is here today to collect something else.

The old doorman looked at her, remained silent for a moment, and then stepped aside to clear the doorway.

"Please wait a moment, young lady, while I announce your arrival."

He had Ajiu sit down in the gatehouse, poured her a cup of tea, and then strode quickly into the mansion.

Ajiu didn't sit down; she stood at the gatehouse entrance, looking at the scene inside the Marquis's residence.

The screen wall, courtyard, corridor, flowers and trees, and the upturned eaves that are faintly visible in the distance—everything is quiet, as quiet as a painting.

She waited for less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

The old doorman returned, followed by a man in his early twenties, dressed in a dark blue brocade robe. He had a handsome face and his eyebrows resembled Su Zhentian's, but the lines were softer. He lacked Su Zhentian's fortitude and had a more scholarly air about him.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, and his posture was very upright, like that of a scion of a noble family who had been raised with strict discipline.

"My name is Su Chengen, the heir of the Marquis of Dingyuan's household."

The man walked up to A-Jiu and bowed respectfully.

"The father invited the young lady to the main hall for a talk."

Su Chengen. Heir apparent of the Marquis of Dingyuan's household.

Her half-brother.

Ajiu looked at Su Chengen without saying anything, but simply nodded and followed him inside.

Passing through the screen wall, walking through the courtyard, and stepping onto the covered walkway. Neatly trimmed flowers and trees line both sides of the walkway. Although it is late autumn, a few chrysanthemums are still blooming in the corners, golden and snow-white, with morning dew still clinging to their petals.

Su Chengen walked ahead at a leisurely pace, occasionally stepping aside to let Ajiu go first, his manners impeccable. He didn't ask who Ajiu was, what she was doing there, or what the knife at her waist was all about.

A person who grew up in a noble family knows when to speak and when not to speak.

The main hall, located on the central axis of the Marquis's residence, is the most important hall in the Dingyuan Marquis's residence, used to receive distinguished guests, hold important ceremonies, and handle important family affairs.

Above the main hall hung a plaque inscribed with the four large characters "Loyalty and Courage Passed Down Through Generations," written in a vigorous and powerful style, the calligraphy of the late emperor. The door was open, and when Ajiu walked in, she saw Su Zhentian sitting in the main seat of the main hall, with Madam Shen sitting beside him.

Su Zhentian was dressed in a formal black official robe today, with a jade belt around his waist and a gauze hat on his head, as if he were receiving an important guest.

Shen wore a lotus-colored jacket, her hair was neatly combed, and she wore a set of red-gold headdress. Her makeup was exquisite, but it couldn't hide the dark circles under her eyes and the bloodshot veins in her eyes. Her eyes—A-Jiu noticed—her left eye's gaze was more unfocused than her right eye's, as if it were covered by a layer of mist, making it difficult to see clearly.

There was another person in the main hall.

A young girl, about fifteen or sixteen years old, was wearing a pale yellow jacket and a pearl flower in her hair. She had a beautiful face and delicate features, and stood there like a newly blossoming flower.

Her facial features are soft and sweet, with a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, giving off a smile that makes people want to get close to her.

She stood behind Shen, her hand resting on the back of Shen's chair, her posture intimate and natural, clearly indicating that she often stood like this.

Ajiu's gaze lingered on the young girl's face for a moment before shifting away. She didn't know who the girl was, but she could guess.

The nominal legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan's family, the one who took her place for sixteen years.

Adopted daughter. Fake. Counterfeit.

A feeling welled up in Ah Jiu's heart.

It wasn't anger, jealousy, or resentment, but something that made her physically uncomfortable—nausea.

Unvarnished disgust.

She showed no emotion. Her face was expressionless, her eyes were still, and her hands hung steadily at her sides.

She simply stood there, looking at the people in the main hall—her biological father, her biological mother, her brother, and the imposter who had impersonated her for sixteen years—without thinking about anything.

"Please sit down, young lady." Su Zhentian raised his hand, gesturing for Ajiu to sit in the guest seat.

Ah Jiu did not sit.

"I'm here today for three things," she said, her voice not loud, but everyone in the main hall could hear her clearly.

"First, I'll give you the truth. Second, I'll take back what's mine. Third, I'll let you know who I am."

She took a letter from her sleeve and placed it on the table.

