WNST - 116

Seven days remained until the Nirvana Plan. 

Xie Suian was tense to the point of paranoia, clutching a sword day and night, keeping Xu Zhou firmly under her watchful eye. 

One day, a hastily scribbled letter arrived from outside. 

It read: “I’m trapped on the Qu Ling River.” 

Such atrocious handwriting could only belong to one person—Nan Yi. Xie Suian recognized it immediately. 

She had always assumed Nan Yi was “Goose.” 

Never in her wildest dreams did she suspect this was a forged letter by Xie Queshan, or that the “Goose” she believed in was merely a fabrication planted by him. 

If “Goose” was in trouble, she couldn’t stand idly by. She rushed to Song Muchuan, pleading for his help to rescue Nan Yi. 

This was the first time Song Muchuan learned that Nan Yi was the mysterious operative codenamed “Goose.” 

Something about the situation felt off, but upon recalling various events, he realized she had indeed been deeply involved and played a significant role. Coupled with Xie Suian’s firm conviction—and her claim that Xie Heng himself had confirmed it—he dismissed any doubts. 

So she was the senior agent all along, and here he was thinking of recruiting her into Bingzhu Bureau. Song Muchuan felt both ashamed and anxious—ashamed of his oversight, and anxious about her predicament. 

Since their parting on that rainy night, they had lost contact. He didn’t know how she had been exposed, but if she could still send messages, there was likely some room to maneuver. 

The large ship was nearing completion, and he couldn’t leave his post. Most of Bingzhu Bureau’s spies were lying low, so he entrusted Ying Huai of Yucheng Army with the rescue mission. 

That very night, Ying Huai set out. The tributaries of the Qu Ling River were few, and after searching each one, they eventually found the moored barge suspended mid-river beneath a remote cliff. 

Ying Huai and his men rappelled down from the cliff to approach the vessel, only to find no guards aboard. 

Signs of habitation lingered in the cabin—a single portion of food in a lunchbox, half a flask of wine left on the table. 

Layer upon layer of curtains hung down, concealing what seemed to be a figure inside, accompanied by faint traces of alcohol in the air. 

“Lady?” Ying Huai called out tentatively, but there was no response from behind the curtains. 

“If you don’t answer, I’ll take the liberty to enter,” he announced. 

Slowly, Ying Huai parted the curtains to reveal a young woman lying quietly on the bed. Hesitantly, he reached out to check her breathing, then exhaled in relief. 

She was alive, but no matter how much he shook her, she wouldn’t wake. It seemed she had simply passed out from drinking. 

Ying Huai signaled the backup boat, which quickly approached the larger vessel. Together, they carried the unconscious Nan Yi off the ship. 

As the small boat drifted further and further away, disappearing under the moonlight, Xie Queshan finally emerged from the shadows. 

His demeanor was utterly indifferent, his face betraying no emotion. Calmly, he returned to the room, retrieved the hidden shackles from beneath the bed, and reattached them to his wrists. 

Click—just like that, effortlessly, he returned to where he had started. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze aimlessly wandering around the tiny room. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face as he wondered whether she had truly been there at all. 

Then he spotted a long strand of hair on the bedside. 

Everything between them hung precariously on that single strand of hair—fragile, breakable. 

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a gust of wind filled the room, causing the curtains to billow wildly like dancing demons. 

He failed to grasp the strand of hair, which was swept away by the wind, vanishing without a trace. 

Xie Queshan looked up and saw Zhang Yuehui. 

He wasn’t the only witness to all this—Zhang Yuehui had seen everything too. 

Upon receiving intelligence, he learned that Xie Queshan’s personal guard, He Ping, had secretly fled midway to meet with Xie Queshan. 

Later, He Ping returned to Wangxue Cottage and delivered a message to Xie Suian, urging her to rescue “Goose.” 

Zhang Yuehui hadn’t intervened. He wanted to see what Xie Queshan was planning. 

