Chapter Seventy-Five: The Underground Chamber

“Fourth Tiger, stop!” A deep, aged voice commanded. It was this elder who had thrown a dart, causing the blade of the fourth-ranked young man to veer away from Yang Yaozong. The young man was still intent on striking again, but the elder stopped him with a shout. He held his knife suspended in mid-air, looking confused at the wiry old man who had approached. This young man was indeed the Fourth Tiger addressed by the elder.

At that moment, the second-ranked man’s pain in his lower body had eased considerably. He bent over, walked to the side of the scar-faced man, checked his breathing, then looked up at Fourth Tiger and said, “Fourth Brother, Big Brother is probably just unconscious.”

Hearing his second brother say that Big Brother was unharmed, Fourth Tiger lowered his knife and looked in puzzlement at the wiry old man, though he still spoke respectfully, “Housekeeper Fang, why wouldn’t you let me kill this Yang fellow? Just look at Big Brother, and look at Third Brother!”

The wiry elder picked up the dart from the ground, wiped it, and tucked it into his robe. “The Prince’s escape has failed; he’s already returned to the manor and sent me specifically to stop you. This is no place to linger. Second and Fourth, carry Big Brother and Third Brother to the carriage at once.”

This Housekeeper Fang, as he was called, could divert Fourth Tiger’s blade with just a single dart, showing his formidable skill. He glanced at Yang Yaozong, who was lying on the ground, his face bloodied and unconscious, and frowned slightly. Grabbing Yang Yaozong’s arm, he hoisted him onto his back and strode towards the carriage, his steps steady and agile.

The group did not return to the Prince’s manor but instead drove into a private residence. Upon arrival, Housekeeper Fang said, “Second and Fourth, carry Big Brother and Third Brother inside. Stay here and heal for a while. I’ve checked—Big Brother is just unconscious, nothing serious. Third Brother... hmm...” He tossed a bottle of medicine to the second-ranked man, “Use this for Third Brother. It’s for regenerating flesh and stopping bleeding, but his injuries are severe. Whether he survives depends on fate.”

Both the second-ranked man and Fourth Tiger bowed respectfully to Housekeeper Fang. “Thank you, Housekeeper Fang.”

Housekeeper Fang waved his hand. “This time you were careless. Don’t underestimate your foes in the future. Let this be a lesson.” He glanced at Yang Yaozong, lying in the carriage, and frowned. “This man’s ferocity exceeded my expectations. On the way to stop you, I thought you might have already killed him.”

The two men listened respectfully to Housekeeper Fang’s admonition, nodding in agreement. When Yang Yaozong was mentioned, they both glared in anger at him lying on the ground. Yet Yang Yaozong was unconscious, unable to see their wrathful gazes.

Housekeeper Fang looked at the two men, “Go about your tasks. Later, help me dismantle the carriage frame, leaving only the base. Then carry the vegetables and fruit from inside the house onto the cart. At dawn, I must bring Yang Yaozong back to the Prince’s manor.”

The two men answered in unison, “Yes, sir,” and busied themselves according to Housekeeper Fang’s instructions.

As dawn broke, a carriage loaded with vegetables and fruit entered the Prince’s manor at a leisurely pace.

Yang Yaozong felt pain and weakness throughout his body, scarcely daring to breathe deeply. His posture was uncomfortable, and he tried to shift, but failed. Slowly opening his eyes, he discovered he was bound, crucifix-like, to a wooden cross.

He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, only remembering that just before he lost consciousness, the fourth-ranked man had raised a butcher’s knife against him. Yang Yaozong snorted inwardly: so they didn’t kill me? Are they planning to torture me instead?

He began to survey the room in which he was held. The walls were smooth and sturdy mud-brick. Two oil lamps were burning inside; aside from their light, no other illumination reached the room. One lamp hung beside the staircase opposite him, which led upward to a square recess in the ceiling—a likely entrance to the basement, now sealed.

The other lamp sat on a square table to his left. On this table, aside from brush, ink, paper and inkstone, Yang Yaozong saw a desiccated corpse slumped in a chair behind the table, its upper body leaning forward across the table. What sent chills down his spine was that the corpse’s head rested, as if sleeping, on its crossed, withered arms atop the table, its face angled directly toward Yang Yaozong. In that dim chamber, staring at this corpse in the wavering lamplight, Yang Yaozong felt a prickle of fear, despite knowing it was lifeless. After a moment, he sighed, pursed his lips, and tried to speak, only to feel sharp pain in his throat and chest—no sound came forth.

Enduring the pain, Yang Yaozong swallowed repeatedly and licked his dry lips before finally speaking, as if conversing with the corpse, “Senior.” His voice was hoarse and low, and after a few labored breaths, he continued, “I’ll call you that for now. I don’t know your age at death, but since you passed before me, you’re my senior. Soon enough, I suppose I’ll join you.” He studied the corpse more closely and found it dressed in women’s clothing; it must be a woman, he thought.

