Chapter 102 — No One Left to Report
CHAPTER 102
No One Left to Report
“Going somewhere, Master Shen?” Zheng Jian asked.
Shi Feng stopped between the stacked cedar beams of the disused west-canal timber yard. At the furnace-lane sluice gate, Gao Yuan and the canal watchman had seen Zheng Jian and two Eastern Palace retainers follow the hooded alchemist into the yard. The retainers then pulled the chain across the alley gate.
Now they no longer bothered hiding.
Zheng Jian stood beside the dry saw-pit with a narrow refined artifact blade in his hand. A second man blocked the canal archway, his late Foundation Establishment aura spreading openly across the wet flagstones.
A third crouched atop a timber stack with a cocked hunting crossbow.
“Your deadline was evening,” Shi Feng said.
“You packed your shelves at noon,” Zheng Jian replied coldly. “I decided not to wait until you slipped out of the ward.”
The late Foundation Establishment retainer laughed. A thick scar crossed his shaved scalp, and his broad saber rested on one shoulder.
“Take off the cloth,” Peng Zhao said. “Let's see the face that thinks it can refuse the Eastern Palace.”
Shi Feng didn't move his hand toward the cloth.
“Does Sima Yu want a face or a corpse?” Shi Feng asked.
Zheng Jian's expression hardened at the prince's unadorned name, and Peng Zhao flicked two fingers toward the timber stack.
The iron quarrel hissed straight at Shi Feng's chest.
Shi Feng glided half a pace left so the bolt buried itself two inches deep in a cedar beam, and in the same breath he vaulted up the stacked timber. Before the Qi Condensation bowman could reach for his belt hook, Shi Feng's palm struck the man's bow-arm and chest.
Ribs gave way with a muffled crack. The bowman tumbled silently into the sawdust pit below and didn't rise.
Peng Zhao's laughter died.
His broad saber came down as Shi Feng landed, carrying a heavy wave of late Foundation Establishment qi aimed to cleave him from collarbone to hip.
A plain refined artifact sword appeared in Shi Feng's hand.
Piercing Current.
The narrow point slipped inside the saber's arc and sheared through Peng Zhao's shoulder guard. His defensive qi shattered on impact. Blood sprayed across the timber before he understood he'd been cut.
Peng Zhao staggered back, clutching his ruined shoulder.
“Early Foundation Establishment?” Peng Zhao rasped.
Shi Feng's qi was visible to him now. The stage was two steps below his own; the force behind the steel wasn't.
Zheng Jian went pale.
The steward's narrow blade darted toward Shi Feng's flank. Shi Feng pivoted with Turning Wave, parrying the edge so hard Zheng Jian's blade spun into the saw-pit, then stepped in and struck the steward's wrist with the flat of his sword.
Bone snapped.
Zheng Jian cried out and stumbled backward against the timber stack.
“Wait!” Zheng Jian shouted. “You haven't heard His Highness's full offer!”
“The crossbow explained it,” Shi Feng replied.
Behind him, Peng Zhao roared and lunged with his left hand, swinging the heavy saber toward Shi Feng's neck in a desperate final gamble.
Shi Feng stepped inside the swing, trapped the saber hilt beneath his forearm, and drove his free palm squarely into Peng Zhao's sternum. Completed golden bone met exhausted protective qi; Peng Zhao's chest caved inward, and the late Foundation Establishment killer dropped beside the saw-pit without another sound.
Zheng Jian stared at the body. Terror replaced the authority in his face.
A late Foundation Establishment hired killer died in only a few exchanges. Master Shen hadn't suffered a wound. The difference between them wasn't something a household badge could fix.
“I serve the Crown Prince,” Zheng Jian said hoarsely.
“I noticed,” Shi Feng replied.
“If I don't return, he'll investigate!” Zheng Jian cried.
“Then he should hire someone better,” Shi Feng said.
Zheng Jian dropped to one knee. His broken wrist hung against his robe, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.
“We can still settle this,” Zheng Jian said. “Spirit stones. I'll give you everything on me.”
Shi Feng looked at him without warmth.
The man stood calmly while a crossbow aimed at his neck. His companion followed with a full killing blow. Now he wanted an ordinary bargain because the expected victim proved stronger.
“No,” Shi Feng said.
Zheng Jian's good hand flashed toward his belt. A small needle shot out, catching the light. Shi Feng caught that wrist too and drove the sword through his chest.
The steward sagged against the blade. His last attempted trick never reached its target. Shi Feng withdrew the steel and let him fall.
There was no one left to report his face, realm, or weapon.
He checked the canal wall first. The three men had chained the alley gate themselves so no passerby would interrupt their work.
The bowman carried spare bolts and a small payment pouch. Peng Zhao had recovery pills and silver-edged spirit coin. Zheng Jian's Eastern Palace waist plaque confirmed what Gao Yuan had already seen in the furnace yard.
Shi Feng kept the coin and pills, left Zheng Jian's Eastern Palace waist plaque beside the broken crossbow in the flooded culvert beneath the sluice where the canal dredge would find it, and left the inner gate chain untouched. When the ward constables questioned Gao Yuan and the sluice watchman, both witnesses would tell the same story: Zheng Jian had threatened Master Shen at the furnace room, followed him into the timber yard with two armed men, and chained the gate himself. Shi Feng slipped out over the back wharf wall.
No human corpse fed his physique. He didn't try.
By the time he finished, the sunlight shifted toward afternoon. The whole battle took far less time than cleaning up after the men who started it.
Shi Feng washed the sword and checked its channel. The plain refined artifact held well. His sword control kept the exchanges short, and the First Extreme supported far more force than the opponents could withstand.
He tested the Returning Breath Pill he kept for the day's practice. The medicine recovered the qi spent in the fight steadily, though the exchanges used far less than a long refining session. He felt no hidden ache in his body and found no wound beneath his robe.
Peng Zhao's higher stage gave him more qi than an ordinary early Foundation Establishment opponent. It didn't give him Shi Feng's meridians, completed Extreme, or foundation. Once the saber missed, the difference in their bodies decided the exchange.
Shi Feng checked the sword's point again and put it inside the ring. He returned the ordinary steel to his belt before stepping onto the wharf lane. A passerby would see a hooded man with a common weapon, not the battle that had ended behind the timber stacks.
He wasn't going to mistake that for permission to become careless. Still, three men below the kingdom's apex weren't a life-and-death crisis anymore.
He thought, Sima Yu will learn his servants didn't return. He can wonder why.
The prince remained behind household guards in the capital. Shi Feng would meet him on a different field soon enough. His orders weren't forgiven merely because today's messengers died first.
At home, Ling Qingzhu was trying to move the new flowerpot away from a patch of afternoon shade.
“Here?” Ling Qingzhu asked when he entered.
“Morning sun reaches there,” Shi Feng replied.
“That's what I thought,” Ling Qingzhu said.
She let him take the pot, although she could have lifted it easily herself. He moved it two feet to the side and set it down gently.
Ling Qingzhu watched his hand. There was a small smear of mud near his cuff.
“Practice again?” Ling Qingzhu asked.
“Yes,” Shi Feng replied.
“Did it go well?” Ling Qingzhu asked.
“Very,” Shi Feng said.
She seemed satisfied. He went inside to wash, and she followed him to complain about the flower seller's watering advice.
He listened while folding the clean cloth from his retreat. The ordinary home sounds pleased him after the quiet timber yard.
No one knocked that evening to demand his formulas.
Shi Feng cooked supper with both hands steady. The prince could send another offer. He would receive the same answer.