Amid the sound of the carriage wheels grinding over the Blue Stone Slab, Ye Fan's knuckles pinched a pale mark onto the Green Jade Case. Lowering his gaze, he stared at the note written in blood on his lap. The fishy scent of the wet ink mixed with the osmanthus fragrance drifting from outside the carriage, drilling straight into his nasal passages—an abandoned temple in the western suburbs, the Falling Star Grass to be exchanged for a person.
"Uncle Li," he lifted the carriage curtain, the evening breeze stirring the stray hairs on his forehead, "take the back alley to the West Market tea shed."
"Young Master?" Uncle Li turned back, the laugh lines on his old face tightening into straight lines, "We aren't returning to the estate?"
"Returning to the estate would alert the enemy." Ye Fan's thumb stroked the edge of the jade case as the clear spring within his Inner World surged into a whirlpool. When his Dao fruit was severed in his previous life, his most valued personal guard had been taken hostage in this exact same manner. "Xuer was weaving grass grasshoppers at the courtyard gate yesterday; who could possibly get close to her?" he said in a low voice. "For the kidnappers to bypass the gatekeeper, it means they are familiar with the Ye Family's layout."
Uncle Li's horse whip suddenly tightened, and the bay horse snorted. The old man suddenly lashed his whip toward the pagoda tree at the street corner, sending several withered leaves fluttering down to reveal a figure in gray huddled tightly behind the tree: "You turtle's grandson, daring to trail the Ye Family's carriage!"
The gray-clad man tumbled out, clutching his head to reveal half a bruised face—he was precisely a third-rank servant from the City Lord's Mansion.
Ye Fan squatted down, his fingertips pressing against the man's wrist: "Who sent you?"
"Young Master... Young Master Zhao..." The man wept and slandered with pain, "Young Master Zhao said the little brat of the Ye Family stole his face as an alchemist and wanted to teach him a lesson..."
Uncle Li's aged fist was already clenching with a cracking sound, but Ye Fan pressed down on his wrist. The young man's palms were frighteningly hot, yet the corners of his eyes were as cold as if tempered in ice: "Uncle Li, go check who was lingering outside the apothecary today at the third quarter of the Chen hour." He kicked the gray-clad man into the roadside drainage ditch, "Then have the kitchen boil a bowl of hangover soup and send it to the City Lord's Mansion—just say Ye expresses his thanks for Young Master Zhao's 'regards'."
When he returned to the Ye Family estate, the moon had just climbed the eastern wall. Ye Fan stood at the courtyard gate, watching old Zhou the gatekeeper bicker with two guards while half a basket of freshly picked grapes sat by their feet—those were Xuer's favorite. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he turned to step into the martial arts arena.
"A-Da, A-Er." He patted the shoulders of the two men in black beneath the corridor. "Change into beggar's clothes and go scout the area within ten li of the abandoned temple in the western suburbs." He then produced three bone-piercing nails tipped with anesthetic, "If you see trap markers, leave a sign, but don't alert the enemy."
The clear spring inside his Inner World suddenly rippled, and Ye Fan closed his eyes—it was the message relayed back by A-Da: there was a dog hole in the back wall of the abandoned temple, with fresh mud prints beside it as if someone had been dragged across.
He crushed the Falling Star Grass jade case in his bosom, the bitter, refreshing scent of the grass spreading across his palms, and turned to tell Uncle Li, "Saddle the horses, and bring five jars of Daughter's Red."
"Young Master?" Uncle Li stared wide-eyed.
"The kidnappers want the Falling Star Grass." Ye Fan tucked the shattered jade pieces into his sleeve. "But they don't know that the real Falling Star Grass is inside my Inner World." He lifted the hem of his robe to reveal the Jiuxiao Huanpei hanging at his waist. "Later, you take the empty case to the front gate of the temple, and I'll enter from the back wall."
At the third quarter of the Zi hour, half a waning moon rested upon the broken walls of the abandoned temple in the western suburbs. Uncle Li's cough echoed in the front hall: "Bandits, the Falling Star Grass has been brought—" Before his voice faded, the temple doors were kicked open with a squeak, and five men wielding sabers leaped down from the rafters, their blade tips pointing straight at Uncle Li's throat.
Inside the dog hole in the back wall, Ye Fan's breathing was as light as a feather. He could clearly hear the conversation in the front hall: "Old man, where is the jade case?" "Right here!" Uncle Li's voice held a trace of tremor, "But my young master said we must see the person first..."
"See your grandmother's leg!" A saber hilt slammed into Uncle Li's back, and the old man collapsed with a muffled groan.
Ye Fan's nails almost dug into his palms—he heard it; inside the eastern side hall, amidst the piles of straw, came the sound of soft sobbing. It was Xuer's voice, carrying a heavy nasal tone: "Brother... I'm scared..."
Pressing against the base of the wall, he moved beneath the window of the eastern side hall, his Inner World's perception spreading out like a spiderweb—there were three copper bells on the windowsill, their strings tied to the door latch; in the corner of the room was a brazier, inside of which was buried the unburned fuse of a firecracker; most importantly, suspended from the rafters was a hemp sack inside of which curled a tiny figure.
"Bang!" The sound of shattering porcelain came from the front hall—it was Uncle Li smashing a jar of wine. That was the agreed-upon signal.
