Chapter Seven: Dantai Mingjing

To the north of Shen Prefecture, a vast expanse lay blanketed in silver.

A carriage had been traveling steadily from Shen Prefecture, neither hurried nor sluggish.

Lu Zhou rode outside, while Zhao Jin’er sat within.

The cold wind lashed against Lu Zhou’s face, slicing through the awkward silence like a blade. He wanted to break the ice, but it was Zhao Jin’er who spoke first.

She lifted the curtain and asked, “Did my father say anything reckless to you?”

“Mm.”

Lu Zhou’s response was ambiguous, leaving Zhao Jin’er uncertain whether he meant yes or no. He merely uttered it to acknowledge her question.

Indeed, Zhao Lu had not spoken recklessly; every word he uttered was measured.

He knew precisely what to say and what to withhold, as clearly as looking into a mirror. Yet, because of this, Lu Zhou understood—

He was compromised.

If Zhao Lu truly regarded him as family, there would be no need to conceal certain matters—such as what treasure Master Withered Leaf had stolen, which seemed trivial.

At least, it wasn’t particularly important to Zhao Lu.

But Zhao Lu lied, and the lie was directed at Lu Zhou. Thus, Lu Zhou had reason to believe that the answer mattered greatly to him—

Or, more precisely, to his other identity.

Why did Zhao Lu lie? The answer could only be that Lu Zhou had already exposed himself.

Lu Zhou smiled bitterly. Perhaps, for the first time in his career, he had failed before even beginning.

Where had he erred? The only ones who knew his true identity were Li Mu Ru and Gao Zhuang; the fault must lie with one of them.

Why hadn’t Zhao Lu confronted him? Perhaps he lacked evidence, perhaps he intended to use Lu Zhou as bait, or perhaps—he genuinely wished to become family with Lu Zhou.

Of course, the last possibility was slim.

Since Zhao Lu hadn’t spoken, Lu Zhou would pretend to know nothing.

For in this world, many truths lose their meaning once spoken aloud.

As long as they remain unspoken, there is room for negotiation—merely a matter of terms.

Zhao Jin’er sighed, gazed at Lu Zhou’s profile, and asked, “Aren’t we heading in the wrong direction?”

“Master Withered Leaf is headed to Southern Zhou. If we travel north, we’re only moving farther away. So, Senior Brother Lu, do you think you can’t complete the task and plan to take me back to Cloud Pavilion?”

Lu Zhou glanced at her, “Is returning to Cloud Pavilion truly what you want?”

“Yes,” Zhao Jin’er nodded earnestly.

“I didn’t realize you were so sentimental,” Lu Zhou teased.

“But I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. We aren’t returning to Cloud Pavilion. Master Withered Leaf once visited Golden Lion Escort Agency—what business would a monk have at an escort agency?

Coincidentally, on the third day after his visit, the Golden Lion Escort Agency dispatched a convoy. The route was north to You Pass, where they unloaded goods, then carried another batch across the river to Southern Zhou.”

Zhao Jin’er frowned slightly, “Do you suspect Withered Leaf is hiding among the convoy?”

Lu Zhou shook his head, “I suspect the treasure he stole is hidden within the convoy.”

It’s hard to conceal a person in a convoy, but much easier to hide an object.

Master Withered Leaf went to great lengths for this treasure; wherever it is, he will be. Find the treasure, and you find him.

On the official road, the sound of Lu Zhou’s whip cracked through the air.

Zhao Jin’er’s smile blossomed like a flower.

...

...

The inn at the small town was modest, now crowded with travelers whose journeys had been stalled by wind and snow, making it feel even more cramped.

In the courtyard, a dozen escort wagons were piled high with goods, covered by thick straw mats already layered with snow.

Each wagon bore a pale yellow flag, fluttering noisily in the cold wind.

Only when the wind paused could one see the golden lion embroidered on the flag, fierce and majestic.

The inn’s dining hall was smaller still; with over ten escorts from the agency, precious few tables remained. Besides the escorts, there were other travelers.

When Lu Zhou and Zhao Jin’er arrived, not a single empty table was left.

Lu Zhou remained unhurried, simply asking the attendant for an available room.

Why just one? Because when a man and woman travel together, requesting two rooms would appear unusual.

Zhao Jin’er’s cheeks flushed, but she raised no objection.

Once they paid and secured their room, a table was provided—for in this world, many problems yield to the power of money.

Many travelers didn’t intend to dine, especially the escorts, who cared only for shelter; sleeping anywhere sufficed.

Lu Zhou and Zhao Jin’er sat at a corner table, as the attendant brought two plates of side dishes and warmed a pot of wine.

Then they saw three men in Golden Lion Escort Agency uniforms enter through a back door, their voices loud as they discussed their blood-soaked “lives on the road.”

They seemed eager for everyone to know they were escorts from the Golden Lion Agency.

Lu Zhou and Zhao Jin’er ate calmly. Having disguised themselves as a middle-aged couple, they needed only to listen, analyzing the tales for clues about the men’s identities, status, martial prowess—and whether any might be Master Withered Leaf.

One of the men declared loudly, “He Lao San, you don’t know what I faced last time escorting goods to Shu Kingdom—I encountered a dangerous figure.”

Another laughed, “Who could make the great Head Escort Liao feel threatened? Liao himself is the true heir to the Rain Sword, direct disciple of the Rain Academy’s head. Not a Confucian, but if anyone could intimidate Liao, I, He Lao San, would be the first to doubt it.”

The flatterer was He Lao San, one of the agency’s escorts. “Rain Sword” Liao Bu Ping, if memory served, was at the Returning Origin level.

Liao Bu Ping shook his head, smiling wryly. “Third on the Qingyun list—the demon Tan Tai Ming Jing. Tell me that’s not dangerous.”

A third man drew a sharp breath, “Liao, you faced Tan Tai Ming Jing and lived?”

“Of course—what, you think I’m a ghost?”

“You exchanged three moves with Tan Tai Ming Jing?” He Lao San pressed.

Liao Bu Ping nodded modestly, and He Lao San slapped the table, “I’ve always said, in sheer cultivation, Liao is a shade below Tan Tai Ming Jing, but in skill and technique, even someone as formidable as Tan Tai Ming Jing can’t match our Liao.”

Such flattery left Liao Bu Ping thoroughly pleased, his lips curling into a smile.

Suddenly, the smile froze on his face.

He saw the thick curtain at the inn’s entrance lift in the wind, revealing a figure standing outside.

Lu Zhou followed his gaze and saw a handsome young monk dressed in yellow robes, draped in a crimson kasaya, holding a golden staff.

The cold wind made the iron rings on the staff jangle.

The inn fell silent, so quiet that even the sound of Zhao Jin’er chewing her food was audible.

“Amitabha. I heard my name called outside. Which benefactor seeks this humble monk?”

The monk intoned a Buddhist blessing and stepped inside.

With each step, the iron rings on his staff clanged, as if echoing from the depths of hell. Liao Bu Ping felt the hair on his neck stand upright.

He walked straight to Liao Bu Ping and asked, “They say you exchanged three moves with Tan Tai Ming Jing. Is that true?”

Cold sweat broke out on Liao Bu Ping’s face; if not for the snow outside, one might have thought it midsummer, judging by his pallor.

“Just boasting... just boasting...”

The monk set his staff aside and spoke seriously, “Either hand over the package containing Withered Leaf, or face three moves from me. Please, benefactor—choose.”

Now, even Zhao Jin’er, unfamiliar with the monk, realized that he was the very Tan Tai Ming Jing Liao Bu Ping had spoken of.

And his purpose here—

Was also Withered Leaf.