Chapter 12#

The notice of Pan Shangxi’s execution had been hanging high for three days.

For three days, Han Lang had received not a single word from Han Yan.

So, early on the fourth day, Han Lang decided to stop waiting passively. He sent Liu Yun to investigate personally, determined to get Han Yan’s final answer.

In the orchid valley within the fir forest, the fragrance was cold.

A down-and-out scholar in cloth robes leaned against a rock, sitting on the ground drinking wine, with the sky as his curtain and the earth as his mat, joyous and unrestrained, completely self-absorbed.

Kneeling on one knee before him was the travel-worn Liu Yun, who had sought him out.

And who else could that half-drunk scholar be but Han Yan?

Liu Yun bowed: “Eldest Young Master, my master says he has accomplished the matter you entrusted to him. He ordered this lowly one to wait for your reply today without fail.” The words were clear, but not polite.

Han Yan closed his eyes and tilted his neck, pouring strong wine into his mouth.

Liu Yun remained kneeling, motionless.

After a long while, Han Yan opened his eyes and sneered: “Why is your master so impatient? I’d like to ask clearly, if I really don’t agree today, how will you report back?”

Liu Yun lowered his head further, his words revealing endurance: “Master didn’t say. He only said Liu Yun must get an answer from Eldest Young Master before returning. However long Eldest Young Master wants to waste, Liu Yun will keep you company.”

Han Yan laughed loudly, stood up, and patted the dust off his clothes: “Good! Then you wait.”

Liu Yun paused slightly, didn’t raise his head, and slowly clenched his fist: “Please be considerate, Eldest Young Master.”

Han Yan frowned, swaying slightly, walked close to Liu Yun and leaned down to look at him: “Why should I?”

Before the sound of “I” had even left his tongue, Liu Yun exerted force with his fingers, flicking a Go piece. He attacked in an instant, the strong wind carrying deep hatred!

The dagger was revealed!

Han Yan was startled, inhaled, and retreated sideways, sobering up mostly.

One piece missed him, another grazed Han Yan’s cheek, leaving a shallow bloody scratch.

Han Yan didn’t lose his composure at all, sneering as he counterattacked: “Han Lang only sent you to assassinate me? Isn’t he underestimating me too much?”

Liu Yun pursed his lips and didn’t answer, gritting his teeth to fight.

Unfortunately, he was never Han Yan’s match, nor was he skilled in close-quarters combat.

The failure of this surprise attack was a declaration of Liu Yun’s defeat.

Facing Han Yan, Liu Yun was thwarted at every move.

Finally, Liu Yun fell to the ground, unable to get up, blood staining the earth.

Han Yan stepped forward, grabbed Liu Yun’s messy hair, and forced him to look up. Liu Yun glared back angrily.

This time, Han Yan finally saw Liu Yun’s features clearly. His heart felt like it was suddenly tugged by a thin thread, and he hurriedly withdrew his hand.

Liu Yun’s head hit the ground with a “thud”, kicking up dust.

Han Yan frowned and asked in shock: “What is your relationship to Sui Yun?”

Liu Yun struggled to get up, unable to support himself, and spat at him with a sideways glance: “It’s not easy for you to still remember my sister’s name, Eldest Young Master!”

Han Yan was dumbfounded; so Sui Yun was this kid’s sister.

Sui Yun had been chosen by the Han family since childhood to be Han Yan’s martial arts partner; she had accompanied Han Yan in practicing martial arts since the age of three, worshipping Han Yan as a god.

More than twenty years of being together day and night, the feelings had sublimated, transforming into a deeper tacit understanding.

But Han Yan was heartless; on the day his success collapsed, he personally sent her to the afterlife.

“She loved you, respected you, had only you in her heart. But why did you treat her like that?”

Han Yan took a step back, looking indifferently at Liu Yun who was no longer a threat, shaking his head with a faint smile: “You wouldn’t understand.”

Killing her was for her own good. A god cannot fail. Her god was Han Yan, so he couldn’t let her see his failure.

How could a god fail? So Sui Yun deserved to die, and his killing her was the greatest grace to her.

How could worldly outsiders understand these things? Moreover…

“It wasn’t me who killed your sister. It was Han Lang!” Han Yan’s voice trembled slightly. It was Han Lang’s fault! If not for Han Lang, he and Sui Yun would absolutely not have ended up like this.

Thinking of this, Han Yan began to realize: “So, it wasn’t Han Lang who instructed you to come and kill me.”

Hearing this, Liu Yun smiled, blood gushing from his mouth, “Master always taught me to stack Go pieces so that I could keep my cool. Unfortunately, in the end, Liu Yun still failed him.” Speaking of this, Liu Yun’s eyes turned slightly red; in the end, he couldn’t hold back this breath.

