Volume One: The King's Command Chapter Fourteen: The Difficult Road of Officialdom

It was already well into the morning when the door was finally opened again. Warm sunlight spilled through the doorway onto the wooden floor, bathing the quiet inn in gold. There was no clamor from shopkeepers or their assistants, only a few early-rising guests cursing under their breath as they left, luggage in tow.

“I’ll never come back. The whole staff sleeps in, don’t even want to make money!”

Outside, the street was growing livelier, with passersby streaming along the walkway. Amidst them rode a young gentleman and a maiden of exquisite beauty, each astride a tall steed, moving at an unhurried pace along the edge of the road.

Since this was a den of thieves, one had to be ready for treachery. Liu Xiaoyi was no easy mark; he made his way to the back courtyard and thoroughly ransacked the place.

His purse now hung heavy with dozens of silver ingots, and his chest bulged with silver drafts—he walked tall and straight. So this was what it felt like to be rich: it was simply marvelous.

He had not expected Yu Wenwan to know how to ride. In wealthy families, horsemanship was a necessary skill. After a night’s rest, she had recovered somewhat and was finally able to speak with him.

It was the height of September, the busiest month for trade caravans, and the road was growing crowded. Their striking appearance drew attention, and within a mere thirty miles, several small bands of would-be thieves eyed them with ill intent.

As they rounded a mountain pass, three blasts from crude cannons echoed. Liu Xiaoyi’s right hand flew to his sword, thumb flicking the spring.

But the petty thieves nearby suddenly scattered in all directions; from the woods on either side of the pass, over a hundred men surged forth, blocking the road and waving banners as they shouted.

“Xiaoyi… what are these people doing?” Yu Wenwan, frightened again and again, clung to Liu Xiaoyi like a fledgling sparrow battered by a storm, hiding behind him in terror.

“Don’t be afraid. They’re local bandits, eyeing the goods in the caravan ahead.”

A dozen carriages stood ahead, their deep ruts a clear sign to the bandits that the cargo was valuable.

“So it’s the Song family caravan. What treasures are you bringing today?” The bandits’ shouts died down as a burly, bearded man stepped forward. The chief circled the wagons, recognizing them as belonging to the antique merchants of Changle City—the Song family.

Every year, the Song family paid protection money here, so their caravans usually passed unimpeded.

Two young people parted the curtain on the front carriage. “The Song family is paying as usual this year. Why do you block our way?”

The chief bowed. “Young Master Song, Young Miss Song, our old boss was killed. Before we leave these parts, we must collect some travel expenses.”

This year, the Song siblings were leading the convoy themselves. The carriages behind them indeed held priceless treasures—gifts from the Fourth Prince for a noble’s birthday.

Within Central Zhou, only the Song family had the strength to guard such a treasure. Their convoy alone boasted over thirty armed escorts, all seasoned professionals.

Other small traders, caught in the commotion, waited anxiously to pay up and escape disaster. Leaving was now impossible.

One bandit, catching sight of a beautiful young lady, swaggered over with his blade. “Little beauty, want to have some fun with us?”

His filthy hand reached for Yu Wenwan’s face, frightening her nearly off her horse.

But before she could scream, the bandit howled in pain—his hand had been severed cleanly at the wrist, blood gushing from the wound. “Boss! Help me!”

Seeing things had turned ugly, Liu Xiaoyi acted first. Spurring his horse, sword in hand, he charged at the bandit chief.

Chains and bolas flew to bring down horse and rider, but Liu Xiaoyi deftly flicked them aside with his sword.

His horse reared, and with a sidelong sweep, he brought his blade down. The chief hastily parried, but the force sent him stumbling backward several paces.

“Get him, boys! How dare he cross me?” The chief, his hands numbed by the clash, cursed inwardly and called his men to attack.

At his command, a volley of arrows struck Liu Xiaoyi’s horse. As the animal faltered, Liu Xiaoyi leaped into the air, feet springing from the horse’s back.

His blade traced a full moon in the air, cleaving a deep gouge in the earth. Several bandits, caught off guard, fell back bleeding from their chests.

Some of the bandits were skilled fighters and now engaged Liu Xiaoyi in fierce combat—it was a deadlock for a time.

Meanwhile, on the lead carriage, Shen Xu and her younger brother Shen Zhong whispered together. “Sister, what do we do? Should we fight or wait?”

“It wouldn’t be right to drag others into this, but I’m afraid our cargo might be lost if we fight.”

Though young, the siblings had escorted goods many times before. Their father had entrusted them with this task because of the importance of these treasures.

“Master Zhong, what do you think?” Shen Xu, still uncertain, leapt down to consult their chief instructor—Master Zhong, famed as both their martial mentor and an escort of the Lion and Tiger Escort Agency in Changle City.

Zhong Li was stunned. He should have stepped in himself, but this youth had beaten him to it, wielding his sword with such solid technique that he momentarily forgot his own purpose.

“Best to take action and finish them off, lest trouble drag on,” he finally decided.

Brandishing his iron-shod staff, Zhong Li spurred his horse and charged into the fray, striking with the force of a serpent darting from its hole.

He did not notice that, from the nearby thicket, a crossbow was trained on Shen Zhong.

The Shen family had operated their antique shop in Changle City for generations. It was said there was nothing they couldn’t procure. This time, they had uncovered an eight-hundred-year-old statue of the Night-Lit Flying Horse, bought at a king’s ransom by the Fourth Prince.

Should the statue be lost, the shop’s future in Central Zhou would be finished. Rival dealers, always at odds with the Shen family, had prepared in advance—either to steal the statue or kill Shen Zhong.

The crossbowman waited for his moment, then fired—a short bolt whistled from the woods, aimed straight at Shen Zhong’s back.

A grin spread across the crossbowman’s face; success would mean two gold bars as reward.

At that moment, Liu Xiaoyi, pressed by five attackers, leaped backward to relieve the pressure—his path intersected perfectly with the flight of the bolt.

An assassin! Suspecting the bolt was meant for him, Liu Xiaoyi flicked a water droplet from his fingers, deflecting the crossbow off course. It struck Shen Zhong’s topknot, scattering his hair.

Shen Zhong was terrified, shouting, “An assassin! Show yourself!”

No reply came. Liu Xiaoyi glanced toward the thickets whence the bolt had flown—the undergrowth rustled as the assailant slipped away.

Meanwhile, Zhong Li, staff in hand, swept through the bandits with the other escorts, swiftly breaking their ranks and leaving bodies scattered.

Returning to the carriages, Zhong Li plucked the crossbow bolt from where it had landed and examined it. There was a smear of dark green liquid on its tip.

“This bolt is poisoned. It seems your troubles go beyond mere cargo—someone is targeting the two of you.”

Seeing the road now clear, Liu Xiaoyi sheathed his sword and remounted, soothing Yu Wenwan until she finally stopped crying and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

“May I ask, young sir, where are you heading next?” Zhong Li rode up behind them, waiting until the young lady had calmed before asking softly.