Chapter Thirty-Four: The Harbingers of Life and Death

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Watching the last of the paper in the brazier burn to ash, Yang Yaozhong rose and opened the window of his room. The rain poured down in torrents, as if it had been stifled in the sky for too long and now, one drop after another, leapt joyfully to the ground, onto the roof, onto the earth, into the water, making a lively clatter. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning sliced open the heavens, dazzling and bright. It was swiftly followed by the rolling thunder, rumbling closer and closer as it galloped across the sky. The rain seemed to grow even heavier, as if pouring straight from the gash the lightning had torn in the sky.

Yang Yaozhong felt no trace of sleepiness. He thought of Yin Ruxin, and remembered her words from earlier that day: "When you can't see me, think of me. When you think of me, I can feel it." He recalled her charming expression as she spoke, and couldn't help but find her all the more adorable and lovely. His heart was as sweet as honey. Smiling, he murmured to himself, "That little girl—does she know I'm thinking of her right now?"

He picked up his brush and wrote:

"When shall we meet again, face to face?
Tonight, this moment, longing fills my heart.
To enter the gates of yearning, know its pain,
Longing long brings endless remembrance,
Short longing is without boundary.
Had I known how love ensnares the heart,
Would it not have been better never to meet?"

Gazing at his still rather legible calligraphy, he smiled, then picked up his brush again to write on another sheet:

"In the south, the red beans grow,
Each spring new branches show.
Gather them as much as you may,
For this is the token of longing, they say."

He couldn't help laughing at himself. Once a person falls in love, no matter the surroundings or the scenery, anything related to love or yearning comes to mind at the mere thought of the beloved.

Returning the brush to its stand, he had yet to tidy the papers on his desk when another bolt of lightning suddenly split the sky, blindingly bright. A gust of wind swept into the room, extinguishing the oil lamp in an instant. At the same time, thunder boomed directly overhead, roaring past. Yang Yaozhong shook his head in exasperation, turned around, and felt his way toward the bed to find his fire striker. At the bedside, he sniffed the air—no trace of burning paper lingered. He decided not to bother with the fire striker and began to loosen his robe, intending to go to bed.

"What are you doing? Put your clothes back on!" A cold, clear female voice came from behind him.

Startled by the sudden icy voice in his room, Yang Yaozhong hastily clutched his half-open robe, spinning around in alarm. Cold sweat had broken out across his forehead and back. Though the room was shrouded in darkness, his eyes had adjusted, and by the faint light filtering through the window, he could make out a silhouette standing in the center of the room.

Yang Yaozhong said nothing, holding his robe tightly closed as he stared at the figure.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing the intruder: she wore close-fitting black nightclothes, her figure slender and tall, her hair tied back in a ponytail. A golden mask covered her face from the bridge of her nose to her hairline on the right side, while her left side bore a striking resemblance to Yin Ruxin.

Sensing the lightning's glare, the woman seemed to wave her hand casually; the window shutter snapped and slammed shut with a clang.

Yang Yaozhong's heart relaxed a little. Though the room was even darker than before, he could still faintly make out the shadowy figure standing in the center.

He fastened his robe again and smiled, saying, "Do you really know I'm thinking of you? Is that why you've come?"

As soon as the words left his lips, a thought flashed in his mind as he recalled the figure's full appearance. He frowned, sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, supporting himself with his hands on the frame, and asked, "Yin Ruxin?"

The figure remained motionless and silent, not even seeming to breathe.

Yang Yaozhong grew tense once more. Steadying himself, he recalled seeing a glint of silver—a sword—in her right hand. He frowned and tried again, "Do you know martial arts?"

Yin Ruxin had never revealed any martial arts skills around him, but from what the emperor had told him, and from his own suspicions about the mystery of her identity, as well as the fact that she could sneak into the Southern Palace at midnight and enter his room without a sound—it seemed entirely possible, even likely, that Yin Ruxin was a martial arts expert.

The woman still said nothing, but she began to take slow steps toward Yang Yaozhong.

He sensed her approaching, felt the chill radiating from her, a murderous intent in the air.

This couldn't be Yin Ruxin. He could feel Yin Ruxin's love for him—sincere and passionate, deeper than his own feelings for her.

Then who was this woman before him? That icy, killing gaze—what did it mean? Did she intend to kill him? Why? And how could she look so much like Yin Ruxin? There must be some connection.

Sisters? Yes, sisters! Yang Yaozhong's mind spun rapidly. Yin Ruxin would never harm him, but now that he had spoken her name, he had only increased this woman's resolve to kill him.

