Chapter 236: Fan Xian Follows
Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
The battle scene beneath the tree had calmed. The Brocade Guard used carriages to transport water from the Yuquan River. Tipping over the barrels, the water splashed out onto the street, cleaning away the dust and blood in an instant, leaving behind wet, clean paving stones.
Brocade Guards stood guard all around, and officials from the relevant offices all moved to quell the disturbance in the surrounding houses, so nothing unusual occurred in the T-shaped alley. The rear stone wall had been temporarily patched up. In a short space of time, the arbitrator basically had to make things the same as they were before.
The palace did not want word of this incident to get out. After all, wanting to frame Shang Shanhu for Tan Wu’s heroic death was somewhat difficult. And besides, one had to consider the attitude of the military. So for the time being, they prepared to cover up the matter.
The chorus of dawn began to chirp. The Brocade Guards raised their heads. The sky was discolored, and the birds had risen early. Could it be that they knew what had happened?
Hidden beneath the tree, Fan Xian wiped away the cold sweat from his forehead, silently cursing the insomnia that had woken those birds. He carefully concealed himself in the twilight darkness as the injured ranks of Brocade Guards made their way to the north of the city.
No one was walking along the long street, and the sound of road sweepers, so common in his previous life, was absent. He vaulted across the tall buildings of a neighboring street, certain that no one would discover his tracks.
The stretcher-bearers had already moved some distance away from that small building, and had entered another courtyard, but he didn’t know whether it belonged to the Provost or to the Thirteen Ministries. The injured were triaged and sent to different rooms for treatment. Covered in blood, a handful of doctors rushed in.
Fan Xian went around to the rear of the building, waiting behind some bamboo baskets.
Not long after, a number of groans came from a side room. They weren’t loud, but they could be clearly heard. After focusing on his breath to calm himself, someone climbed down from the wall. His movements were somewhat sluggish, and after he landed, he carefully straightened out his clothing, presented a token to verify his identity, and then began walking westward.
Fan Xian saw that the man was wearing the uniform of the Brocade Guard. Though his cap was tightly fitted, there were still a few stray strands of white hair poking out. As he walked along, the white hair whipped formidably in the night wind.
Fan Xian’s cold gaze peered out from under his cap. Watching the figure walk away, he noticed that his gait was somewhat odd. He knew that the old man’s legs were still not recovered from after he had broken them.
He followed, the two men heading west through the quiet streets. Although there were guards at each crossroads, Xiao En was wearing the uniform of the Brocade Guard. Killing a man and taking his pass had allowed him to rush through checkpoints without being challenged.
And like a ghost, Fan Xian had vanished into the dark night, following him from afar, quietly moving past those same checkpoints.
On the road at a normal-looking house, Xiao En stopped to catch his breath.
Behind it, on top of another ordinary-looking house, Fan Xian also rested.
Then the two set off again, one behind the other, following in the direction of the fleeting night. Making their way through the Brocade Guards’ network of checkpoints, they arrived at the western city gates.
After the city gates opened, the vegetable farmers who had been waiting outside – whose documents the guards had spent the past half hour checking – all rushed in, and Xiao En took advantage of the chaos to sneak out of the tall gate. A while later, the old man, having been given a new lease of life, made his way with some difficulty to a dense forest at the foot of the Yan Mountains, west of Shangjing.
Fan Xian followed far behind, his sharp eyes fixed on the old man in front of him. A moment later, Xiao En came out of the mountain forest, wearing a tattered robe. The corners of the robe still had black kitchen grime on them, as old village men often tend to pick up, and on his back, he carried a bundle of firewood that he had somehow picked up from somewhere.
At that moment, the sun had begun to rise in the east, and its light illuminated the silent mountain forest, immediately dispersing the mist and clearing the air.
Everyone who saw the old man presumed he was some hardworking old farmer who had been gathering firewood at dawn, and had no connection to the spymaster who had struck terror throughout the land two decades previously.
Fan Xian stood quietly in a tree, coldly watching Xiao En’s crooked figure slowly walk ahead. He felt a certain ruthlessness rise up in him. Xiao En was old, after all. Not only was his health not what it was, even his mind was slower than before. Who would choose to gather firewood in the morning? A real farmer gathered firewood at dusk.
It was quiet inside the city as well as outside.
The report came back from the Brocade Guard’s spies. “The Qing diplomatic mission is quiet. According to Lin Wen, last night they arranged for two dancing-girls to visit Chief Diplomat Fan, and he hasn’t slept all night.”
