Chapter Seventy-Seven: Fragrant Ford

In the Prince Loyal’s Estate, while Jing Yi moved quietly through the various rooms, Yin Ruyun had already slipped into Crown Prince Jing Min’s study. Although she did not know where Jing Min would hide Yang Yaozong—nor whether there were secret passages or chambers in the estate—she had, on several occasions, accompanied Yin Ruxin here in secret, and had also investigated Jing Min. She knew that the place where he handled affairs most frequently was his study. Thus, upon entering the estate, she went directly to that room.

Yin Ruyun wore a purple dress; the left side of her face above was covered by a golden mask, but she had also draped a black veil to conceal the features below her eyes. Jing Min had never seen her true face. Though he knew she and Yin Ruxin were sisters, she had no intention of exposing her real appearance at this moment.

She entered the study through the window and noticed the door was locked from inside, yet Jing Min was not present. She discovered that the two bookshelves, normally placed together, were now separated, revealing a passage leading underground. She was just about to venture down when she noticed a lean, elderly man ascending from the secret corridor. Quickly, she held her breath and hid beside the bookshelf. Fortunately, the old man had only come up to fetch the teapot and cups from the desk and promptly retreated into the passage.

Knowing there were people in the secret tunnel, Yin Ruyun became even more cautious, not rushing down. Then she heard Yang Yaozong’s voice echoing from below, followed by the Crown Prince’s, and listened to every word.

It was not until she heard that her master had been killed by the Prince Loyal with Xiangjin—that poison, she knew well. Being a woman of Miao descent, she could hardly be ignorant of it. As far as she knew, Xiangjin was a lost poison, and never imagined her master would perish by it. Xiangjin was colorless and tasteless, undetectable by any means until ingested. Only those who had taken it would notice the changes in their bodies. Its effects were similar to pure drugs but did not rob one of reason; it merely provoked a powerful sexual urge, while the mind remained clear. The only antidote was to seek intimacy with the opposite sex, thereby expelling the toxin through fragrant perspiration. If the craving was not satisfied, Xiangjin would cause rapid dehydration and death. Some victims, unwilling to engage in intercourse while conscious, would attempt to sweat it out through exercise or self-gratification, but none of these methods worked.

Yin Ruyun knew her master’s temperament well; if there was any poison in the world capable of killing her, it would be Xiangjin.

Fury burned within Yin Ruyun, her beautiful eyes reddened from suppressed tears. She slowly drew a soft sword from her waist, slender and razor-sharp, yet incredibly flexible. Gripping the hilt, she lightly pressed a mechanism at the pommel with her little finger, causing a narrow strip of unknown material to spring from the sword’s interior, running the length of the blade. Though the sword seemed thin, it was hollow, and now, with the rigid strip inside, it became straight and firm. This treasured blade was called Serpent Dance. It could coil and entangle opponents with its supple form, or stand rigid for direct combat. Whether soft or hard, curved or straight, so long as the wielder was adept, it could confound foes like a serpent in motion, making its attacks unpredictable. Serpent Dance had originally belonged to her master and was passed to her when her master left the valley to embark on travels.

Yin Ruyun gazed at the Serpent Dance in her hand; a single crystal tear fell onto the blade, sliding down its smooth length to the tip, where it gathered as a round bead. Sunlight streaming through the window made the sword gleam, and the tear at the tip shimmered with rainbow hues, as if the silver blade itself wept.

She stepped resolutely toward the stairs leading underground, determined to use Serpent Dance to slay the one who had killed her master.

Below, Jing Min took a small porcelain vial from his breast and smiled sinisterly at Yang Yaozong. “This bottle contains the last Xiangjin in the world. Soon, I’ll give you a drop. You’ll experience its peculiar effects.” He glanced at the shriveled corpse slumped on the table and then fixed Yang Yaozong with a strange look: “The woman’s corpse may be old, but she was a rare beauty in life. Now she’s a nauseating husk, but when the poison takes hold, perhaps she’ll help you ‘solve’ your problem. As for whether you can detoxify yourself—no one has ever tried. You may attempt it! If you survive, perhaps I’ll grant you a clean death and a burial. Better than slowly tormenting yourself to death, rotting in this sunless chamber with only her for company.”

Yang Yaozong stared at the bottle in Jing Min’s hand, recalling how Yin Ruxin had told him the Miao people knew poisons but never used them to harm others. Yet Yin Ruxin’s master died by Xiangjin. He remembered Jing Min’s twisted expression and thought, the antidote must be strange indeed. At that moment, he saw a woman at the stairwell—the black veil hid her face, but the golden mask on the left upper side was unforgettable. “It’s her?” She stood at the foot of the stairs, tears glimmering in her eyes, gazing sorrowfully at the corpse for a moment before her eyes turned icy, giving him a glance, then glaring furiously at Jing Min. Yang Yaozong recognized Yin Ruyun; he realized, “This woman is Ruxin’s sister. Her master is likely Ruxin’s master. Judging by her expression, she must have heard Jing Min’s words and is here for vengeance.”

