Downfall

A few days later, Zhao Residence.

The once-luxurious estate had been destroyed beyond recognition. Half the courtyard wall had collapsed, and broken bricks lay scattered across the ground. The ornamental Taihu rockery in the front courtyard had been toppled, while the koi in the pond floated belly-up on the murky water.

Two of the pillars beneath the corridor had snapped. One half-leaned at an angle, unable to support the eaves. Tiles slid down and shattered before the steps.

The once-grand reception hall had lost its doors, its window latticework was broken, and the Boshan Censer lay overturned on the floor, incense ash scattered everywhere.

Wind poured in through the broken windows, whipping up scraps of paper and fallen leaves and sending them swirling through the hall.

Zhao Qianyuan stood in the center of the hall. Dust stained his stone-blue brocade robe, his jade belt hung askew, and a crack had appeared in his black-jade thumb ring at some unknown point.

The vast Zhao Residence had been the longest-established aristocratic family in Dingshan County just days ago. Now, only an empty shell remained.

The rebel army kept advancing, charging as if it did not care whether it lived or died.

With a single charge, it shattered the Zhao Family's final line of defense.

The Zhao Family's guards, attendants, and private soldiers resisted to the death in the alleys north of the city. But the rebels surged forward like a tide. Those in front fell, and those behind trampled over their corpses and kept charging.

Arrows flew in from every direction, while flashes of blade-light filled the alleys.

Wherever the Zhao Family retreated, the rebels pursued. They fell back to the second gate, and the second gate was breached; they retreated to the main hall, and the main hall was set ablaze.

Lou Fuyi stood in the alley outside the rear gate of Zhao Residence, watching the situation beyond it, and felt rather regretful.

I never should have gotten involved in the affairs of these aristocratic families.

Only twenty or so of his brothers remained behind him. Every one of them was covered in dust, clutching a saber, their eyes filled with panic.

These past few days, he had been helping coordinate matters inside Zhao Residence, assigning his men to block the rebel army at various alley entrances.

But there were simply too many rebels, and their tactics were utterly beyond what bandits could match. They moved in groups of three and teams of five, covering one another and advancing in turns.

Arrows poured down as though they cost nothing, while the dense clatter of the crossbows sounded like rain beating against banana leaves.

His bandits were fierce enough, but before the tactics of such a regular army, they were like wild dogs running into a pack of wolves, torn apart and scattered in all directions.

Thinking back to some time ago, Lou Fuyi had investigated who that young hero really was.

He had gone to considerable lengths, calling on connections in the Dark Market and finding informants in the county office. In the end, he discovered that the young hero was actually a direct descendant of the Zhao Family.

He was one of Zhao Qianyuan's grandsons, Zhao Yuanlang. The grandson was utterly useless, accomplished in neither letters nor martial arts. He was already in his twenties and still muddling along in the Flesh-Nourishing Stage, but Zhao Qianyuan doted on him greatly.

The county office needed some credit, so the corpse of Yang He, once discovered, became Zhao Yuanlang's achievement.

The "young genius in the Tendon-Vibrating Stage" mentioned in the official notice was Zhao Yuanlang. Anyone with eyes could tell the truth—how could Zhao Yuanlang's meager ability possibly have been enough to kill Yang He?

And the price of investigating this member of the Zhao Family in Dingshan County was that Lou Fuyi was exposed.

The day Zhao Qianyuan came to his door, he brought a chest of gold and a letter.

The letter was courteous, saying that the great master Lou had traveled a long way, that the Zhao Family's hospitality had been inadequate, and that this small token of their regard was presented for his acceptance.

Lou Fuyi accepted the gold, which meant he had acknowledged the favor.

He had originally planned to leave; he had stayed in Dingyuan County too long. But something Zhao Qianyuan said made him remain.

"The Wang Zheng who died alongside Yang He actually had a grudge against the Li Family."

He was not a fool. The moment he heard "Li Family," he quietly abandoned any thought of revenge.

If Yang He's death truly had something to do with the Li Family, then Lou Fuyi going after them for revenge would be nothing more than an egg striking a rock.

Just as he was preparing to leave, the rebel army arrived.

When the rebels entered the city, he had planned to use the chaos of their arrival to rob the place one more time and then leave. But Zhao Qianyuan proposed working together to eliminate the Li Family. This time, Lou Fuyi's heart was stirred.

The Zhao Family's reputation still carried weight in Dingyuan County, and all Lou Fuyi had to provide was a large number of bandits. The reward at the end would be substantial.

He might even have a chance to avenge Yang He. So Lou Fuyi agreed.

But no one had expected the Li Family to ally themselves with this rebel army.

At first, seeing that these rebels were poorly equipped and undisciplined, Lou Fuyi had still considered fighting them.

He thought the rebels were merely a ragtag mob of refugees who had banded together because they could no longer survive. With the Zhao Family and his own bandits joining forces, they might not have been unable to put up a fight.

But now, he had become completely clearheaded.

No matter how rotten they were, these people had still fought on actual battlefields several times.

They knew how to form ranks, how to coordinate, and how to exchange the smallest price for the greatest victory. The difference between them and this mob of bandits was simply too vast.

The rain of arrows fell as though it cost nothing. Wave after wave of rebels poured in.

At the mouth of the alley, a squad of rebels set up crossbows. Six crossbows fired in rotation, every bolt sinking into flesh.

Someone tried to circle out through a side alley. The moment he poked his head out, a row of crossbow bolts flew over and pinned him to the wall.

Zhao Qianyuan stood in the center of the hall, watching it all, the saber in his hand drooping toward the ground.

Li Huize and Leng Yuqiu stood on the second floor of a teahouse across from Zhao Residence, watching everything through the window.

There was hardly anyone left in the teahouse. The rebels had cleared it out, leaving only the two of them and several personal guards.

The window was open halfway. The autumn wind blew in, cooling the teacups on the table.

Li Huize wore a broad moon-white robe. Holding a teacup in his hand, he gazed toward Zhao Residence in the distance.

Black smoke rose from Zhao Residence. The fire had already spread to the storerooms in the rear courtyard, and occasional explosions rang out.

"Commander Leng's army is indeed valiant," Li Huize said, his tone flat, as though he were appraising a dish.

Leng Yuqiu stood beside him with both hands braced on the windowsill, looking down at the fighting in the street.

He wore a black cloth jacket washed pale with wear, its sleeves rolled up. The cowhide cord was still wrapped around his left wrist. Hearing Li Huize's words, he smiled, his laughter rough and rasping.

"In the end, it still has to lose to Family Head Li."

Li Huize shook his head and lifted the teacup for a sip.

"After all, Dingshan County still belongs to the imperial court. Once Commander Leng has taken what he came for, he still has to leave. Otherwise, if the imperial court becomes displeased, none of us can bear the consequences."

Leng Yuqiu's smile faded. He looked at Li Huize, his gaze turning heavy. After a moment of silence, he spoke in a lower voice.

"Family Head Li is right. Once I've taken what I came for, I'll leave without lingering."

Li Huize nodded faintly, his gaze drifting back outside the window.

The black smoke from Zhao Residence had grown thicker. Flames leaped from the storeroom roof, dyeing half the sky red.

The tea in the teahouse was still warm.

The wind outside grew stronger and stronger. At the end of autumn, Dingshan County was dry as tinder. Once a fire caught, it could no longer be brought under control.

The great fire at Zhao Residence illuminated half the city, staining the blue-gray rooftops, withered yellow treetops, and empty streets with a layer of leaping blood-red light.

On the distant city wall, the rebel army's banners snapped and roared in the wind.