It was he who tried hard to forget his sister’s expression of dying with everlasting regret; but upon seeing Han Yan, all his efforts fell short.

Han Yan hesitated to move forward, wanting to spare Liu Yun and leave alone. After walking a few steps, he unconsciously turned back.

He reached out helplessly and pressed, seizing Liu Yun’s heart meridian, “I still feel that I don’t owe you anything.”

Life and death hanging by a thread, Liu Yun simply closed his eyes, steeling his heart.

“Pu”! Blood sprayed all over Han Yan, mixing with the cold wind and the faint scent of orchids, drifting around.

The cold wind rustled, startled birds cried mournfully, flapping their wings and flying high.

The red sun hung in the sky, redder than blood.

Han Manor Study.

Han Lang sat on the cushion Liu Yun always loved to sit on, playing the game Liu Yun usually loved to play, stacking Go pieces.

The sun set and the moon rose, but Liu Yun still hadn’t returned.

Outside the house, returning crows cawed.

Han Lang’s heart suddenly trembled just like that. He stared dead at the Go pieces, lost in thought.

If Liu Yun could keep his cool, he would definitely return safely.

But, Han Lang happened to know Liu Yun very well. He knew Liu Yun wouldn’t, which meant Liu Yun would definitely attack.

That meant Liu Yun’s life and death were personally thrown by Han Lang to his brother Han Yan to control.

If Han Yan cherished old feelings today, Liu Yun would surely live.

In this way, Han Yan would also very likely cherish various past affections and serve the Emperor without holding grudges.

If the opposite happened, and Han Yan killed Liu Yun.

Han Lang tightly pinched the piece in his hand, holding his breath and narrowing his eyes.

Then there was no need for this brother of his to live in this world anymore.

He would kill Han Yan to remove future trouble forever.

Making this move was not dangerous, but it hurt his feelings.

Han Lang’s hand calmly placed the piece down, without a single tremor.

The stack of pieces grew higher and higher. With every piece he stacked, he used his heart, very attentively.

“Hey! Something big happened, someone come out, someone’s dying!” A gong-like voice shook the courtyard. At this time, Hua Gui’s voice actually came through.

At the same time, Liu Nian rushed into the study, shouting in panic: “Master, Liu Yun he…”

Han Lang stood up abruptly, and the chessboard was overturned in the process.

“Crash.”

The pieces scattered all over the floor, gradually spinning to a stop, either black or white.

In the room, Liu Yun lay on the bed. He was already unconscious, but not peaceful.

What wasn’t peaceful was his body; his whole body didn’t stop twitching just because Liu Yun was unconscious.

This unconscious trembling was the body’s instinctive resistance to severe trauma. Blood kept gushing out, but because his acupoints were sealed, the blood flowed very slowly, so he wouldn’t die completely.

Several doctors were busy rescuing him in the room. Liu Nian stood expressionless, dumbfounded for a long time. In this room, one could even feel the warmth of the blood oozing from Liu Yun.

Han Lang, who hadn’t waited for the result, already knew the result.

Liu Yun’s martial arts were completely abolished, but his life was not in danger.

To make Han Yan cherish old times, a price had to be paid.

Han Lang stared at the ground, silently preparing to leave.

Before going out, a shallow, long shadow with open arms appeared on the ground, blocking his way.

Han Lang looked up; it was one of Liu Yun’s saviors, Hua Gui.

Han Yan was considered polite, leaving Liu Yun near the Han Manor. Hua Rong and his servant, by a coincidence of fate, happened to pass by before their business opened. So Hua Gui, disregarding past grudges, carried Liu Yun into the Han Prince’s Manor.

Han Lang unconsciously curled his lips. The shadow cast by the moonlight was much more perfect than the image of this real person.

“He hasn’t woken up yet, and you’re leaving just like that?” Hua Gui questioned incredulously. This Grand Tutor Han seemed not to care about anyone’s life or death.

Han Lang looked sideways, too lazy to answer him. He strode around him and saw Hua Rong hanging his hands by his side. He tapped him on the shoulder in passing: “Follow me, the fan you wanted is ready.”

The small drum given to Hua Rong before could be said to be a work of superlative craftsmanship; but the fan compensated today, if described in one word, was—“Heavy”.

Black-brown tortoiseshell as the frame, pure gold as the ribs, heavy enough to crush a person.

The silk fan face embellished with interwoven gold and silver threads shone brightly.

The crimson fan pendant and the red coral hanging from it were also uniquely exquisite.

It wasn’t exactly vulgar, nor was it elegant. If this fan were taken to the street, it would absolutely fit Hua Rong’s character. A flash in the wind would say one sentence: “I am a rich man, rob me, please don’t be polite.”

