HMHSE - 17

The disheveled enemy captives from beyond the border hacked open their shackles and charged at the jailers. The sight of blood and cries of agony fueled the hardened criminals, emboldening them to revolt. The chaos quickly escalated.

It was as if they believed this might be their chance to escape this infernal prison when they heard that chilling command:

“Those who acted will lose their heads.” A familiar military order—those who caused trouble would be mercilessly executed.

Shan Zong didn’t stop for a moment. Wherever he passed, his blade fell, cutting down anyone involved in the chaos without hesitation.

The tumultuous battlefield seemed to split open at one corner, and that corner extended under his feet. His blade flashed, leaving no one standing in its wake.

Among the opportunistic criminals, some immediately retreated upon seeing him appear. But with blood already on their blades, they faced his black-clad figure only to find their throats chilled by the cold edge of his saber, collapsing lifelessly to the ground.

The remaining two groups trembled with fear, drenched in cold sweat, and decided to fight recklessly. What greeted them were the soldiers from the military compound following closely behind him.

Hu Shiyi led his men, dispersing the team as ordered, without a word—only the sound of blades slicing through the air.

“Mercy, Commander!” Finally, someone couldn’t bear it and dropped their weapon to beg for mercy—but their plea ended abruptly.

The soldiers of the military compound, trained over a thousand days, followed orders flawlessly, moving like a well-oiled machine. They swept through the corners, and even amidst the chaos, nothing could withstand the swift lethality of their blades.

Shan Zong gave no room for respite, suppressing the chaos with ruthless efficiency, meeting violence with violence.

Shen Rong, shielded behind, watched the scene unfold, her breath catching slightly—it was the first time she had seen him like this.

Donglai noticed something was amiss and glanced back at her.

She softly said: “Let’s leave first.”

A large group of jailers surged out from the corridor. Zhao Jinlian, who had been nearby, was separated by the chaos and unable to reach them.

Some hardened criminals even charged toward him, perhaps intending to take the governor hostage. However, they were driven back by the soldiers’ blades.

It seemed likely that prisoners would soon head their way too.

Without hesitation, Donglai drew his sword and escorted Shen Rong outward.

As she walked, Shen Rong adjusted her cloak and glanced back once more. Shan Zong suppressed the chaos with thunderous force, his eyes focused solely on the rioters.

Blood-soaked prisoners continuously charged at him, only to fall one after another. His right sleeve had been slashed, loosening at the cuff, but not a single strand of hair was out of place. His straight blade was already soaked in blood up to the hilt.

Another man lunged at him with a blade. Shan Zong turned, parried, and suddenly tore off the troublesome sleeve, along with the undershirt sleeve, wrapping it around the hilt of his saber. His entire right arm, now exposed, was covered in tattoos, veins bulging, a web of black ink stark against his skin.

“Be careful, Young Mistress,” Donglai murmured, guiding her into the shadows of the wall.

Shen Rong turned her head, her heart still pounding like a drum.

The shattered gate was still a hundred paces ahead. The fire坛 near the entrance had been overturned by horse hooves, extinguished, casting the area into dimness. Only faintly could she see soldiers guarding the gates outside.

Suddenly, shadowy figures darted across the far corner. Two jailers lay dead there, unnoticed until now. When Shen Rong turned her head again, she saw the disheveled captives still fighting fiercely, resisting to the bitter end.

Their sudden attack must have been premeditated. She suddenly recalled the fleeting gaze directed at her earlier.

“Can you cover the rear?” She glanced at Donglai.

Donglai, well-trained, responded swiftly: “Yes, please go ahead, Young Mistress.”

Shen Rong kept one hand firmly pressed over the scroll in her bosom and used the other to untie her cloak: “Be extremely careful.”

Amidst the sounds of battle, she moved swiftly along the wall toward the gate when a figure suddenly rushed out from the opposite direction.

…

The firelight reflected off the blades, and the battlefield gradually fell silent. A chilly wind swept in, dispersing the stench of blood.

