Official Protection

Qinghe County office. The morning bell startled the roosting birds from under the eaves.

Chen Ping, clad in a brand-new Subordinate Ninth Rank military officer's green robe, a regulation Wild Goose Feather Blade at his waist, stood bowed in the main hall.

His back was slightly hunched, his face wearing a look of nervous deference. This official's skin felt hot to wear, as if it didn't quite sit right on him.

"Scholar Chen, this assignment was personally requested by the prefect."

The County Magistrate lifted his teacup, gently skimming the foam. His tone was slow but carried an unyielding pressure.

"Lady Ye from the Capital City is passing through to handle business in a neighboring prefecture. She specifically requested a local officer of clean background and skilled martial arts to escort her. You've just entered officialdom—this is a fine chance to build your credentials."

"Your subordinate understands. I will do my utmost to ensure the lady's safety."

Chen Ping clasped his fists, his voice trembling slightly with feigned excitement.

Beneath his lowered eyelids, however, his gaze was cold as ice.

This was no good assignment.

A noble from the Capital City passing through a remote border county, not bringing her own guards, but instead summoning a local military officer on the spot—there was an indescribable strangeness to it.

But he had just offended the Jin Family. This official post was his best shield, and the County Magistrate's order could not be refused.

After receiving the travel documents, Chen Ping withdrew to the side hall for roll call.

Through the gaps in the window lattice, he discreetly surveyed the assembled team in the courtyard.

Twelve Imperial Guardsmen, all with bulging temples and broad, thick palms—each was a master of external martial arts.

And around the Nanmu Carriage, there was an faint, murderous aura.

"This isn't an escort. This is a transport. Something feels off..."

Chen Ping mused to himself, carefully tucking the travel documents into his chest.

By the time he returned to the small courtyard south of the city, the sun was already leaning westward.

Yun Niang was gathering dried clothes in the yard. Seeing Chen Ping return, a gentle smile spread across her face, and she turned to go heat up the meal in the kitchen.

"Sister Yun, no need to rush."

He took her hand, the calluses on his palm rubbing against her soft skin.

"The office has assigned me a task. I need to go to the neighboring prefecture. I reckon it'll be ten days to half a month before I'm back."

Yun Niang paused mid-motion, a flicker of panic in her eyes, but she quickly masked it.

She didn't ask questions. Silently, she turned and went inside to pack his bags.

Chen Ping leaned against the doorframe, watching her busy back. The taut string in his heart loosened just a little.

For the sake of this peace, some risks had to be taken.

While Yun Niang was in the kitchen baking flatbreads, Chen Ping quickly retrieved several polished thin steel plates from a hidden compartment under the bed.

He deftly unstitched the inner lining of his close-fitting undershirt and sewed the plates one by one into the vital areas of his chest and back.

The stitches were fine and tight. From the outside, aside from a slightly bulkier build, nothing seemed amiss.

Then, from a hidden pocket in his boot, he pulled out two small paper packets—specially prepared quicklime powder and ground chili.

As for the dagger coated with lethal poison, he strapped it to the inside of his calf. With his pant leg covering it, it was his final trump card.

Only after all this did he put on that simple, honest smile, take the hot flatbread Yun Niang handed him, and bite into it with gusto, as if he were just heading to the next village to collect rent.

The next morning, at the city gate.

The convoy was ready to depart. As the deputy leader, Chen Ping rode up beside the Nanmu Carriage to await orders.

The morning breeze lifted a corner of the carriage curtain, revealing a glimpse of a plain white sleeve.

"Let's move."

A clear female voice rang out. It wasn't loud, but it pierced the ear like shattering jade.

Chen Ping instinctively activated Longevity of Pine and Crane, and his senses sharpened sharply.

In that instant, every hair on his body stood on end.

The noblewoman inside the carriage, named "Ye Muqing," had her face veiled by light gauze, but her entire body was wreathed in a faint, elusive chill.

That chill wasn't the cold of winter—it was a bone-deep, yin-cold aura, as if something inside that shell of flesh instinctively terrified the living.

This was no ordinary inner force.

Chen Ping quickly lowered his head, hiding the shock in his eyes. His fingers lightly traced the hilt of his blade, and alarm bells clanged in his mind.

This assignment was far more troublesome than he'd imagined.

The convoy traveled until afternoon, entering a stretch of wild hills.

The official road wound through the terrain, with weeds on both sides as tall as a man.

