Chapter Ten: The Horse's Remains

After resting for an entire afternoon, Feng Qichuan had already regained his peak condition. After discussing the plan with Yi An, he set out alone, carrying his long blade.

This was, after all, the City Lord’s residence—a place teeming with people and watchful eyes. The slightest carelessness could expose his whereabouts. Therefore, sending Feng Qichuan alone to investigate was the most prudent choice.

The darkness shrouding the city offered the best cover. He scaled several walls and slipped into the inner courtyard. For a martial artist at the Postnatal stage, the patrolling guards outside were little more than decoration.

The city lord’s surname was Ma—Ma Yu, reputedly a collateral member of a prominent family from Chang’an. He rarely showed himself, delegating all military and civil affairs of Yingchuan City to his subordinates. It could be said he deliberately kept his presence minimal.

In hindsight, it was likely intentional.

Ma Yu’s behavior could be explained by two reasons. First, perhaps his nature was simply reclusive, having secured his position through family connections. But Feng Qichuan found that unlikely.

Which left the second: Ma Yu was hiding something.

Only by erasing his own presence could he avoid attracting attention.

With this thought, Feng Qichuan couldn’t help but associate Ma Yu’s strangeness with the disappearance of the culprit from the Demonic Lotus Sect right here.

Could it be...?

He shook his head, forcing the speculation aside. He hoped things were not as he feared.

There were over a dozen rooms in the inner courtyard. Except for the central one, all belonged to Ma Yu’s wives and concubines. After a moment’s thought, Feng Qichuan crept silently into one of the more secluded chambers.

Hualing, roused from her dreams by pain and suffocation, tried to scream, but Feng Qichuan’s hand was clamped tightly around her throat.

Tears coursed down her cheeks, and her slender body trembled uncontrollably.

She was but a frail woman, wholly unaccustomed to such terrors.

“Make no sound. If you try anything clever, I’ll kill you where you lie. Blink if you understand,” Feng Qichuan whispered coldly.

Desperate, Hualing blinked rapidly, grasping at hope.

As he released her throat, his other hand closed instantly around the hilt of his blade.

He was certain: she would not have time to cry out before his blade found its mark.

“Hero… what do you want? Anything I possess, I can give you,” Hualing stammered, voice trembling.

This was the City Lord’s residence, guarded as tightly as a fortress. For someone to slip in unnoticed—into the very inner courtyard—was unheard of. That alone spoke to Feng Qichuan’s prowess.

She had heard tales of martial heroes: men who respected no law, who killed without hesitation.

She was barely past twenty, still in the bloom of youth, with her whole life ahead of her.

She didn’t want to die.

Feng Qichuan cast her a sidelong glance. Though she possessed some beauty, he had no such designs. His mind was fixed on vengeance alone.

“I have come to ask you about something. Rest assured, I want neither wealth nor pleasure. Cooperate and answer my questions honestly, and you will come to no harm.”

Hualing nodded with the eagerness of a pecking chick, not daring to make a sound, though she quietly exhaled in relief.

Feng Qichuan, satisfied, began: “Tell me, did Ma Yu act strangely today? Did he meet with anyone?”

Hualing hesitated, her gaze evasive. If it had been any other matter, she would have spoken without pause. But regarding that man, she had never dared to utter a word.

Others outside might not know, but as one who shared Ma Yu’s bed, she was all too aware of his ruthlessness.

Once, he’d had twelve wives and concubines. She remembered well the time when the third lady merely complained about Ma Yu to another—and his household was reduced to eleven.

If Ma Yu ever learned of tonight, her fate would be sealed.

A cold gleam flashed in Feng Qichuan’s hand—the long blade now pressed against Hualing’s jaw. A single tremor, and her life would end.

“I advise you to speak truthfully about everything you know. Otherwise, your beauty will be wasted—though I imagine the other ladies here are not all as foolish as you.”

Hualing’s face turned deathly pale, sweat breaking out across her skin.

Her voice trembled. “Don’t—don’t kill me. I’ll tell you everything. This afternoon, someone did come to see the master. As for whether he’s been acting strange lately, I haven’t noticed. He hasn’t visited me in a long time.”

As she spoke, a hint of grievance flickered across her face.

“That man—does he have a broad face and wear a black robe?” Feng Qichuan pressed.

Hualing answered timidly, “Yes, and he looked extremely agitated, as if he were fleeing for his life.”

The inner courtyard was not large. Any disturbance was hard to miss.

“Did he leave afterward?” Feng Qichuan’s voice was cold as ice, his rage barely contained.

Hualing shook her head. “I’m not sure. I stayed in my room the whole time and didn’t hear him leave. Perhaps he was just very quiet.”

“And what does Ma Yu do on a daily basis?”

“I don’t know. Though we are his wives and concubines, he warned us long ago never to seek him out. He shuts himself in his room almost every day—sometimes for a month or two at a stretch, without anyone seeing him,” Hualing replied truthfully.

Now, with things as they were, she had no reason to hide anything.

After all, what difference did one secret make amid so many?

“I said I wouldn’t kill you, and I won’t go back on my word. But to avoid complications, you’d best sleep for a while,” Feng Qichuan said, and struck her lightly on the neck.

Hualing collapsed into unconsciousness.

Feng Qichuan had controlled his strength—she would sleep soundly until well into the next day.

He fell silent.

From the moment it was confirmed that Ma Yu was the mastermind, Feng Qichuan’s heart had been in turmoil.

The unspeakable hatred over his wife and child’s deaths pierced him like a needle.

“Ma Yu, you had better not be the one. If you are, I will tear you limb from limb and annihilate your entire clan!” Feng Qichuan’s eyes reddened, his fists clenched so tightly they creaked.

In the space of a breath, he was at Ma Yu’s doorway, concealed in the shadows beneath the window.

He peered inside, sweeping his gaze around the room—only to find it empty. There was no trace of Ma Yu.