Well then... He would take his chances.

Yang Yaozhong narrowed his eyes, watching the figure draw ever closer. He simply crossed his hands behind his head, lay back on the bed, and let his legs dangle off the side. Once settled, he closed his eyes and calmed his breath, steadying the nerves that had been rattled before.

The intruder was none other than Yin Ruyun. Her martial arts skills were profound and her eyesight keen. As she drew closer, radiating cold and menace, she had observed Yang Yaozhong's tense expression, as if he was deep in thought. Unexpectedly, in the blink of an eye, he lay on the bed as though ready for sleep, utterly at ease.

She was surprised by his inexplicable behavior, her elegant brows knitting together. "Could he really have mistaken me for my sister?"

She stepped to his bedside and slowly raised her sword, pressing its sharp tip to the exposed hollow of his throat.

Yang Yaozhong could feel her close, the icy chill of the sword at his throat. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple scraping against the steel, a cold pain shooting through his mind. He dared not move, not even to breathe, as the blade drew a thin line of blood across his skin. The only sound in the room was the rain outside.

“Are you not afraid to die?” Yin Ruyun’s voice was cold and merciless.

“I am,” Yang Yaozhong replied simply, eyes closed.

Yin Ruyun stared at him, her brows furrowing deeper. She could not read his thoughts. Instead, she found herself unsettled by his calm demeanor and his candid reply.

“If you’re afraid, then stay away from Yin Ruxin. Never see her again!” She wanted to finish her business and leave as soon as possible.

“I can't,” Yang Yaozhong replied firmly. “So she truly isn't Yin Ruxin,” he thought.

“You—” Yin Ruyun was so angered by his response she nearly lost her composure. She itched to drive her sword through him then and there, to vent her frustration. “You will bring her harm!” she said, struggling to keep her anger in check.

Yang Yaozhong opened his eyes, the sword still at his throat. He lifted his hands from behind his head and propped himself up on the bed, staring intently at the woman before him. He could only see her silhouette, but the golden mask on her face was visible.

Yin Ruyun matched his movement, keeping the sword pressed to his throat. In the darkness, she saw the unwavering determination in his eyes. Her palm grew damp and uncertain as she demanded, “What are you trying to do?”

“What are you here for?” Yang Yaozhong’s voice was emotionless, each word deliberate. He had regained his composure.

Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “If you’re here to kill me, then do it quickly. If you just want me to leave Yin Ruxin, let me tell you—I cannot. I will never let go of her hand. If she lives, I live; if she dies, I die!” His words were clear and forceful.

Another bolt of lightning flashed, the room momentarily illuminated before darkness returned. In that brief light, Yang Yaozhong saw the woman barely a meter away—her eyes filled with anger, hesitation, and inner turmoil.

A sharp thunderclap followed by a rolling rumble echoed, the rain pounding down like a war drum. The exchange between the two was just as relentless—question for answer, without pause.

“Your life is worthless,” Yin Ruyun said icily.

“In your eyes, perhaps. But in Yin Ruxin’s, my life is beyond price!” Yang Yaozhong’s voice remained resolute.

“Do you want her to die?” Yin Ruyun’s brows knit deeply.

“I want her to live!” Yang Yaozhong raised his voice.

“And why do you think you can do that?” she demanded.

“Because of me!” Yang Yaozhong answered, his conviction unshakable.

“A mere son-in-law? The powerless Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince?” Yin Ruyun sneered.

“Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince—that’s just the first step!” Yang Yaozhong had no wish to explain further.

“Very well. I’ll be watching. If Yin Ruxin is ever harmed because of you, I will kill you myself—without mercy or hesitation!” Yin Ruyun’s tone was firm and unyielding.

“Agreed!” Yang Yaozhong replied, his heart clear and fearless.

Silence fell again. The two stared each other down in the darkness. After a moment, Yin Ruyun withdrew her sword and turned to the door. She opened it a crack without looking back. “You are not to speak of tonight to Yin Ruxin. I’ll explain to her myself.” Her voice was icy and severe.

Yang Yaozhong watched her silhouette and replied calmly, “Alright.”

Yin Ruyun opened the door wider, and the sound of the rain grew louder. Yang Yaozhong quickly called out, “Wait!”

She turned, brows furrowed. “What is it?”

Yang Yaozhong frowned in mild exasperation. “It’s pouring outside. Let me fetch you an umbrella.”

