Chapter Eighty-Four: I Can Give You What You Want

Suhe recognized the newcomer and recalled what he had seen before, wondering if this was Lin Mao’s ruse—a show of discord between master and servant, staged for their benefit.

After all, he had previously used secret arts to control his heart and veins, yet had failed to subdue him. Now, seeking him out, could hardly be for idle conversation.

Thus, he asked, “What is it?”

“Yes,” replied the steward Zou—no, he should now be called Zou Jiren. Ever since he turned against Willow Heart Studio, the loyal Zou Steward who served only Lin Mao was dead. The man standing here now was Zou Jiren.

“What do you want?”

“When you planted the restriction in me, what was your true purpose?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To force you to reveal your master’s secrets.”

Zou Jiren sneered coldly. “Let’s not play games. Why don’t you tell me your real intention?”

Suhe paused, glanced at Huai Yin, then back at Zou Jiren. “Since you ask, I won’t hide it. My original intent was to use your eyes—to have you watch Lin Mao’s every move for me, or even uncover the power behind him.”

“Does that offer still stand?”

“Hm?”

“Answer me.”

Before Suhe could reply, Huai Yin frowned and said, “Steward Zou, what’s your game now? So you lost a person to them, but that’s no reason to lose your mind.”

“Enough!”

Zou Jiren’s sudden outburst left both Huai Yin and Suhe bewildered, unsure what he was plotting now.

“Your reason?” Suhe’s manner shifted from casual to solemn, his expression tightening. He thought differently from Huai Yin—deeper. There is always a motive; betrayal or theft is never without reason. To defect at this moment would surely arouse suspicion.

Zou Jiren’s eyes shone like torches as he stared straight at Suhe. “I want to live, and you can give me that chance.”

“You’re straightforward, I’ll give you that. But I cannot agree to it.”

“Why not? You set the restriction to make me your spy. Now that I come to you willingly, why turn me away?”

“Because you know very well why.”

“I…”

“If we examine it, you and I have worked together before. But during that time, you harbored murderous intent toward me—you know it, and so do I. Tell me, would you keep someone by your side who constantly wishes to kill you, and trust his allegiance?”

“I…”

“There he is. The Master was right—you came looking for Bai Li Suhe.”

The conversation was cut short by newcomers—Fan Si and Liu Kouzhang arrived together. Fan Si pressed down Liu Kouzhang’s arm and addressed Zou Jiren, “We’re all brothers here. Do it yourself.”

Zou Jiren suddenly laughed. What timing—how coincidental. At this point, no matter what he said, it was as if mud had soiled his trousers; even if it wasn’t filth, it could not be denied. Clearly, Lin Mao was determined to silence him.

“So, my departure has earned you two promotion. By that count, I’ve done you both a favor—given you standing before the Master. And what of your actions now—are they not ungrateful?”

Liu Kouzhang flushed, replying anxiously, “Personal feelings are separate from duty. The Master’s orders—we dare not disobey. Blame yourself for turning traitor. Who else in Willow Heart Studio could compare to you, Zou Jiren? Even now, out of respect for brotherhood, we’re giving you the chance to end it yourself. Don’t be foolish. If you know what’s good for you, do it quickly.”

Zou Jiren lowered his gaze to his hands, his sorrow known only to himself, and said calmly, “And if I refuse?”

Fan Si wasted no words. He struck with full force, his palm blossoming like a thousand pear flowers in the night, dazzling and deadly. “Then die, if you must.”

“Very well—hahaha…” Zou Jiren thrust both palms outward, repelling Fan Si, and seized the chance to attack Liu Kouzhang. “If you want my life, then use your true skill. Too late, and someone’s bound to die.”

“You—” Liu Kouzhang hurriedly defended with a soft sword, its blade whistling straight for Zou Jiren’s face. “You’ve gone too far!”

Zou Jiren flicked the sword’s edge with his finger, reversing its momentum. At the same time, Fan Si struck from behind—a pincer attack.

In ability, all three were evenly matched, each with their own strengths. Overall, Zou Jiren was slightly superior, but Fan Si and Liu Kouzhang together gradually gained the upper hand as the battle drew out.

Huai Yin nudged Suhe with his elbow, tilting his head. “What do you think?”

“And you?” Suhe countered.

“Me?” Huai Yin was caught off guard, then snorted. “Let them fight. The more dead, the better—it’s just their own people fighting amongst themselves. Who knows if it’s all a show for us? With Lin Mao’s methods, how hard could it be to track us? And isn’t it strange—just as we leave White Gourd Mountain, Zou Jiren is waiting for us below? Then, right after, these two show up to play the villains. Do you really think it’s a coincidence?”

Suhe fell silent, his gaze fixed on Zou Jiren. Indeed, Huai Yin’s suspicion matched his own. Everything circled back to coincidence—a word he could not get past.

So the two watched from the sidelines as the others fought fiercely.

Zou Jiren gradually lost ground. Though Liu Kouzhang’s soft sword never pierced him, he took several heavy blows from Fan Si. His footwork grew chaotic, his attacks increasingly ineffective.

He hoped for Suhe’s help, but Suhe remained unmoved. Zou Jiren grew anxious. Before coming, he believed his value would force their hand. He had never imagined this result.

