Artist

What the hell?

Standing at the entrance of Zhong'an Bank, Chen Wu felt his mind in a chaotic whirl, unable to process the conversation that had just taken place.

Assassinating himself—were these high-society types really this twisted?

In short, three days from now, at the same time and place, Chen Wu was to assassinate Qiao Weisheng again in front of a crowd, only this time, Qiao Weisheng was the one paying him to do it.

Chen Wu had wanted to ask for the specifics, but on one hand, he had to maintain his persona as a master martial artist and couldn't pry too deeply; on the other, Qiao Weisheng had been vague, clearly unwilling to reveal too much. To make a quick exit, Chen Wu had been forced to accept the commission in a daze.

Lost in thought about the conversation, Chen Wu wandered toward the Yellow River without realizing it. Struck by the cold river breeze, his overloaded brain finally cleared, and he realized that a massive iron bridge spanning the Yellow River had appeared before him.

He had arrived at the famous Yellow River Iron Bridge in Jincheng Prefecture. Chen Wu had only been transmigrated for three days, yet he had already heard of this bridge's reputation.

It was said that a retired admiral from Jincheng Prefecture, seeing that the old floating bridge on the Yellow River was no longer fit for use, had joined forces with local wealthy merchants to fund its construction with 320,000 silver dollars for the benefit of his hometown.

The admiral, coming from the navy, had a penchant for new technology and boldly employed bridge-building techniques never before attempted anywhere in the world, utilizing steel and concrete pillars—materials that had never been used for such a purpose.

Because they were experimenting as they built, the bridge had been reconstructed repeatedly over seven years, with costs ballooning time and again, only reaching completion three months ago.

Once finished, it became world-renowned, hailed as the First Bridge of the Yellow River.

To Chen Wu, this bridge looked just as bizarre as the double-decker carriages he had seen. It bore a slight resemblance to the Waibaidu Bridge he remembered from his past life, with a steel-truss structure mounted atop several bridge piers.

But unlike the Waibaidu Bridge, a veteran of many films, the bridge body wasn't composed of arched structures; it was flat, as if someone had sliced the top half of the arches off with a single sword stroke.

Even stranger were the two ends of the iron bridge, each featuring a structure made of wood and stone, resembling a three-bay memorial archway. The central bay was slightly taller and wider than the steel truss above the bridge, clearly designed as a matching set to allow pedestrians to pass through the archway onto the bridge.

At this moment, the area around the archway was packed with layers of onlookers, and one could vaguely see patrolmen inside maintaining order; it seemed some kind of event was underway.

"Brother, might I ask what celebration is happening here? Why are there so many people?" Chen Wu scanned the crowd and chose a bystander who looked refined and approachable to ask.

The man pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose, as if the heavy metal frames were causing him great discomfort.

"You don't even know this? The plaque inscribed by the brush of the current Emperor is being hung on this archway today. The gentry of Jincheng Prefecture have hired a folk performance troupe to celebrate with the people and manifest the Emperor's virtue." After speaking, he cupped his hands in the direction of the capital.

What a display of a loyal subject of the Great Shun Empire!

Chen Wu suppressed the urge to retort and looked up, spotting the so-called imperial plaque on the archway, inscribed with three large characters: Longevity Bridge.

Before Chen Wu could critique the old Emperor's calligraphy, a series of firecrackers popped and crackled in the center of the crowd, followed by the beating of gongs and drums as the people began to clamor.

Chen Wu stood on his tiptoes to look inside.

In the central clearing, a troupe of people dressed in colorful costumes and painted masks were dancing with swords and spears, performing lion dances and land-boat dances—a lively scene indeed. A clown dressed as a woman wove through the crowd, acting foolish to amuse the onlookers and incidentally begging for tips.

The surrounding sounds of suona horns, gongs, drums, shouting, and laughter were incessant; it was a scene of worldly chaos that captivated Chen Wu, and he found himself watching with genuine interest.

Yet, amidst this sea of noise, a faint, abrupt sound of a sanxian emerged, trickling through like a weeping thread.

"Bravo!" The lion dancers performed a high-difficulty maneuver, drawing a roar of approval from the audience that sent the volume soaring.

But that faint sanxian melody was not drowned out; instead, its playful harmonics became even clearer during the variations, as if it were being played directly into Chen Wu's ear, turning the surrounding clamor into mere background noise.

"Something's wrong!"

Chen Wu realized there was a problem—this folk performance only featured percussion, with absolutely no sanxian accompaniment!

His internal energy surged in his dantian in response. Under the resonance of his qi, Chen Wu had a flash of intuition; he bypassed the crowd around the archway and looked straight toward the center of the iron bridge.

An old man wearing small, round black sunglasses was looking back at Chen Wu with a smile.

The man wore a wide-brimmed hat and sat on the bridge railing, leaning against a steel pillar. His sanxian was resting on his right leg; his left hand lightly caressed the neck of the instrument, three fingers pressing the strings, while his right hand held a few blades of withered grass, plucking the strings.

In the old man's hands, those common blades of grass were as hard as metal, striking the strings to produce a sharp, metallic zheng sound. Every note and transition was smooth and effortless.

The sound of the sanxian grew increasingly high-pitched. As the music reached a fever pitch, it suddenly stopped, and the old man's rich, rustic voice followed.

"Ayyy—"

Following this long call, the old man resumed his movements, the sanxian shifted to a new key, and a somewhat desolate accompaniment began again. Accompanied by the old man's rich singing, a local folk tune slowly unfolded in Chen Wu's ear.