The letter was written by Xiao Yan and contained all the evidence that Qianji Tower had found—the testimony of the midwife Wang Pozi, the complete account of the baby swap incident, and all the details of Aunt Zhou bribing the midwife, exchanging the dead baby for the live one, and abandoning the baby girl in the mass grave.

Every single incident has witnesses, evidence, and verifiable records.

"What is this?" Su Zhentian asked.

Sixteen years ago, on the ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, Lady Shen, the wife of the Marquis, gave birth to a baby girl.

Ah Jiu's voice was as calm as if she were reading an official document.

"The baby girl was healthy and had a loud cry; she was not stillborn. The midwife, Granny Wang, was instructed by Consort Zhou of the Marquis's mansion to switch the baby girl with a pre-prepared stillborn infant. The baby girl was taken to the mass grave in the south of the city by a man in black and abandoned there. An old beggar found her in the snow and raised her."

The main hall was extremely quiet.

Shen's face turned pale the moment A-Jiu uttered her first words.

When Ah-Jiu said, "The baby girl is healthy and has a loud cry," her lips began to tremble.

When Ajiu uttered the words "mass grave," her body swayed violently, knocking over the teacup beside her. Tea spilled all over the table, dripping down the edge and onto the hem of her lotus-colored skirt, leaving a dark stain.

Su Chengen's expression also changed.

He stood behind Su Zhentian, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingers trembling slightly. He looked at Ajiu, then at the letter, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something, but he said nothing.

Su Zhentian did not move.

He sat in the main seat, his hands resting on the armrests, motionless like a stone statue. His face was expressionless, but his eyes—eyes that had never wavered even on the battlefield—seemed to have been struck by something. His pupils dilated slightly, his gaze unfocused for a moment, and then quickly regained focus.

"The midwife, Granny Wang, is still alive," Ajiu continued.

"She's in Luojing City and can testify at any time. When Aunt Zhou did this, she wasn't the only one who knew. She had a maid named Cuiping who helped her pass messages and contact the man in black. That maid was later sold by Aunt Zhou to a brothel in the south. The people from Qianji Tower have found her, and she's willing to testify."

"Qianji Tower?" Su Chengen finally spoke, his voice slightly strained.

"Are you from the Thousand Machines Pavilion, young lady?"

"I am a guest retainer of the Thousand Machines Pavilion," Ajiu said.

"I am also a former top assassin of the Dark Pavilion."

The atmosphere in the main hall suddenly froze.

The Dark Pavilion. Top-Tier Assassin.

These two words are enough to strike fear into the hearts of people in any corner of Los Angeles.

The assassins of the Dark Pavilion, especially the top assassins, are legendary figures—no one has ever seen them, no one knows who they are, but everyone knows that no one who is targeted by them survives.

Su Zhentian gripped the armrest tightly, his knuckles turning white. He looked at the knife at Ajiu's waist, at those emotionless eyes, at that young yet cold face.

He suddenly remembered what Shen Zhixing had said three nights ago when he brought the girl to collect the account books—"I also have a daughter, who would be sixteen this year if she were still alive."—and Shen's words, "Her eyebrows and eyes are exactly the same as mine when I was young."

He didn't think much of it at the time. He assumed it was just that his wife was lovesick for her daughter and saw everyone as her daughter.

But now, as he looked at Ajiu's face, at her eyebrows, nose, and lips, those features overlapped with those of Shen Shi when he was young, like two paintings superimposed in the same frame, fitting together perfectly.

"You..." Su Zhentian's voice was hoarse.

"Who are you……"

"My name is Ajiu, given to me by the old drunkard," Ajiu said.

"My code name is Night Owl, given to me by the leader of the Dark Pavilion. My real name should be Su Jiuge, the name of the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan's family."

Shen stood up.

Her movements were so fast that she knocked over a chair, which fell to the ground with a dull thud.

She stood there, looking at Ajiu, tears streaming down her face like a broken string of pearls, unstoppable.

Her lips were trembling violently. She wanted to say something, but her throat felt like it was blocked by something, and she couldn't make a sound.

She stretched her hand out towards Ajiu, her fingers curling slightly in the air, as if touching a distant dream.

Ajiu looked at that hand.

That hand was fair and slender, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. It was a hand that had always been pampered, a hand that had never done dirty work, a hand that had been thinking of a "dead" daughter for sixteen years.

Ah Jiu neither grasped that hand nor looked away. She simply stared at it, her mind blank.

The girl in yellow behind her changed her expression.

From the moment Ajiu started speaking, the girl's face gradually turned paler.