The tips of Ye Fan's feet touched the ground as he vaulted onto the windowsill, his fingertips pressing down on the clapper just as the copper bells were about to ring. The clear spring in his Inner World suddenly rose by three inches, and his vision grew instantaneously clear—the knot on the hemp sack upon the beams was a slipknot, and the fuse in the corner brazier had half an inch remaining.
Grabbing the roof beam for leverage, he swung across, his fingertips slicing through the knot like a blade. The hemp sack hit the floor with a thud, and the little bundle wrapped inside immediately lunged into his arms: "Brother!" Xuer's little face was covered in tear tracks, yet she still shoved a piece of roasted sweet potato into his hand: "I hid it... it's still warm..."
"Good Xuer." Ye Fan tucked her into his bosom and turned to leave when a chill suddenly prickled the back of his neck.
"Young Master Ye has quite the methods."
Zhao Wuji stepped out from the shadows, the jade pendant at his waist emitting a deep blue glow in the moonlight—it was the Ice Soul Jade unique to the City Lord's Mansion. Holding a poisoned dagger, the tip of his blade still dripping with Uncle Li's blood, he sneered, "Did you really think you could fool me? Master Yun's alchemy furnace had my informants planted long ago; I know who has the Falling Star Grass far better than you do."
Ye Fan pushed Xuer behind him. He could sense that Zhao Wuji's aura was at the peak of the Qi Condensation Qi-Guiding Realm—while he himself had broken through to the Body Tempering Golden Body Realm just this morning. The clear spring of his Inner World began to boil, and a 30% boost to all attributes surged through his meridians. In his ears, he could hear the beating of Zhao Wuji's pulse; in his eyes, he could see the venom patterns tracing across the dagger.
"Why must Young Master Zhao push this so far?" Ye Fan's voice was as steady as a mountain. "You and I have no grievance."
"No grievance?" Zhao Wuji's face distorted. "You made Master Yun slap the face of my City Lord's Mansion in public! You made all the townspeople say that I am inferior to a little brat whose hair hasn't even grown out!" He swung his blade as he lunged forward. "Today, not only will I kill your sister, but I will also carve open your Inner World to see what gives you the right to—"
Before he could finish speaking, Ye Fan had already moved. His figure left three afterimages trailing in the moonlight—the result of the heightened perception brought by his accelerated Inner World. He seized Zhao Wuji's wrist and twisted outward, sending the poisoned dagger clattering to the ground; his other hand clamped onto the back of the other's neck, pinning him against the wall: "What you ought to learn is how to conceal your own jealousy."
"You... you're only at the Body Tempering Realm..." Zhao Wuji's face turned the color of a pig's liver.
"Yet I can see your flaws." Ye Fan's knuckles pressed against his Adam's apple. "Now, tell me, who taught you to use such despicable methods?"
"No... impossible..." Zhao Wuji suddenly burst out laughing. "Did you think you've won? The roasted sweet potato your sister just ate had the 'Hundred-Day Drunkenness' poison mixed into it by my orders. Without my antidote—"
"Silence!" Ye Fan's pupils constricted sharply. He lowered his gaze to look at Xuer in his arms—the little girl was nibbling on the sweet potato, and seeing him look over, she even held up the remaining half: "Brother, eat..."
The clear spring within the Inner World suddenly whipped up giant waves. Ye Fan pressed his palm against Xuer's back, and the spiritual qi inside his Inner World surged into her meridians like a living thing. Having once been a mighty cultivator at the Inquiry Realm in his past life, he had seen countless exotic poisons; now, executing deductions with the aid of the Power of the Heavenly Dao, he unraveled the toxic pathways in mere moments.
"Be a good girl, Xuer, take a nap." He said softly. Xuer's eyelids gradually closed, and her little head drooped against his shoulder.
When he raised his head again, Ye Fan's gaze had turned as cold as a blade: "Hundred-Day Drunkenness? Does Young Master Zhao know that my Inner World can refine pills?" He fished a pill gleaming with medicinal markings from his sleeve and shoved it into Zhao Wuji's mouth. "This is a detoxifying pill I just refined using the Falling Star Grass—except what you just ate is the 'Hundred-Day Agony'."
"You!" Zhao Wuji clutched his stomach and curled into a shrimp.
"Every night at the Zi hour, the pain will pierce straight into your bone marrow." Ye Fan pressed the Jiuxiao Huanpei against his forehead. "When you figure out who the mastermind behind the scenes is, I will come back for the antidote."
Uncle Li walked in, clutching his waist while dragging two unconscious bandits by their collars: "Young Master, it's all taken care of."
Ye Fan picked up Xuer, the moonlight illuminating the un-dried tear tracks on her face. He lowered his head to kiss the crown of her head, his voice as light as a sigh: "This time, I will not let you get hurt again."
Far away in the mountain forest, a pair of eyes narrowed behind the shadows of the trees. The man was dressed in dark martial attire, with a silver plaque engraved with "Cold Plum" hanging at his waist. Watching Ye Fan's figure vanish into the night, his fingertips tapped lightly against the carrier pigeon in his bosom: "The target has revealed his sharpness; I suggest moving up the timeline."
The night breeze whipped up a withered leaf, covering the blood-written note lying at his feet—that was the kidnapping letter with wet ink that had fallen out of Ye Fan's carriage.