In such a precarious situation, did he still think he could escape? Was he abandoning the greater cause? If he truly had the ability to achieve both… Zhang Yuehui might have been willing to turn a blind eye. 

But then he sensed something unusual. 

Xie Queshan’s actions were solely aimed at sending Nan Yi away. 

Not only that, but he had transferred his identity as “Goose” to her. He bore all the risks associated with being “Goose,” yet bestowed upon her all the protections that came with it. 

For some reason, Zhang Yuehui felt an overwhelming sense of defeat and loss. This feeling robbed him of any interest in witnessing his rival’s downfall. Compelled by some inexplicable force, he found himself aboard this ship. 

He wanted to see if this self-proclaimed saint was made of flesh and blood. Was he some reincarnated bodhisattva, deserving of a halo above his head? 

Yet no matter how he looked, this man remained nothing more than an ordinary mortal—utterly disappointing. 

Zhang Yuehui let out a bitter laugh, pouring himself a cup of wine. After a moment’s thought, he filled the empty cup across from him as well. 

The river breeze paired beautifully with the wine—it was truly delightful. 

Xie Queshan took a seat opposite him, silently raising his cup in accompaniment. 

At a time like this, it was best to drink without distraction—even if the person sitting across from you was your enemy. 

Zhang Yuehui suddenly spoke in a leisurely tone: “Xie Queshan, you really don’t give her an ounce of selfishness, do you?”

This man always had a knack for bringing up the most painful topics, driving sharp daggers straight into one’s heart. 

Xie Queshan sneered faintly, with a touch of self-mockery. “Do you really wish I’d given her something selfish?” 

“You should learn from me—be full of selfishness. That’s what makes the game interesting.” 

“It’s meaningless. All of it is meaningless.” Xie Queshan tipped his head back and drained his cup of wine in one gulp. 

Zhang Yuehui burst into laughter. But as he laughed, his gaze dimmed inch by inch. With a slight tightening of his hand, the delicate porcelain cup shattered in his grip. White shards mingled with red blood, yet he clenched his fist tighter still. 

The sight of bloodstains on his refined, elegant face seemed out of place—he was usually immaculate, carrying himself like a celestial being untouched by worldly filth. But now, he paid no heed to the porcelain shards embedded in his palm, as if the blood flowing wasn’t his own. He continued to smile, speaking as though discussing something trivial: “Xie Queshan, don’t be so noble. Otherwise, where does that leave my revenge?” 

Xie Queshan raised his eyes, a flicker of sympathy in them. “Do you truly want revenge?” 

The simple question silenced the room for a moment. Zhang Yuehui suddenly kicked the stool over, the loud noise masking his turbulent thoughts. 

He strode away with long, purposeful steps. 

Xie Queshan watched the mess Zhang Yuehui left behind, shaking his head slowly. This man’s emotions were far too unstable—unfit for anything significant. 

---

After leaving the river, an overwhelming sense of emptiness washed over Zhang Yuehui. Such moments were rare for him. 

Strangely, he found himself agreeing with Xie Queshan. 

It was all meaningless. 

He had schemed and maneuvered endlessly, yet gained no real satisfaction. 

Was this how it would end? No thrill, no excitement. 

Suddenly, a bold idea struck him—kill Wanyan Pu. 

She had secretly departed Jinling, and aside from Gui Lai Tang, no one else knew about it. In these chaotic times, bandits and marauders roamed freely, and treacherous paths abounded. If she were to die along the way, Daqi could hardly blame Jinling. After all, who told her to disguise herself as an ordinary woman and take such risks? 

With Wanyan Pu dead, the intelligence chain would break right there. 

No one had dared kill her before because no one had dared even think of it. 

But Zhang Yuehui had no such taboos. As her trusted subordinate, delivering a fatal blow wouldn’t be difficult at all. 

This act would surely give those old ministers in Jinling a headache and plunge Gui Lai Tang into peril—but there was nothing stopping him from doing it. 