First the rosy color faded, then the blood lost its color, and finally even the lip color faded to grayish-white, like a flower that had been hit by frost, going from vibrant to withered in less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

She slowly withdrew her hand from the back of Shen's chair, pulling it behind her back, her fingers twisting the hem of her clothes until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes darted back and forth between Ajiu, Su Zhentian, and Shen.

Su Jiuge.

She had heard this name for sixteen years.

She knew this name didn't belong to her. She knew she was Aunt Zhou's niece, an imposter brought from the countryside by Aunt Zhou to take the place of the deceased legitimate daughter.

She had known about this since she was seven years old, because Aunt Zhou had told her herself, in a threatening tone:

"Wan'er, remember this: you are the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan's household. If anyone dares to say you are not, just tell your aunt, and your aunt will handle it."

Her name is Su Wan'er.

She is not Su Jiuge. She was never Su Jiuge.

Now, the real Su Jiuge has returned.

They carried evidence, witnesses, and a knife that had drunk the blood of countless people.

Su Wan'er stood behind Shen Shi, looking at the girl in black with a black knife, exuding a cold aura. Her body was trembling slightly, not from the cold, but from fear.

A fear that seeps into your very bones.

She wasn't afraid that Ajiu would kill her—although she knew Ajiu might really—what she feared was losing everything she had accumulated over the past decade. Her identity, status, wealth, her parents' doting love, her brother's protection—everything would crumble the moment this person appeared.

Ajiu's gaze shifted from Shen Shi to Su Wan'er.

That glance was so brief that almost no one else in the main hall noticed it. But Su Wan'er understood what was contained in that glance.

It wasn't anger or jealousy, it wasn't hatred or hostility, it was disgust.

Su Wan'er's tears flowed down her cheeks.

It wasn't because I felt wronged, it was because I was afraid.

Looking into Ajiu's cold eyes, she suddenly realized something—this person would never forgive her.

I won't soften my heart just because she cries, I won't let her go just because she begs for mercy, and I won't give her a break just because she's being "used".

There was no pity, no sympathy, no tenderness in this person's eyes.

Only indifference and murderous intent that could erupt at any moment.

"You..." Su Wan'er's voice trembled, barely audible.

"You are...the older sister...?"

Ajiu did not answer. She turned her head away and stopped looking at Su Wan'er.

"The second thing," Ajiu said.

"Take back what's mine. My name on the family tree, my status as the legitimate daughter, everything I deserve."

Su Zhentian remained silent for a long time.

He sat in the main seat, his hands on the armrests, his back ramrod straight, like a gun stuck in the ground.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes—eyes that had witnessed countless battles—were now looking at Ajiu, at her face, at her knife, at her eyes.

He saw many things. He saw Shen's features when she was young, a child who had struggled on the edge of life and death for sixteen years, and a knife that had been forged to be incredibly hard, but which had also forever lost its flexibility.

"Then do you hate us?" Su Zhentian asked.

Ajiu looked at him and remained silent for a moment.

"I don't hate," she said.

"You are victims too. Aunt Zhou deceived you, the midwife deceived you, everyone deceived you. You thought I was dead, and you cried for me for sixteen years. I don't hate you, but I can't love you either."

Su Zhentian's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, as if he were swallowing something.

Shen's tears flowed even more fiercely.

She wanted to go over, to hug Ajiu, to touch her face, to confirm that she was alive and not the phantom she had dreamed of in countless nights.

But her legs went weak, and she couldn't take that step. She could only stand there, outstretched, crying, like a statue frozen in grief.

"The third thing," Ajiu said.

"Let me show you who I am."

She looked at Su Zhentian, at Shen Shi, at Su Chengen, her gaze sweeping across each person's face, finally landing on Su Wan'er's face, lingering for a moment, before moving away.

"My name is Ajiu," she said.

"I survived by fighting with stray dogs for food in the abandoned neighborhood since I was a child. I was taken away by the Dark Organization when I was seven, codenamed Night Owl at twelve, and became a top assassin at fifteen, escaping the Dark Organization. I've killed more people than all the guards in your Marquis's mansion combined. I won't soften my heart just because you are my biological parents, nor will I restrain my temper just because this is the Marquis's mansion. Whoever makes me unhappy, I'll make sure they never feel happy again. That's who I am. Whether you acknowledge me or not, I don't care. I'm here today not to beg you to acknowledge me, but to tell you—I am Su Jiuge."