"Sweeping the stars, I climb the mountain pass to look—

Ayy, Master Dongbin is performing the Peony play—

The immortals in heaven watch the world of men~~~

The Peach Blossom Case has driven the magistrate to his death~~~"

To Chen Wu, the song was as clear as a tolling bell. Yet, the pedestrians hurrying across the bridge showed no reaction at all, not even glancing over as they rushed toward the folk performance under the archway.

It was as if neither the tune nor the old man existed.

Chen Wu's scalp tingled. How could he not realize that this old man was clearly using a technique similar to "Voice Transmission to a Secret Listener"? It was likely that only Chen Wu could hear this song.

Damn it, were martial arts masters as common as cabbages?

He hadn't checked the almanac before going out today; why did he run into a master everywhere he turned?

Chen Wu felt truly helpless, yet he couldn't pretend he didn't hear it.

Although he couldn't see the eyes behind the old man's sunglasses, Chen Wu had a gut feeling that the man was staring intently at him, just as Guo Xuchu had stared at him earlier.

I'm tired, just destroy me!

If it's a blessing, it's not a disaster; if it's a disaster, it cannot be avoided. Chen Wu steadied himself, pushed through the crowd, and walked toward the old man. This master had only used voice transmission and hadn't attacked, so it seemed there was room for negotiation.

"Old sir, you summoned this youngster over—what instruction do you have for me?"

Chen Wu had intended to shout at the old man for interrupting his viewing of the folk festival, but a second thought about respecting his elders and maintaining civil manners softened his tone—it definitely wasn't because he was intimidated!

The old man did not answer; his fingers kept plucking the sanxian, and he began to sing again:

"A clear spring atop the high mountain, flowing for thousands of years. Everyone drinks from the spring, the foolish remain foolish, and the wise remain wise."

As the final word "wise" was sung, the sound of the sanxian came to an abrupt halt, and the withered grass he had been using as a plectrum shattered into dust, scattering onto the ground.

Chen Wu felt a jolt in his heart; he immediately cupped his hands in a salute and spoke with even greater reverence: "Greetings, Honorable Envoy!"

It turned out that the lyrics the old man sang were the secret code for the Golden Wind and Drizzle Tower in Jincheng Prefecture, and indeed the entire Gan Province, representing a Traveling Inspector of the organization.

Every Traveling Inspector possessed the martial arts dossiers of all the assassins in their assigned region, and when paired with their unique skill—the Sound Transmission Soul-Searching Technique—it was said that once activated, they could track the real-time location of every subordinate assassin under their command.

If not for this miraculous technique, Chen Wu would have run away the very first day he transmigrated.

Damn, could the sound transmission I just heard be the Sound Transmission Soul-Searching Technique? Truly marvelous. It seems I was right not to run off rashly.

"Just call me Old Jin. We advocate for a world where no dragon leads the head; we don't care for these empty formalities," the old man said, waving his hand.

"In this world, the foolish remain foolish and the wise remain wise. The cunning 'wise' use various rites, laws, and government institutions to suppress and bully the foolish for their own gain. To join our Golden Wind and Drizzle Tower is to oppose all government and ritual."

"We assassinate high officials and wealthy merchants not for money, but to shake the foundations of these shackles that suppress the foolish, in pursuit of a state where no dragon leads the head. Only when you fully grasp this will you reach the pinnacle of our sect's internal cultivation."

"The Honorable Envoy's teachings are well-received." Chen Wu appeared perfectly obedient on the surface, but his heart was churning with massive waves.

He had originally thought the Golden Wind and Drizzle Tower was just an ordinary assassin organization; he never expected it to be an anarchist one.

"Gunshots were heard from the direction of Xiguan just now—was that your doing? I heard you were supposed to kill Qiao Weisheng today."

As expected of an expert! He can hear things from several streets away.

"This humble one was indeed present, but it was not my doing..."

Chen Wu recounted the recent events to the old man, though he concealed the fact that he had accepted a commission from Qiao Weisheng himself.

"...and that is how it went. Qiao Weisheng and Guo Xuchu couldn't find any issues with me, so they let me go."

When spinning a story, one must always mix nine parts truth with one part lie.

"Guo Xuchu... Hahaha, you little brat have some luck!" The old man sounded somewhat gleeful at his misfortune. "This time it's going to be tough! Not only is Guo Xuchu holding the fort, but other factions are interfering as well. Even I find it a headache."

Chen Wu felt slightly relieved; it seemed he hadn't suspected his story. He struck while the iron was hot: "Then... could the Honorable Envoy show some leniency regarding this mission?"

"Rules are rules. If a mission fails, there must be a penalty." Before Chen Wu could plead further, Old Jin put away his sanxian and turned to leave. "You have three more days!"

Watching Old Jin's retreating figure, Chen Wu had a flash of inspiration, realizing that the Traveling Inspector before him was an excellent tool.

"Wait! Please wait!" Seeing that Old Jin was about to walk away, Chen Wu finally steeled his resolve and called out to stop him.

"What else?" Old Jin didn't stop, continuing along the iron bridge toward the north bank of the Yellow River.

"This humble one wishes to request the Honorable Envoy to make a move!"

Old Jin still didn't stop: "Solve your own mess."

"Ten thousand silver dollars!"

Old Jin's pace slowed, but he still didn't stop: "The Star-Pulling Sword, Guo Xuchu, is a renowned expert of the Sea-Pacifying Palace..."

So he wants more money, does he? Chen Wu gritted his teeth internally!

"Twenty thousand—no, thirty thousand silver dollars! This humble one is willing to pay thirty thousand silver dollars to request the Honorable Envoy to act once!"

Chen Wu's heart was bleeding; the money he hadn't even had time to warm up was about to be scattered away.

Old Jin finally stopped his pace and turned around.