This was not what he wanted. If he did not get an answer tonight, he would not only fail to leave Desire Sky—he might not even escape Little Tong River.

To know too much is to be trusted—but also to wield the knife against oneself.

He did not want to die, so Suhe was his only way out. Only by tying his fate to Suhe’s could he hope to weather the coming storm.

Of course, he understood why Suhe refused, but at this point, he had no choice.

Liu Kouzhang and Fan Si worked in tandem—one pressing with the sword, the other waiting to strike. One attacked high, the other low. Zou Jiren was forced to defend in all directions, but Fan Si seized a chance and struck his chin.

Zou Jiren fell heavily, mud and water splashing. Once, Fan Si and Liu Kouzhang had to curry his favor; now, they pressed for his life.

Such is the fickleness of fate.

As the saying goes, strike while your foe is down. Before he could rise, Liu Kouzhang unleashed a flurry of sword light, aiming to kill.

Zou Jiren, recognizing the danger, slapped the ground and threw himself aside, barely dodging by seven or eight yards. Clutching his chest, blood staining the ground, he wiped his mouth and asked bitterly, “Is there truly no room for sentiment?”

Fan Si advanced with a palm strike. “We’ve already shown you mercy; you refused it. Once, you served beside the Master—you know what his word means. If he wants you dead and you survive, it’s our lives forfeit. We’re brothers—you wouldn’t want to see us die, would you? So, we have no choice but to send you on your way.”

“You…”

“Tell me, brother Jiren, do you know why, despite your unwavering loyalty, you’ve come to this?” Fan Si suddenly asked.

Zou Jiren raised a hand to parry, but could only deflect half the force—the rest struck him directly, deepening his internal injuries.

“Why?”

“Because, when Bai Li Suhe subdued you, you should have died to prove your loyalty. But you didn’t—you clung to life and crawled back to the Master. Of all of us, you knew the Master’s nature best. You guessed he wouldn’t kill you outright, but you underestimated his suspicion. You know what he believes in.”

“Enough talk—now that he’s defected, he’s a stranger. We’ve done enough.” Liu Kouzhang’s brows drew tight as he charged his sword with energy. “Rain’s Lament.”

With a metallic hiss, sword energy wove like fiery serpents. Zou Jiren defended with all his might, but still underestimated the attack’s power.

With Fan Si’s palm force reinforcing it, he could not hold out.

In an instant, the celestial light shattered. Sword energy pierced his body, blood spurting in jets.

Zou Jiren watched as everything before him blurred and swayed, yet felt more awake than ever. How could he have forgotten? Just as he knew Lin Mao, Lin Mao knew him. In the end, his cleverness was his undoing.

He had always harbored a sliver of hope, wishing his past loyalty would buy him forgiveness, that a single capture would not destroy their trust.

But it was naïve.

He staggered backwards, nearly falling, and only barely managed to steady himself.

As Fan Si and Liu Kouzhang closed in, he asked himself, with bitter irony: Was this truly how he would die?

Was he willing?

Of course not. He was no saint, but neither was Lin Mao. He had always been true to him, even as he was controlled by others. He had his own ambitions, but never intended betrayal.

Yet, the man he had served all his life did not trust him.

Fan Si said, “Why persist? If you’d ended it early, at least you could have died with dignity. Now, look at you—how could you expect an honorable death?” He nodded at Liu Kouzhang. “Do it.”

Zou Jiren said nothing, instead slowly closing his eyes—as if exhausted, as if resigned.

But just as the two drew within three steps, his eyes snapped open, two beams fixed on Suhe, determination written across his face. “Save me—my life is yours.”

Suhe replied, “Steward Zou, I think you’re mistaken. Your life is of no use to me. Besides, this is your internal affair. I, as an outsider, have no right to intervene.”

“Fine… What must I do for you to agree?” His voice trembled, danger imminent.

“What Suhe needs, he’ll find for himself. Steward Zou, you may rest in peace.”

Huai Yin shot Suhe a suspicious glance, thinking, What’s he playing at? He hesitated before, but now it’s as if he can’t wait for Steward Zou to die. Could it be…

At that, his gaze fell on the doomed Zou Jiren.

Zou Jiren, desperate, gathered what energy he could to form a shield, barely holding off Fan Si and Liu Kouzhang’s killing blows. But his wounds were too severe—like the setting sun over the western hills, he was no match for their combined strength. The pitiful shield barely slowed his end.

A few more moments, a few more struggles, but in the end, death was inevitable.

Liu Kouzhang pressed harder, his sword cracking the shield. “Truly, you won’t give up till you see your own coffin. We’ve made it plain—what are you hoping for? Wouldn’t a quick death be better? Look at you—so miserable, where’s your old glory?”

Fan Si mocked, “Forget it. He doesn’t appreciate our kindness. Stubborn, aren’t you? Better to die fighting than bow your head.”

Zou Jiren threw back his head and laughed, blood spurting from his mouth. “Ha—well said, well said! I, Zou, have bowed and scraped half my life. Time for one moment of decisiveness!”

“You’re out of time,” Fan Si barked, shattering the shield with a surge of power.

At that instant, Zou Jiren, using his last strength, shouted, “I can give you what you want!”

Silence fell over the land.

The wind sighed, the rain drifted down.

Who knew when the flowers fell, or in what age…