Just then, Yang Yaozong heard a sound above the staircase. The cover sealing the entrance was lifted, letting daylight stream into the chamber. He looked toward the opening and saw a wiry old man carrying someone down the stairs into the basement. The person being carried was the Prince, Jing Min. The old man gently set Jing Min in a chair in the center of the room, then straightened up, expressionless, standing behind him, his sharp eyes fixed on Yang Yaozong.

The three in the basement kept silent. Yang Yaozong glanced at the wiry old man, then at Prince Jing Min. Noting how the old man brought the severely wounded Prince into the basement with steady steps, not even short of breath, Yang Yaozong concluded that he was another martial arts master. He also knew that the four who tried to kill him last night possessed unusual skills—had they not underestimated him, he would never have had a chance to defeat three of them. He thought, I never imagined Prince Jing Min would have so many experts around him—I truly underestimated him. In the Prince’s eyes, Yang Yaozong was already a dead man, so Jing Min no longer feigned his customary gentle and approachable demeanor. He glared at Yang Yaozong, his voice cold and sinister, “Yang Yaozong, do you know why you’ve been brought here?”

Yang Yaozong’s lips moved, but no words came out.

Prince Jing Min was shrewd. Seeing Yang Yaozong’s weakness and parched lips, he glanced at the wiry old man. The old man understood, left the chamber, and soon returned with a teapot and cup. He poured a cup of water, set the pot on the table, walked to Yang Yaozong, pried his mouth open, and poured the water down his throat.

With water in his stomach, Yang Yaozong’s throat pain eased, but his body was still frail. He gazed at Prince Jing Min, speaking weakly, “If I knew why you captured me, would I... would I have been captured?” He probed, “I came to visit you when you were injured, and... and at the Mid-Autumn banquet you seemed almost recovered. You’re not... not thinking I sent someone to assassinate you, are you?”

Prince Jing Min snorted contemptuously, “You sent assassins after me? Hah! You don’t have that capability!”

Recalling his own wounds, Prince Jing Min grew even more furious. Though he could speak of his failed escape to a dying man without consequence, he would never confess his defeat to Yang Yaozong. He spoke darkly, “I hadn’t intended to deal with you yet—I didn’t think you were worthy.”

Yang Yaozong retorted, “So last night you thought I was worthy enough for you to act against me?”

Prince Jing Min sneered, “Worthy? Not quite. I simply wanted to remove you sooner—you’re an eyesore. Since you’re about to die, I’ll let you die knowing why. At the Qixi poetry gathering, you wrote two excellent poems; I thought you had some talent. On the first of August, you went to Daoen Temple and enlightened Master Hongdao, making your name renowned throughout Great Zhou. You also praised His Majesty’s wisdom and virtue. That’s when I began to be wary of you. Grandson’s Grand Tutor! You truly have the favor of the Crown Prince and the Emperor, letting you participate in setting the imperial exam questions. And you produced that blank-paper question, ruining my plans! I had intended for at least two of the top three examinees to be my men, but now only one, and he’s just the third place. Among the top fifty, I aimed for twenty, but only eight made it! Though the northern scholars gained more reputation than usual, the result was far less than I wanted—all because of you! And then last night, your poem! ‘When will the moon be clear and bright?’ Hah! That will only make your fame greater, won’t it? I’d like to see how you and Nangong Qingyi, separated by life and death, can ‘share the moon across a thousand miles!’ Because of the exam, I wanted to kill you. Yesterday, the Emperor and Crown Prince treated you so well. And you even dared compete with me for a woman! Compete with me! Yang Yaozong, you’re the first! And lately, my mood has been poor, and all I hear is praise for you—your name is truly vexing, and you are truly vexing. So I decided to kill you, to give myself peace. You’ll die here, and no one will know. Some may fret, but they will never find you. Eventually, you’ll be forgotten, fading into oblivion. And you’ll be like that woman, forever imprisoned in this sunless underground chamber.” Prince Jing Min pointed at the corpse slumped on the table. “But I’m not entirely cruel—at least you’ll have a woman for company after death.”

Yang Yaozong chuckled dryly, “I’ll thank you for letting me die knowing why. I truly didn’t expect you to be so twisted. But... I’d like to die knowing even more. Can you tell me who that corpse is?”

Prince Jing Min glanced at Yang Yaozong, unconcerned by being called twisted—what was the point of arguing with a dying man? Now he even seemed magnanimous. Looking at the corpse, he scoffed, “Her? She was a pitiful woman. Perhaps you don’t know Yin Ruxin’s identity, nor do you need to. But I can tell you: that corpse is Yin Ruxin’s master! My father favored her greatly, but she was ungrateful and knew too much, and her martial arts were formidable. There was no choice but to poison her, letting her die quietly here. She could have lived—she was given a poison called Fragrant Jin, and she knew the antidote, but she refused to use it. So, she could only die here.”