Returning to the Manor

"Z-Zeng... Young Master?!!!"

Wang Daoyuan was dumbstruck at the sight of Zeng Anmin, then a look of delighted surprise suddenly broke across his face:

"You... you're not dead!!"

"Less talk. Give me your horse, I need it."

Zeng Anmin shot him a sidelong glance. His clothes were soaked through, and he wanted to hurry home to change.

Back when he read martial arts novels in his past life, those warriors could just circulate their Internal Energy and dry themselves off in an instant.

He tried to stir his own warrior's energy and give it a shake—only for his sleeve to explode.

"Oh! Right, right!"

Wang Daoyuan didn't dare hesitate a moment. He quickly dismounted and handed the reins to Zeng Anmin.

"Come find me at the Clerk's Office later."

Zeng Anmin left only that one sentence before slapping the horse's flank and riding off toward the Governor's Mansion.

The Governor's Mansion.

In the courtyard before the main hall.

It was early winter.

Though they were in the south, the chill still crept into one's neck like a venomous snake, making people instinctively hunch their shoulders.

Dachun knelt on the ground, bare from the waist up, his entire body crisscrossed with bloody welts.

His eyes, usually so sharp and intelligent, were now filled with nothing but grievance. He clenched his teeth and said not a word.

Uncle Qi held a long whip in his hand, his face twisted with cruelty. His right arm rose, the whip cutting through the air with a whistling sound.

"Crack!!!"

One lash fell across Dachun's back, leaving a gaping, blood-oozing gash.

"Why weren't you by the Young Master's side?!"

Uncle Qi's voice carried a note of venomous hatred, as if the man kneeling before him were not his own son.

Dachun pressed his lips tightly together, not daring to speak.

"Crack!!!"

"If the Young Master doesn't come back..."

Uncle Qi's voice faltered as he spoke. The whip in his hand paused, and a faint glimmer of moisture appeared in his eyes. His words caught in his throat.

"Crack!"

Another lash.

"Enough."

A deep, weighty voice rang out.

Zeng Shilin walked expressionlessly into the courtyard, his steps slow and deliberate.

"My Lord."

Seeing Zeng Shilin, Uncle Qi quickly threw down the whip.

"Thump!"

He dropped to his knees and slammed his forehead against the ground before Zeng Shilin.

His head struck the bluestone floor again and again. Before long, he had shattered one of the paving stones.

Then, with a pitiful, hesitant look, he lifted his head:

"The Young Master... has he still not been found?"

Zeng Shilin's face was dark and somber.

He did not speak. He simply walked slowly toward the main hall.

"Whether he's found or not, Dachun doesn't deserve to be beaten to death by you."

With that, he stepped into the hall, found a chair, and sat down slowly, closing his eyes in silence.

He was tired.

Seeing his lord's desolate retreating figure, Uncle Qi's heart ached fiercely.

He looked at Dachun, still kneeling on the ground, then at the silent lord in the main hall.

From his clouded eyes, teardrops as large as beans spilled forth.

Trembling, he gripped the whip, standing frozen in place, not knowing what to do.

A jade bowl fell to the ground and shattered into pieces.

Aunt Lin stared incredulously at the maidservant before her: "You're saying... Quanfu, he..."

Huzi glanced down at the broken shards of the jade bowl on the floor and the crystalline thick soup spilled across it, then looked up at Aunt Lin in confusion: "Mom, I haven't had my fill yet."

But Aunt Lin had no time for him now. Her phoenix eyes fixed intently on the maidservant.

The maidservant's eyes held sorrow: "That's what outsiders are saying. The Lord has mobilized all the garrison troops to dredge the river..."

"Thump~"

Aunt Lin felt a wave of dizziness and collapsed weakly into a chair.

"Milady..."

Two maidservants hurried forward to support Aunt Lin.

Her eyes were dazed, her pretty face full of grief, her voice haggard: "Didn't that Black Cat Martial Artist say he was ridding the people of harm? Quanfu has always kept his head down and never caused trouble..."

Huzi looked up curiously. Seeing that Aunt Lin wasn't paying him any attention, he slowly lowered himself to the ground, stretched out his head, and licked at the thick soup on the floor.

"Delicious~"

The entire Governor's Mansion was enveloped in a layer of gloom.

Zeng Shilin sat upright in his chair, his gaze shifting between sharp and wistful.

"My Lord, that Broken Blade is a Spiritual Artifact. It matches the description given by the witnesses to Wang Lin's stabbing. It can be concluded that the assassin is indeed that Black Cat Martial Artist."

Uncle Qi stood respectfully at the door.

"Black Cat Martial Artist?"

Zeng Shilin slowly raised his head, a strange glint flickering in his eyes: "To sever a Spiritual Artifact, the opponent's hand must at least hold a Spiritual Artifact of equal quality."

"And their cultivation must be higher than the assassin's—at least the Martial Arts Visualization Realm."

"Otherwise, unless the opponent wields a... Divine Artifact."

Just as he said this, Father shook his head.

For no other reason than that this notion was too absurd.

The combined number of Divine Artifacts across the entire Holy Dynasty and Jiang Dynasty didn't exceed the fingers of one hand.

Every owner of a Divine Artifact was a powerhouse who could hold up one side of the world.

His thoughts grew tangled.

"No news has come from the riverside yet." Uncle Qi hesitated, but still spoke up.

"Mm."

Father's voice betrayed neither joy nor anger.

"My Lord..."

Aunt Lin's voice rang out. She sat across from Zeng Shilin, her face haggard, her peach-blossom eyes brimming with tears: "Quanfu, he..."

"He'll be fine."

Father slowly raised his head, his gaze drifting toward the window, his voice carrying an ambiguous undertone: "If anything happens to Min'er, then Prince Jiang's Estate, the Shen Family—all of them—will be buried with him."

He was a suspicious man by nature. The reason he still played by the rules was that no one had touched his reverse scale.

But this time, the enemy had crossed his bottom line.

So, who it was no longer mattered.

His voice was soft, as if stating something utterly ordinary.

But the killing intent within it pierced straight through heart and lungs: "As for whether the assassin is the Black Cat Martial Artist or not, that's unimportant."

"Father!!!"

A familiar voice rang out.

The three people in the hall all froze.

Father frowned and looked toward the window, thinking his longing for his son had made his ears play tricks on him.

"I'm back!"

The familiar voice rang out again:

"Hey, you there—go find the Young Master some clothes!"

The tone carried that same unmistakable quality.

"Whoosh!!"

Zeng Shilin shot to his feet, his gaze piercing straight through the window toward the outside.

Uncle Qi was also stunned.

Aunt Lin, already brimming with joy, wanted to step outside, but since Father hadn't moved, she hesitated and stayed put.

"Young Master? You're not dead?!"

Qi Dachun's voice was thick with simplicity.

"Dead? The Young Master was saved by someone."

"Saved by who?!!" Father's voice suddenly cut in.

The moment the words left his mouth, he strode out the door without a care for appearances, his eyes full of hope.

Their eyes met.

It was that familiar figure.

The heart Father had been holding in suspense finally settled back into place.

Zeng Anmin's current appearance was utterly disheveled.

Not only was he soaked through, but his arms were also bared, making him look extremely ragged.

But none of that mattered—what mattered was... he had come back alive.

Hearing Father's familiar voice, Zeng Anmin let out a low chuckle and spoke a name that made a strange expression flicker across everyone's face.

"The Black Cat Martial Artist."

"Who?!"

Uncle Qi's eyes went wide.

Wasn't the Black Cat Martial Artist an assassin?

Only Father's gaze blazed with a startling, piercing light.