"Captain, five li ahead is 'Soul Severing Ravine'."

Chen Ping urged his horse closer to the stern-faced Imperial Guard commander, pointing at the distant ravine with a humble tone.

"These autumn rains have been relentless—the soil over there is loose and prone to collapse, and the terrain is narrow. If rocks fall, there's hardly any room to dodge. This lowly one suggests we detour around the high slope to the left. It adds three li to the journey, but the view is open and far safer."

The commander reined in his horse, casting a suspicious glance at this "frail" third-place scholar, then looked again at the deep, shadowy ravine. Finally, he nodded.

"Approved."

The convoy changed course.

When they reached the top of the high slope and looked down, the group could faintly see flocks of birds startled from the grass in Soul Severing Ravine—a clear sign of an ambush lying in wait.

The commander turned back, fixing Chen Ping with a deep look. The contempt in his eyes had faded, replaced by scrutiny.

Chen Ping merely shrank his neck and gave an awkward grin.

"Back when I escorted caravans, I heard old-timers rambling about such things. Never thought I'd actually guess right. Pure luck, pure luck."

That night, the convoy stopped at a desolate wilderness post station called "Anping."

The station was rundown, reeking of mildew.

A few Imperial Guards gathered around a stove to warm some wine, calling Chen Ping over to join them.

"Many thanks, brothers, but this one can't hold his liquor. Drinking would only cause trouble. I'd best rest early—we've got a long road tomorrow."

Chen Ping cupped his hands in apology, declining the tempting offer.

In the martial world, wine was gut-rotting poison. The safer a place seemed, the less one could afford to let down their guard.

Back in his assigned second-floor room, Chen Ping didn't undress. First, he checked the window latch, then pulled a handful of dry flour from his bosom and sprinkled it evenly on the floor behind the door and beneath the window.

Done with that, he gave a light leap, landing on the roof beam as nimbly as a wildcat.

From here, the view was wide open, and he was in a blind spot. He sat cross-legged, cradling the Wild Goose Feather Blade, closed his eyes to rest, his breath barely perceptible, slipping into the light sleep unique to the Longevity of Pine and Crane technique.

That night.

Just past midnight, a piercing owl's cry suddenly rang out from the woods beyond the station.

"Hoo—"

The sound was sharp and grating, not like a living thing.

The horses in the stable began to stir restlessly, iron hooves kicking against the wooden stalls with dull thuds.

On the roof beam, Chen Ping's eyes snapped open, a sharp glint flashing in his gaze.

Something was wrong.

The night-watch Imperial Guard was right downstairs in the main hall—why was there no reaction to the horses' commotion?

He slid down from the beam without a sound, peering through the cracks in the floorboards below.

The soldier on watch stood with his back to the stairs, hand on his sword hilt, rigid as a statue.

Chen Ping held his breath, flicked a copper coin from his fingertips, and sent it spinning.

"Ting."

The coin struck the floor by the soldier's foot with a crisp ring.

The soldier didn't move an inch, didn't even turn his head.

A chill shot up Chen Ping's spine straight to his crown.

He hesitated no longer. Like a ghost, he drifted down to the floor and circled around to face the soldier.

In the dim lamplight, Chen Ping's pupils contracted.

The soldier's face was livid, his eyes wide open, shot through with cobweb-like blood vessels. He had long since stopped breathing.

But there were no knife wounds or signs of poisoning on him. It was as if something had drained the very life and spirit from him in an instant—his death matched the village tales of "being possessed" to a tee.

Just then, a gust of eerie wind rose from nowhere. The already dim oil lamps in the station flickered, their flames turning a ghastly green.

At the far end of the second floor, the room where Ye Muqing was staying suddenly lit up with a soft yet dazzling white light.

The radiance was pure and vast, pushing back the surrounding chill by three feet.

"What fiend dares act so brazenly before this Seat!"

A sharp, commanding shout pierced through the floorboards, carrying an unassailable dignity.

Chen Ping's heart jolted violently.

This white light, this pressure—this was no ordinary martial art!

Could it be that such things truly existed in this world...

Before he could think further, the station's heavy wooden door let out a thunderous crash.

"Boom!"

The door was slammed open, splinters flying everywhere.

Thick, murky gray-white mist, reeking of rot, surged into the main hall.

Within the mist, shadowy figures flickered, as if countless phantoms were whispering among themselves.