The main hall was so quiet that you could hear the candles burning.

Su Zhentian stood up.

When he stood up, his legs trembled slightly; the old injury in his left knee had been aching in the cold, damp weather these past few days, but he didn't hold onto anything and stood up steadily. He looked at A-Jiu and walked towards her step by step.

Su Chengen stepped forward to help him, but he stopped him by raising his hand.

Su Zhentian walked up to Ajiu and stopped three steps away from her.

He was a head taller than A-Jiu, and as he looked down at her, something flickered in his resolute eyes.

He was a seasoned general who had witnessed countless life-and-death situations on the battlefield and thought he was indifferent to everything. However, when he confirmed that his daughter, whom he had been separated from for sixteen years, was still alive, he was at a loss for how to express his emotions.

"Your knife," Su Zhentian's voice was hoarse.

"Can I take a look?"

Ajiu looked at him, remained silent for a moment, then drew her straight sword, hilt facing forward, and handed it to him.

Su Zhentian took the knife.

The blade is narrow and straight, with a cold, sharp edge. There are countless tiny scratches and a few barely noticeable nicks on the blade, marks left from countless draws, swings, and strikes.

He gently ran his thumb along the blade, feeling the marks—each scratch a testament to a life-or-death struggle.

Every notch represents a life. This knife bears witness to all the suffering this child endured over sixteen years.

"You've suffered," Su Zhentian said.

He spoke only four words, but he spoke them very slowly, each word as if it were being dug out from the depths of his throat, carrying sixteen years of guilt, longing, regret, and a heartache that was almost unbearable for him.

Ajiu looked at Su Zhentian, at his graying temples, at his slightly bent left leg due to an old injury, at his hand holding her knife—that hand was trembling slightly.

Something stirred within her.

It wasn't that the ice melted; rather, a crack appeared on the ice surface. It was very small and fine, almost invisible.

Ah Jiu didn't like this feeling.

She dislikes being soft-hearted, wavering, or anything that makes her less sharp.

She quickly sealed the crack, using indifference, restraint, and all the hardness she had cultivated over the past sixteen years to seal it tightly.

"Give me back my knife," she said.

Su Zhentian handed the knife back to her.

Ajiu sheathed her sword, the sound of the blade rubbing against the scabbard crisp and short, like a sigh.

"The midwives' base is at Qianjilou in the south of the city," she said.

"You can ask her anytime. As for Aunt Zhou and Cuiping, you can investigate them yourselves. I've delivered my message today; I've said everything I needed to say. How you handle it is up to you."

She turned around and walked towards the entrance of the main hall.

"Jiuge—" Shen finally called out. Her voice was worn down by longing and tears.

She staggered towards Ajiu, her skirt tripping over her foot, and she almost fell. She managed to steady herself by grabbing the door frame.

Ah Jiu stopped, without turning around.

"Will...will you come again?" Shen's voice trembled.

Will you come back?

Ajiu remained silent for a long time.

"Maybe," she said.

"Maybe not."

She walked out of the main hall, through the covered walkways, through the courtyard, and out of the gate of the Marquis of Dingyuan's mansion.

The sunlight outside was dazzling. She squinted, stood on the steps for a while, then walked down the steps and into the street of Chongrenfang.

Behind him, the gate of the Marquis of Dingyuan's mansion slowly closed, the sound of the bolt falling dull and long.

Ajiu did not turn around.

She walked among the crowd, dressed in black, with a straight sword at her waist, her pace neither fast nor slow.

People passed by her; some glanced at her, others didn't.

No one knew that she was the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan's family, who had been missing for sixteen years. No one knew that she was the Night Owl, who struck fear into the hearts of powerful and wealthy people throughout the land.

She was just a stranger who wasn't worth a second glance.

This is good.

Ajiu touched the things in her arms—a wooden box, a gold medal, silver notes, and a hard object that she didn't know when she had put there. She took the object out, held it in her palm, and looked down at it.

It's a piece of candy.

crystal sugar.

The rock candy glistened in the sunlight, like a frozen tear.

Ah Jiu stared at the candy for a long time before putting it back in her arms without eating it.

She continued walking, deeper into the city of Luojing, toward her next mission, her next target, her next killing.

Behind her lay the Dingyuan Marquis's mansion; before her stretched a vast sea of ​​people. She had no home, no place to return to, only a knife and an ever-coldening heart.