Yin Ruyun paused, giving him a strange look. “No need,” she said, then stepped out into the rain, closing the door behind her.

Yang Yaozhong’s raised hand was left hanging in midair. “Ah—” he began, but Yin Ruyun had already vanished.

Yang Yaozhong frowned and walked quickly to the door, opening it to peer outside. All he could see was the rain pouring down in sheets—there was no trace of Yin Ruyun.

He shut the door and bolted it from within. Turning to head back to bed, he saw a white figure by the table. He stopped in his tracks, a fresh wave of cold sweat breaking out as his heart pounded wildly. “Who’s there?” he called.

“Did a woman just visit your room?” The voice was cool and emotionless, but pleasant to the ear.

“Aunt?” The voice was familiar—he blurted it out.

“Who are you calling aunt! Answer my question!” The woman sounded annoyed. It was Jing Sheng’s aunt, Jing Yijun.

“Plenty of women have been in my room. How am I supposed to know which one you mean?” Now that he recognized her, Yang Yaozhong’s nerves settled, but his tone was hardly polite.

He had endured enough shocks tonight—first by Yin Ruyun, who nearly killed him with her sword. Barely had she left when another woman in white appeared, startling him again. Anyone less courageous would have died of fright even if not by the sword. Yang Yaozhong was inwardly indignant.

“I’m asking about just now. Was there a woman in your room?” Jing Yijun demanded, even more annoyed with his attitude.

“And what’s it to you?” Yang Yaozhong thought. If she could track him here, what was the point of asking?

“You—” Jing Yijun’s elegant brows knit in anger, her chest heaving with indignation.

“You, you, you—what about it?” Yang Yaozhong snapped, growing irritated.

“I should kill you!” Jing Yijun, exasperated beyond endurance, was at his side in a flash, pressing her sword to his chest—but not stabbing.

“Kill, kill, kill—go on, then! If you don’t kill me, you’ll frighten me to death! Are you and the other one here to drag my soul away, like the ghosts of fate? If one can’t do it, the other tries! Go ahead, give me a clean end—better than dying of fright!” For once, Yang Yaozhong was truly angry. What was going on tonight? No one resting, everyone sneaking in to scare him—each one more supernatural than the last. What use was the door, anyway? How did they all get in?

“I only came to warn you out of kindness! Why are you so ungrateful? The emperor spoke to you this morning, told you to stay away from Yin Ruxin! I’ve been investigating her recently, but even with my skills, I dare not get too close—only following from afar, lest she notice and become wary. So I’ve learned little. You’re not stupid—think about what her abilities must be! Even if she’s not stronger than I am, she’s at least my equal! If not for you being valued by the emperor and the crown prince, do you think I’d bother warning you?” Realizing her outburst, Jing Yijun withdrew her sword, though she was still fuming.

“You mean I should thank you? Since you’re so well-intentioned, could you at least use the door next time? And knock? Otherwise, I’ll die of fright before you can warn me. By the way, how did you get in?” Yang Yaozhong was less angry now, recognizing her good intentions, but he was still annoyed.

“I come and go as I please, enter however I like—what business is it of yours? I’m not here for your gratitude. I’ve said what I came to say—believe it or not, that’s your affair!” Jing Yijun, thoroughly exasperated, turned toward the door.

“Just because you’re the emperor’s favored niece, you think you can be so overbearing?” Yang Yaozhong thought. Seeing her about to leave, he called out, “You don’t need an umbrella either, I suppose?”

Jing Yijun ignored him, opened the door, and leapt into the rain, the door shutting itself with a bang.

Yang Yaozhong didn’t bother peering out after her. He simply bolted the door, stood there a moment examining the lock, and wondered if it served any purpose at all.

Sleep was far from his mind. He went to the bedside, found the fire striker, and lit the oil lamp. At last, there was light again in the room. To his surprise, there was not a trace of rainwater anywhere, though it had been pouring when both women entered. He checked the places where the women in black and white had stood and walked. The floor was clean and dry.

Was it all a dream? Was he still dreaming? He pinched his thigh hard enough to make himself wince with pain.

Still, the floor was dry. Could the woman in white have been an immortal? And the woman in black as well? Or were they ghosts? He felt a chill at his back, the hairs on his neck standing up. He decided not to dwell on it.

Refusing to entertain wild thoughts, he suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion.

He extinguished the oil lamp, lay down in bed, and let the supernatural take care of itself. Sleep came first.

After such a night, Yang Yaozhong was utterly drained. He didn’t even bother to undress, but fell asleep the moment he hit the bed.