The last disheveled captive was cut down with a single strike. Only those who hadn’t joined the revolt or dared not rebel remained, crouching together, trembling uncontrollably.

Shan Zong stood in the center of the field, the tip of his blade dripping blood onto the ground.

He lifted his robe and wiped the blood from his blade, scanning the area like observing trapped beasts: “Clear the area.”

The soldiers dispersed, checking for any remnants hiding in the shadows.

The jailers silently approached to clear the bodies, dragging the remaining prisoners back to their cells.

Zhao Jinlian was sheltered by jailers near a corner of the open space, surrounded by the corpses of hardened criminals.

Though his face was pale, as governor, he still needed to stabilize the situation. As he looked around, he suddenly cried out: “Lady!”

Shan Zong raised his gaze.

From the shadows of a dark corner emerged three disheveled figures.

The leader had severed his handcuffs but hadn’t managed to cut through his leg irons, preventing him from running quickly. He limped forward heavily, holding a blade and using a woman wrapped in a cloak as a shield.

Surrounded by soldiers, he didn’t approach but revealed a pair of shifting eyes beneath his unkempt hair: “Shan, let us go.”

Shan Zong rested his blade on the ground: “All this effort just to rescue a useless wretch like you?”

This man was a minor Khitan leader captured by him last year—a name he didn’t even remember.

Now, after being worn down in the Great Prison, he was barely human, yet he still endured. Someone had come to rescue him, likely to extract critical military intelligence. If they couldn’t send it out, they’d fight their way out.

“Enough talk—I must return!” The man gasped for breath, raising his blade closer to the neck beneath the woman’s hood, suddenly sneering: “I heard this one was once your woman, your former wife.”

Hu Shiyi, standing nearby with drawn swords, was taken aback by these words. He glanced sharply at Shan Zong.

What did he mean? Wasn’t the hostage the golden beauty? Who was this golden beauty as someone’s former wife?

Shan Zong lifted his blade slightly, coldly eyeing the man, then shifted his gaze to the figure concealed beneath the cloak.

She hadn’t moved since the beginning, her hood pulled low, head deeply bowed. One hand tightly clutched the hem of the cloak, revealing only a few fingers.

He suddenly smirked: “You said ‘former.’ Who cares about that now?”

The man growled: “Don’t play innocent with me! I’ve heard everything clearly—this isn’t just your former wife, she’s also someone of importance. Let’s see how you’ll handle her dying in front of you!”

Shan Zong nodded: “Then try it. See whose blade is faster—yours or mine.”

The entire crowd fell silent.

It wasn’t just the captives; even Zhao Jinlian and Hu Shiyi were stunned.

Shan Zong suddenly commanded: “Attack!”

Hu Shiyi instinctively moved, but the cloaked figure of the golden beauty suddenly threw off the cloak, flashing a blade that parried the attacker’s weapon.

The man, fully focused on Shan Zong’s potential reckless attack, was caught off guard. Before he could react, a cold glint approached. He dodged to the side, turned back, and felt a chill pierce his chest.

Shan Zong’s blade had pierced straight through him.

Almost simultaneously, Hu Shiyi and his men subdued the remaining two attackers.

From afar, Zhao Jinlian finally understood the situation and exhaled deeply in relief.

Shan Zong stepped forward, withdrew his blade, wiped it clean on the man’s body, and glanced at Donglai beside him: “Not bad skills.”

He bowed respectfully: “It’s all thanks to the Young Mistress’s trust.”

Underneath the cloak was Donglai. Shen Rong’s tall figure had been replaced by his lean, youthful frame, concealed by the wide cloak, making it hard to notice any difference.

Shan Zong had suspected something upon seeing the exposed fingers.

Changsun Shen Rong truly knew how to choose people. A close guard like this was equivalent to a seasoned soldier from his military compound, capable of adapting to situations—no wonder she trusted him.

He turned: “And her?”