As Yin Ruyun descended the stairs, hearing Jing Min’s desecration of her master’s body, her rage reached its peak. Seeing the only people present were Yang Yaozong, the lean old man, and Jing Min—who she knew was badly wounded—she raised her sword and charged at the elder, the steward Fang.

Though Fang’s martial skill was considerable, it was far inferior to Yin Ruyun’s. As she lunged, he only realized someone was behind him.

Relying on his formidable external martial arts, especially his arms, which had been trained to iron-like strength, Fang attempted to parry Yin Ruyun’s sword with one hand and shaped the other into a claw, striking rapidly at her heart. Yin Ruyun, disdainful of matching moves, simply altered her sword’s angle; the rigid blade encircled his parrying arm like a serpent, and then slithered across his throat, leaving a long gash. Blood gushed from Fang’s neck. Under Yin Ruyun’s manipulation, the sword spun, reflecting every spray of blood back onto his body and face. Feeling his life ebbing away, Fang clutched his wound desperately, his eyes wide with fear, staring at Yin Ruyun’s cold visage. He fought to breathe, unwilling to die, uttering a low growl and straining his chest, but his windpipe was severed; no matter how he tried, suffocation overcame him, and blood poured from mouth and nose.

Soon, the terror faded from the old man’s eyes; he lay curled in the pool of blood, hands pressed to his throat, from struggle to spasm, finally still. Yin Ruyun cast a look of disgust at the dead steward, then approached Jing Min, sword in hand.

Jing Min was dumbfounded that Fang, who had been so formidable, could not resist the woman in purple at all, and watched in horror as she killed him in an instant. He gripped the armrest, attempting to stand and flee as she advanced, but the pain in his legs forced him back into the chair. Seeing Fang’s grisly death and the sword inching toward his throat, he leaned back in terror. “Bang!” The chair toppled, and Jing Min sprawled on the floor, gritting his teeth against the pain, dragging himself backward, fearfully asking, “Who…who are you?” She looked familiar, but he could not recall where he’d seen her.

Yang Yaozong, anxious, shouted, “Hey! You can’t kill him!” Regardless of her purpose, he gambled that she would spare him for Yin Ruxin’s sake. He pleaded, “If you’re going to kill him, kill me first! If you kill him now, you’ll find it much harder to take revenge! Just…just don’t kill him now, trust me! I promise, I’ll help you avenge your master! Just let me down first.” Yang Yaozong cared little for Jing Min’s fate; he merely feared that if the Crown Prince died, the news would reach Prince Loyal, who might react with desperate violence. At least for now, Jing Min could not be killed.

Yin Ruyun knew the real mastermind behind her master’s death was Prince Loyal. But the fury in her heart could not be soothed by Yang Yaozong’s words. She pressed Serpent Dance to Jing Min’s throat, letting the terror of death engulf him.

He panicked at Yang Yaozong’s plea, assuming the woman in purple was here to save Yang Yaozong, but when she ignored him, Jing Min played his last card, screaming, “No, no, you can’t kill me! I am the Crown Prince of Prince Loyal! If you kill me, my father will never forgive you!”

Yin Ruyun snorted disdainfully; she cared nothing for rank or position when she wanted to kill. Her only hesitation was whether, as Yang Yaozong claimed, killing Jing Min would truly make vengeance against Prince Loyal more difficult. She raised Serpent Dance, and swung fiercely.

Jing Min, believing she had made up her mind to kill him, screamed, uncorked the porcelain bottle meant for Yang Yaozong, and flung it violently. Xiangjin sprayed out.

Yin Ruyun blocked the poison with her left sleeve, her right hand’s sword striking without pause—“crack!”—the blade hit Jing Min’s occiput, knocking him unconscious.

Yang Yaozong, seeing she had only knocked him out, breathed a sigh of relief.

Yin Ruyun turned and cut the ropes binding Yang Yaozong, ignoring him and heading straight for the desiccated corpse. She knelt slowly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Freed from his bonds, Yang Yaozong gripped the wooden frame to steady himself, staggered to the table, and poured water from the teapot into his mouth. As the water entered his stomach, he felt some strength return. When the pot was empty, he set it down. He was about to offer comforting words to the woman who had saved him, but something strange happened: his body grew feverish, and a restless urge stirred below his waist.

Meanwhile, Yin Ruyun, kneeling by the corpse, felt changes as well. Her breath grew hot, her skin flushed, fragrant sweat beading, her legs pressed together, suppressing the unbearable itch between her thighs.