Why save Xie Queshan? No, he wasn’t saving him—he just wanted him to die ignobly, to die without meaning. 

If Xie Queshan sacrificed himself so grandly, what did that make his family who had died innocently? Stepping stones for heroes? 

How laughable. On what grounds? 

And deep down, Zhang Yuehui felt a flicker of fear. If Xie Queshan were to die like this, all his hatred would dissolve into nothingness. Zhang Yuehui lived on obsession—good or bad, it was one of the few ties binding him to this world. 

He didn’t want to let go. He wanted the waters muddied further, ensuring no one ascended to enlightenment or found peace. 

Hooves thundered through the night. 

The wind filled his entire body, fine rain stinging his face like needles, while dark clouds obscured the moonlight. He galloped onward until dawn broke. 

The secret convoy heading north had just left their resting temple and was preparing to continue their journey. 

“Princess” Wanyan Pu, wearing a veil hat, was helped into the carriage by her attendants. 

The wheels of the carriage rolled over the damp ground, swaying gently with creaks and groans. Distant sounds of roosters crowing and dogs barking echoed faintly, wrapping everything in an eerie calm. 

Suddenly, a sharp arrow pierced through the rain-soaked air, striking the carriage with a dull thud. Blood splattered onto the curtains. 

The convoy erupted into chaos, drawing swords to defend against the attack. 

From afar, Zhang Yuehui rode forward unflinchingly, facing the tips of their blades. He reined in his horse and tossed a token onto the ground. 

Though some hadn’t seen Zhang Yuehui, they recognized the token that commanded the entirety of Gui Lai Tang. The group hesitated, lowering their weapons and bowing respectfully. “Master.” 

Zhang Yuehui dismounted and strode toward the carriage. 

Pulling back the curtain and removing the veil, Zhang Yuehui froze. 

The person inside wasn’t Wanyan Pu at all. 

The woman, barely clinging to life, coughed up blood but wore a strange, twisted smile before taking her last breath. 

In that instant, Zhang Yuehui’s heart sank. He had been careless. 

Wanyan Pu had anticipated his betrayal and set a trap for him. By transmitting crucial intelligence and testing his loyalty, she had forced his hand. 

By defying her orders and killing her messenger, he had openly declared his stance. He was now undeniably a traitor, unable to remain neutral any longer. 

Zhang Yuehui stood motionless for a while, his thoughts slowly coalescing. Then, a bitter smile spread across his face. 

A crafty rabbit has three burrows—how could someone like Wanyan Pu be killed so easily? 

Now, instead of stealthily eliminating a key figure and eradicating evidence, he had walked straight into her trap. 

Still, Wanyan Pu hadn’t won either. 

No matter how much she knew, her message wouldn’t reach Lido Prefecture. All her efforts were in vain. 

Yet, this loss of control ignited a fiery excitement within Zhang Yuehui. His blood boiled with anticipation. 

The heavy rain poured down on him, washing away the grime that had accumulated over years of deceit. 

For so many years, he had bent himself to please others, playing both sides and saying whatever suited the occasion. He had forgotten whether he was human or a ghost. Now, stripped of all pretense, he could finally reveal his true self—no more acting, no more pretending. 

A bolt of lightning illuminated the desolate temple, casting harsh light on the mural of Asuras with their grotesque faces. A deafening roar of thunder followed, as if the gods themselves were screaming. 

Asuras—wrathful and warlike, brave warriors who had clashed repeatedly with the gods. Their battles began over a divine tree called Sudṛḍhārā Bhadraśālā. 

Though its roots lay in the realm of the Asuras, its ripe fruits hung in the heavens. Consumed by envy and anger, the Asuras stormed the nine heavens to confront the gods, demanding what they believed was theirs. Though inherently kind and originally aligned with virtue, their relentless pursuit of conflict marked them as anything but truly righteous. In death, they were doomed to eternal damnation.

But the Asuras also revered the Dharma.