Donglai replied: “The Young Mistress was cautious and has already left.”

When Shen Rong had asked if he could cover the rear, she had already made her decision—to prevent those lurking figures from targeting her.

Sure enough, as soon as Donglai donned her cloak and stepped out of the shadows, someone charged at him.

Shan Zong drew his blade and exited.

The gatekeepers, having received prior orders, guarded the entrance without budging, only relaxing when they saw him emerge.

Their leader informed him that so far, only Lady Changsun had been seen leaving, heading straight for the prison gates, possibly returning to the city. Aware of her esteemed status, they hadn’t stopped her and even helped shield her from danger inside.

Shan Zong grunted affirmatively and walked toward the prison gates.

Outside, twilight had fallen. The Changsun family’s carriage was still parked far down the road.

They had been ordered to move aside when his troops arrived at full speed.

At this moment, a lantern hung before the carriage, illuminating the silhouette of Shen Rong’s maid.

This meant she hadn’t left yet.

He slowly took steps, glancing to either side of the gate.

The Great Prison was arid—only here, outside the gates, could traces of vegetation be seen. Only wind-resistant shrubs could survive, growing densely up to waist height.

Shan Zong approached a cluster of shrubs, his sharp eyes catching a glimpse of gauzy fabric peeking out.

His steps slowed, pacing back and forth near the bushes, staring at them: “It seems there are still some fish that slipped through. I’ll count to three—if you don’t come out, don’t blame me for executing you on the spot.”

With that, he rested his blade on his shoulder and began counting: “One, two…”

The bushes didn’t move.

He smiled, deliberately extending the tip of his blade.

“Three!”

At the final count, the bushes rustled, and Shen Rong’s face emerged.

In the dimness, her pale chin tilted slightly upward, facing the tip of his blade. Her eyes stared unblinkingly at him.

He retracted his blade: “Wouldn’t it have been better to come out earlier?”

Shen Rong looked at him, the world behind her dim and heavy. He stood before her, tall and imposing, his body still reeking of fresh blood.

“Is everything settled inside?” she asked.

Shan Zong replied: “Mm.”

“And Donglai?”

“Mm.”

She exhaled softly and touched the scroll hidden in her bosom.

Shan Zong had been watching her, perhaps without her realizing it. Those two questions carried a faint tremor in her voice.

“Were you scared?”

It wouldn’t be strange if she were. A pampered noblewoman like her shouldn’t have witnessed such scenes in her life.

But she was far cleverer than he had imagined.

Shen Rong pursed her lips: “No.”

He thought to himself—still stubborn. He pointed his blade at the bushes: “Then why don’t you come out?”

Shen Rong glanced at him, slowly rising to her feet. As she stepped forward, her skirt caught on the branches, tugging and pulling.

Shan Zong reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward.

She froze, seeing his tattooed arm gripping hers, the lines tense like carved steel. Her heart inexplicably skipped a beat as she looked up at his face.

Shan Zong met her gaze and realized her face was slightly pale, her lips parting faintly—an expression of vulnerability he had never seen on her before. His voice softened unconsciously as he asked again: “Did you throw up?”

Shen Rong immediately replied: “No.”

A smile flickered across his face. He released her hand, pretending nothing had happened, and turned to leave.

Seeing his smile irritated her. She had rushed out to prevent falling into the enemy’s hands, knowing it would make everyone hesitate to act, potentially endangering the scroll.

Even now, he dared to mock her.

She stared at his retreating figure, thinking to herself—what a bad seed, never humble or gentle. One day, she would make him…

Shan Zong suddenly turned back: “Still not leaving?”

Shen Rong’s eyes flickered: “I’m too cold to walk. Is that not allowed?”

A weight fell over her shoulders as Shan Zong tossed her his Hu-style garment. Though missing the right sleeve, it was still thick and warm, though the scent of blood lingered.

“No. Leave now,” he switched his blade to the other hand and turned to walk ahead.