“Does it meet the request you came to the study to make last time?” Han Lang took a sip of tea and asked idly.

Hua Rong picked up the fan, his eyes bulging as he examined it, but before long, he felt his wrist straining a bit.

However, this didn’t hinder the dash of him opening the fan. After snapping the fan fully open with two fingers, he spread the fan on Han Lang’s desk, pointed to a blank space, and then ground the ink himself.

Han Lang understood what he meant. Wasn’t it just missing the three words “Dian Qian Huan”? He deftly picked up the brush, the tip soaked with ink, and posed, but didn’t write. “Before I write, tell me your other request.”

Hua Rong shook his head, gesturing that he hadn’t thought of it yet.

Han Lang indifferently put the brush back on the brush rest and leaned back.

“In ancient times, Cao Zijian composed a poem in seven steps. Today, Hua Rong, you answer me within seven steps too.”

“Does the Prince want to go back on his word?” Hua Rong gestured.

“Who said this Prince would go back on his word? I just don’t like owing things. If you don’t say it within seven steps, I will use other methods, beating you until you think of it. Don’t worry, I guarantee I won’t beat you to death.” Han Lang looked at the fan face, calm and unruffled.

Hua Rong rolled his eyes, took the first step aggrievedly, and waved his hands: “The Prince is in a bad mood, but there’s no need to take it out on me.”

“One!” Han Lang looked up at him.

“Prince, your bad mood is because of Liu Yun, right?”

“Two!” Han Lang watched intently.

“Liu Yun’s injury is really severe, he will become disabled, right?”

“Three!” The counting voice was still resolute.

If Cao Zhi successfully saved himself in seven steps back then, then Hua Rong coming up with a way to protect himself in three steps today, could it be counted as being even better?

“Hua Rong can temporarily replace Young Master Liu Yun to take care of the Prince, serving you faithfully, duty-bound.” Hua Rong gestured, a look of a loyal dog.

His head started to feel dizzy again. Han Lang raised his hand, habitually rubbing his temples, and casually said: “Good.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, he was startled by his own negligence and wanted to retract it.

But Hua Rong had already stepped forward, raised both hands, and started massaging the top of his head.

He must have learned massage. In just a moment, Han Lang’s dizziness alleviated, and his eyes became rare and clear.

Since he had agreed, let it be. Han Lang thought to himself. Seeing Hua Rong pouting towards the fan with his mouth, he immediately smiled helplessly, picked up the brush again, and splashed three words on the fan: Dian Qian Huan.

Having gained an advantage, one must naturally act like a good boy. Hua Rong grinned, fanning that deadly heavy fan in the middle of winter, exhibiting it all the way through the Funing Prince’s Manor, going to find Hua Gui to go home.

Passing by the courtyard where the disciples lived, he paused and unconsciously looked inside.

Lin Luoyin was no longer there; he had long since gone to the border for his career.

A moment later, he suddenly woke up, sighed, and continued to fan himself, preparing to leave.

Just then, there was a muffled sound from inside the door, and something flew out with a “whoosh”, landing right at his feet.

Hua Rong looked around, craned his neck curiously, and found it was all Lin Luoyin’s clothes.

Among them was an ochre long gown, the very one Hua Rong had seen him wearing the day he fainted from hunger.

It seemed the Prince’s Manor had new disciples, and Lin Luoyin’s things were swept out when clearing the room.

Hua Rong bent down, not knowing why, spread out that long gown, and actually very carefully tidied up all the things, made a bundle, and carried it on his shoulder.

Soon he arrived at Liu Yun’s room.

He extended his index finger and knocked carefully on the door.

There was no response. Inside the room, Liu Yun had woken up and was staring blankly at the ceiling.

Hua Gui stood by the bed, took a breath, and started again with a voice like a bell: “What’s the big deal about losing martial arts? Just practice from scratch again. Isn’t it like eating? You shit and then eat again, won’t the strength come back!”

Liu Yun still didn’t react, ignoring him, and switched to staring at the bed board.

Hua Rong extended his finger, knocked heavily on the door again, and gestured: “Hua Gui, let’s go back.”

Seeing this, Hua Gui looked at Liu Yun indignantly, turned around indignantly, and shouted: “Go back then, who cares to look at his dead face here.”

After speaking, he extended his foot and intentionally or unintentionally kicked over the spittoon with a “clang”.

Hua Rong raised his eyebrows, seeming to understand something. He didn’t dare to provoke him and followed behind him, laughing secretly all the way.

“What are you laughing at!” Hua Gui finally realized when they were almost home, putting his hands on his hips: “I’m going to buy vegetables now. Tonight we’re drinking bitter melon, lily bulb, and coptis soup. You just wait!”