Over the past three months, every batch of repeating crossbows transported from the Marquis's secret vault has been covered with this python-patterned sealing wax on the oilcloth used for wrapping.
The private seal of Prince An Gu Mochen.
The goods were inspected, and the silver went through a roundabout process, eventually ending up in the cellar of that pawnshop in the south of Luoyang.
He remembered every single transaction he handled better than the accountant did.
The python pattern on the silk was exactly the same as the sealing wax mark he had seen before.
How did this young woman get this thing?
Mei Zhongjun felt a surge of air rising in his chest, stuck in his throat, unable to come up or go down.
The Dingzi stood behind him, not daring to breathe.
"You say."
Mei Zhongjun squeezed the words out through his teeth.
How did she get this?
"Your subordinate dares not speculate."
"Have I fallen for a trap?"
"Young master, what's wrong...?"
"Her initial target was our Marquis's mansion!"
Mei Zhongjun didn't wait for him to finish speaking; his voice was hoarse.
"That day at the inn, that face, that pitiful look—it was a honey trap, a complete honey trap!"
He bit his tongue, and a metallic taste filled his mouth.
To whom was the intelligence passed?
The thought popped into my head, and the hairs on the entire back of my body stood on end.
He could conceal his identity and move freely right under the nose of the Marquis's mansion.
This method...
wrong.
No, no, no.
Could she be someone from the imperial court?
Mei Zhongjun grabbed at the armrests of his wheelchair with both hands, his fingernails scraping against the deerskin, making a sizzling sound.
The fact that Qingwu dared to burn things in the courtyard in front of the crossbowmen meant that what needed to be sent away had already been sent away.
Silk is waste material.
She's wiping her bottom.
But why didn't she leave after she finished her investigation?
With that maid's skills, it wouldn't be impossible for her to force her way out of the Marquis's mansion.
Unless she still has unfinished games to play.
She kept it because there were still things she hadn't received.
Mei Zhongjun crumpled the silk handkerchief into a ball and stuffed it into the hidden groove in the armrest of the wheelchair.
His hands were shaking violently.
Seven years.
He pretended to be lame for seven years, engaging in shady dealings in the secret vault, working as an undercover agent in the south of the city, and having clandestine dealings with Prince An's Consort.
Everything is tied to this woman's single finger.
She handed things out, regardless of who they were given to.
Whether it's the government office, the capital, or even if it's delivered to Prince Yi who is on his way.
The Marquis's mansion is doomed.
He too is a dead man.
" Dingzi."
"Your subordinate is here."
"Give the order: send all ten crossbowmen forward and kill them all to silence them."
"These two women cannot be allowed to live!"
The Dingzi tensed up completely.
"Second Young Master, the Old Madam's order to seal off the hospital..."
"I can't worry about that now!"
Mei Zhongjun pushed the wheelchair forward, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear him.
"No survivors."
He stared at the roofline of Fallen Plum Studio, his fingers carving a fourth cut into the handrail.
"Make your move tonight, kill him, and burn all the paper, cloth, ink, and even the last thread in that room."
"Afterwards, the blame was placed on Lu Xuerou. They said that the madwoman had a flare-up of her carbuncles and, in the middle of the night, went mad and set fire to Fallen Plum Studio."
Dingzi bowed his head, clasped his hands in a fist salute, turned around, and slipped into the alley.
Mei Zhongjun sat alone in the shadows, staring at the distant rooftops, tearing the deerskin handrail to shreds.
On the walls of Fallen Plum Studio, the sound of crossbows being cocked echoed one after another, like insects grinding their teeth in the cracks between the bricks.
Gu Moli sat in the innermost corner of the canopy bed, her back against the carved bed board, with the half-copied Scripture of Salvation the Salvation Sutra resting on her knees.
She heard it.
The sound of the crossbow arm being drawn is different from that of a bow.
The bow is made by tautening a rope and then releasing it, producing a whooshing sound with a lingering echo.
The crossbow has an iron mechanism that engages with the teeth, producing a short, sharp sound, like fingernails scraping the bottom of an iron pot.
Ten crossbows arrived precisely within three breaths of each other.
I've practiced.
Your Highness.
Qingwu had already drawn her double-edged sword, and she was pressed against the door panel, the blades reflecting a sliver of candlelight.
"They've arrived."
Gu Moli closed the sutra and placed it beside her pillow.
"Just block the first round, don't go out."
"Your Highness, with ten crossbows firing simultaneously, I'm afraid—"
"What's there to be afraid of?"
Gu Moli didn't look at her; her eyes were fixed on the dim yellow halo reflected on the window paper.
"This type of military repeating crossbow is loaded with three arrows at a time, and ten can be fired simultaneously, with the first volley firing thirty arrows."
"Reset the crossbow arm and cock it, five to six breaths."
"Just get through the first round."
She smoothed the corner of the scripture.
"The second round... you don't need to worry about it."
Qingwu opened her mouth, but before she could ask a question, she couldn't.
A short, sharp whistle rang out from the top of the courtyard wall.
The order to attack with Dingzi.
The window paper is torn.
Thirty iron arrowheads were torn in at once, the wooden strips on the window frame were broken by the arrow shafts, and scraps of paper flew all over the room.
Arrows pierced beams, bed boards, and wall bricks, making a series of thuds. Black medicinal juice with a bitter almond smell dripped down the arrow shafts, hissing and smoking on the blue bricks.
Qingwu kicked the octagonal table over.
A heavy elmwood tabletop lay across Gu Moli's face, several poisoned arrows piercing through it, the arrowheads protruding half an inch from the other side.
Qingwu stood beside the table, her double blades twirling, slicing through the arrows that darted in through the cracks in the windows and doors one after another.
The iron arrows broke in two, tumbling through the air and crashing to the ground with a clattering sound; there were simply too many to count.
One arrow grazed her left shoulder, tearing her sleeve and leaving a bloody gash.
The medicine got on the wound, and my whole arm felt numb and heavy.
She gritted her teeth and chewed a stimulant pill, her right hand still deflecting attacks with a single blade.
The last arrow flew in through the crack under the door, skimming the ground at such a tricky angle that she couldn't reach it.
The arrow was embedded in the foot of the canopy bed, less than a hand's width from Gu Moli's ankle.
Gu Moli glanced down at the arrow.
It hasn't been moved.
The first round is over.
The sound of a crossbow arm resetting came from the courtyard wall.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths...
By the fourth breath.
"It's almost time."
Gu Moli's voice was light and airy, as if she were just chatting casually.
Just as Qingwu was about to find something to block the view again, the front yard suddenly erupted as if a pot had boiled over.
A towering flame shot up from that end, turning half the night sky orange-red.
The neighing of warhorses could be heard clearly even through several courtyard walls, mixed with shouts, the clanging of armor, and a woman's voice shrilly.
"Fire has broken out!"
"Help! Someone, come quick!"
The front yard is a complete mess.
Torches lit up the main gate of the Marquis's mansion, and more than thirty armored guards poured out from the direction of the stables.
Prince Mei Boqian stood on the threshold, his brows furrowed.
He had just returned from the camp outside the city; his warhorse hadn't even entered the stable yet, and the dew on his armor hadn't even dried.
As soon as I stepped onto the threshold, the muffled sound of a crossbow being fired came from the backyard.
He had heard that sound for three years in the border army; it was even more familiar than the drums at the city gate.
Repeating crossbow.
Military use.
Where would a military repeating crossbow come from in the backyard of his marquis's residence?
Before he could figure it out, the haystack in the front yard caught fire, and flames licked at the eaves of the stable.
Mei Boqian drew his sword and turned to shout at his guards.
"Come with me!"