“Did you confirm that Fan Xian is in the mission compound?” Shen Zhong had already taken off his official uniform and swapped it for his opulent rich man’s clothes. He brought a chunk of roasted donkey meat to his lips and chewed on it, the grease running from his mouth.
“Yes sir,” replied the spy respectfully. “A brother of mine knows what Fan Xian looks like, and he is watching outside their quarters.”
Shen Zhong was taken aback. He placed the donkey meat, dripping with grease, on the table. His eyes were sunken, and he seemed dispirited. He had spent the whole night tossing and turning, his health troubling him. Suddenly, he laughed. “I doubt they’re telling the truth. Has Friar He already gone?”
“Yes sir.” The spy had a sudden realization. “Lang Tao has also left.”
Shen Zhong closed his eyes. It was unclear what he was thinking about. Some time later, he began to talk to himself quietly. “Since those southern barbarians want us to presume that Fan Xian is in the diplomatic compound, if he were killed, I suppose there would be nothing they could do about it.”
He opened his eagle-like eyes, fierce and merciless. “The southern barbarians have spent the past decades learning how to scheme. Perhaps they will be too clever for their own good.”
Having been awake throughout the night, Fan Xian also felt rather tired, but the zhenqi in his body was abundant, so he was still able to spur himself on. Looking at the old man as he struggled to make his way down the small road that led from the distant mountain forest, he couldn’t help but feel some admiration for him. He was in his eighties, and had suffered decades of torture, and yet he was still able to break out of prison and make it this far. He didn’t know where the old man got his strength from.
Fan Xian didn’t move, because he had a feeling that some unknown danger lay in wait for him, and Xiao En had managed to leave the city a little too easily. He began to think of all the possibilities. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he slipped down from the tree, retreating in the opposite direction. In the blink of an eye, he had disappeared.
The sun inched its way westward, and Xiao En did the same. To the west was paradise; perhaps death, perhaps bliss.
The diplomatic mission and Xinyang could not announce all of their plans to Shang Shanhu, and Xiao En also had his own backup. The mountain road led upward, and he reached the end of it; a precipice on the top of a grassy hill. To the left was a stone road that led to the Shangjing cavalry barracks. Shang Shanhu and Xiao En had arranged it as their meeting place.
The redness in Xiao En’s eyes had already faded. He leaned over to one side, letting the small mountain of firewood on his back topple to the ground. He clapped his hands on his thighs and sat down. Since no one had come to meet him, the plot had been discovered by the Qi royal court. He knew that someone would be waiting here.
Just like on the meadow by the riverside at Wuduhe, Xiao En once more felt tired, and didn’t want to walk any further. “Come out.”
He spat the words from his dry lips.
The grass trembled in the wind. At the sound of his voice, a swordsman wearing black slowly emerged from the end of the mountain road. The swordsman had a high forehead, and his face was very pale. The weight of the world seemed to hang upon his brow. He looked about forty years old. With his right hand, he steadily gripped the hilt of the sword on his waist. His knuckles were prominent. His entire body was like a blade.
“Friar He?” Xiao En narrowed his eyes, his glance cold.
The swordsman was indeed Friar He, the ninth-level master of Northern Qi. Cheng Jushu, the eighth-level master that Fan Xian had disemboweled on Niulan Street a year and a half ago, had been his disciple.
Friar He’s face was pale and his clothing was black; the two contrasted with each other like snow on charcoal. Respectfully, he cupped his fists in salute. “It is an honor, sir.”
In Northern Qi, save for Ku He, anyone who met Xiao En would address him with the courtesy expected toward an elder.
“I never imagined that that young swordsman I met all those years ago would become the Brocade Guard’s deadliest weapon.” Xiao En coughed, then sat down on the ground, lightly massaging his knees.
“Many years have passed.” Friar He looked at Xiao En with sincere respect on his face. “I’m not the Brocade Guard’s running dog. I am the Empress Dowager’s sworn guardsman. I have come to bring you peace.”
“You know that this land belongs to His Majesty,” Xiao En said quietly.
Friar He knew what the old man meant. The Emperor did not want Xiao En dead, and his blind loyalty to the Empress Dowager would no doubt offend the young Emperor. He smiled and looked around. “I thought I would see that handsome young Fan fellow today.”
Xiao En coughed again. “I can’t believe I spent so long striking terror into men’s hearts, only to die as bait.”
“There is no need to feel sorrow, sir. Since Fan has knowingly retreated, I reckon his luck is good.”
Friar He’s sword rang out as he unsheathed it from its scabbard. He moved swift as a bird in flight, his wrist and elbow forming a straight line, plunging his blade into Xiao En’s chest.