Chapter Sixty-Two: In Full Swing (Part Two)

Jing Yijun noticed the change in Yang Yaozong's eyes and said calmly, "You've guessed my meaning, haven't you?"

Yang Yaozong habitually rolled his prayer beads and spoke each word deliberately, "You mean that Yin Ruxin was fully capable of fending off the assassin, even capturing him, or perhaps killing him on the spot without drawing attention. Yet, she allowed the assassin to escape, which means this attempt on the Prince’s life was all premeditated, isn’t that so?"

Jing Yijun looked at Yang Yaozong with approval and nodded.

Yang Yaozong probed, "But what if Yin Ruxin didn’t know martial arts?"

Jing Yijun shot him a sidelong glance and, with a casual wave of her hand, produced a gleaming sword as if from thin air. The blade looked as though it was made of ice, with shimmering light flowing along its surface. Yang Yaozong noticed that the hilt was unusually long—by his estimation, with his background in surveying, it was about thirty centimeters, while the blade was twice that length, nearly sixty centimeters. It was a rather peculiar sword, but in Jing Yijun’s hand, it seemed perfectly harmonious and graceful.

Yang Yaozong stared, dumbfounded, and exclaimed, "Where did you pull that sword from? You really know magic! With your martial skills and magic combined, you could kill anyone you wished!"

Jing Yijun glared at him impatiently. "Do you take me for some evil witch, killing whoever I please? Magic? Before learning, one must swear an oath: never to display martial prowess before those far weaker, nor to use it to kill someone whose skills are far inferior." Noticing Yang Yaozong’s gaze fixed on her sword, she lifted it, pointing at him, then turned it sideways so his reflection appeared on its mirror-like surface. With a subtle flick of her wrist, the hilt at the other end suddenly extended, revealing another shimmering blade. Yang Yaozong’s jaw dropped. Jing Yijun spun the sword in a dazzling flourish; the hilt split in two, transforming one sword into two. Another flourish, and the hilts recombined, the blades retracting into the handle, and with a sweep of her sleeve, the hilt vanished altogether. Jing Yijun’s hand was empty once more.

Yang Yaozong stared at Jing Yijun, his eyes roaming every inch of her, as if to discover where she had hidden the hilt. Jing Yijun grew so embarrassed and annoyed that she nearly reached out to knock him unconscious.

Catching the aggrieved and indignant look she shot him, Yang Yaozong realized his impropriety and forced a sheepish grin. "So it’s not magic after all. That sword of yours is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. What’s it called?"

Jing Yijun snorted, conjured her sword again, and gazed at it affectionately. "Its name is ‘Astonishing Flight.’ My master passed it down to me." She added, exasperated, "Weren’t you asking what would happen if Yin Ruxin didn’t know martial arts?"

Yang Yaozong, still distracted by the sword’s transformations, was reminded of their earlier discussion and laughed awkwardly.

Jing Yijun glanced at the saber hanging on the wall—the one Yang Yaozong typically used for practice. Suddenly, she struck with force; her sword moved like lightning, cleaving the saber in two, then buried its tip deep into the wall. Retrieving her sword, light shone through the new hole in the wall where the blade had pierced it.

Yang Yaozong stared at the broken saber, walked over to the wall, and peered through the hole to the outside, amazed by Jing Yijun’s extraordinary swordsmanship. Half amused, half annoyed, he said, "What was that for? Now I’ll have to call someone to repair the wall."

Jing Yijun ignored him, returned to her seat, sipped her tea, and said, "You think the assassin cut through the guard’s blade, then pierced the heart to kill him? One strike, a shift midway to sever the blade, then a precise thrust to the heart—that level of swordsmanship indicates the assassin’s mastery is flawless. If the assassin had my skills, he could have killed Jing Min behind the guard as well."

Yang Yaozong examined the thick, pierced wall and nodded thoughtfully.

Jing Yijun continued, "Even if that assassin wasn’t as skilled as I, do you really think that, with his proficiency, a mere shove from Yin Ruxin would divert his sword to merely strike Jing Min’s shoulder?"

Yang Yaozong looked at Jing Yijun in sudden realization. "You mean, with the assassin’s skill, he could have killed the Prince without fail! The fact that he didn’t means this was all prearranged—a carefully laid plan!"

Jing Yijun nodded calmly. "What they didn’t anticipate was that someone might possess greater skill than the assassin, or at least match him, and could discern the flaws in his technique."

Yang Yaozong furrowed his brow and fixed his gaze on Jing Yijun. "What purpose could they have in doing this?"

Jing Yijun shook her head, troubled.

Yang Yaozong took a sip of tea and mused, "The Prince of King Qin is well regarded in Tianjing, known for his humility and wide circle of friends. Although no one dares openly discuss the assassination attempt, there’s been plenty of covert speculation—though none of it holds up to scrutiny. Is this meant to give the Prince more reason to visit the capital? He currently garrisons the north and has repeatedly petitioned to return and see the Emperor, but I suspect that is merely a probe. If he truly returned, he wouldn’t come with a small retinue; a large force would be unacceptable. So this incident doesn’t significantly aid his return to the capital." Yang Yaozong rubbed his brow, deep in thought.

Jing Yijun, seeing his distress, knitted her brows as well. "The Crown Grandson will visit Jing Min this afternoon. Could it be…"

Yang Yaozong shook his head. "Impossible, unless he wants his entire family destroyed. You’ll be protecting the Crown Grandson from the shadows as usual this afternoon. I think their goal is to keep us guessing at their next move. So the question is: now that the Prince is injured, what will he not do? He can’t make frequent public appearances, nor will his movements be closely watched. He won’t host banquets… Host banquets… The fifteenth of the eighth month! Yet he’s already reserved the third floor of Heaven on Earth for the Mid-Autumn banquet. The fifteenth of the eighth month! The Mid-Autumn Festival!" Yang Yaozong’s eyelid twitched. He instinctively rolled his prayer beads, muttering to himself, "The fifteenth of the eighth month—let’s see if he cancels the banquet."

Jing Yijun sat in silence, not interrupting his thoughts, her own brows deeply furrowed.

Suddenly, Yang Yaozong said to Jing Yijun, "Keep an eye on that man named Meng Kuo for me in the coming days. See what he’s up to. Even the secret investigators don’t dare approach him, but with your skills, you should be able to. I’ll have to trouble you with this."