jdhmnovel Chapter 568
Chapter 568
As dusk settled, the eaves of the General's Mansion were tinged with a dark blue-black. Dongfang Wan'er had just removed her heavy court robes, and her delicate hand had barely touched the warm teacup on the table when the copper bells in the corridor suddenly jingled softly. Her personal maid, Qingwu, rushed in, the pearl hairpin in her hair trembling slightly with her hurried steps: "General, a maid claiming to be from Wang Chongli's household has come to the door, saying she has something of life-or-death importance to tell you."
The candlelight flickered on the bronze animal-shaped candlestick. Dongfang Wan'er gazed at the swaying bamboo shadows outside the window, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the crackled ice on the rim of the cup. The scene of Wang Chongli's entire family being executed three days ago was still vivid in her mind, yet now someone was walking right into the trap? She lowered her eyes and pondered for a moment, then said coldly, "Bring them in."
The carved wooden door creaked open, and a gust of wind carrying the stench of rain rushed into the room. The newcomer wore a soaked raincoat, the hem of her plain clothes stained with mud, and her pale face bore traces of undried tears. Upon seeing Dongfang Wan'er's face, the woman suddenly staggered and fell to her knees, her forehead slamming heavily against the blue bricks: "General, save me!"
Dongfang Wan'er rose and walked around the desk, catching a glimpse of the winding whip marks on the woman's wrist. The old and new marks twisted into a spiral, clearly the marks left by the iron chains used for private torture in the Prince's mansion. "Tell me slowly," she said, handing over a plain handkerchief. Between the woman's sobs, she heard a chilling secret.
"Lord Wang is nothing but a pawn..." The woman clutched her blood-soaked handkerchief, dried dirt still embedded in her fingernails. "Half a month ago, I was sweeping outside the study when I overheard the master talking to several masked men. They said the chaos in the northern frontier was just a prelude; the real killing move was to wait until the general left the capital—" She suddenly coughed violently, blood seeping from between her fingers dripping onto the blue bricks. "They wanted to blow up the granary in the west of the city, take advantage of the chaos to storm the palace, and install a new emperor..."
A thunderclap boomed outside the window, illuminating the crazed hatred in the woman's eyes. Dongfang Wan'er gasped. The granary in the west of the city held half of the capital's grain; if it exploded, the consequences would be unimaginable. She knelt down and grasped the woman's trembling hand, its touch as cold as a corpse: "Do you know who those people are?"
“They were wearing black iron masks, only one of them showed half his face…” The woman suddenly convulsed violently, black blood spilling from the corner of her mouth, “There was a cinnabar mole at the corner of his eye…” Before she could finish speaking, she fell heavily to the ground, the tattered cloth she was clutching in her hand fluttering to the ground, on which were faintly embroidered dark gold cloud patterns.
Dongfang Wan'er picked up the piece of cloth, her pupils suddenly contracting—it was a brocade pattern reserved for officials of the third rank and above. She whirled around and shouted sharply into the shadows, "Shadow One! Immediately mobilize the secret guards to thoroughly investigate the residences of all officials of the third rank and above in the capital! Focus on investigating any unusual activity around the granary in the west of the city!"
As night deepened, the study was brightly lit. Dongfang Wan'er unfolded a map of the capital, circling three red dots in the western part of the city with a vermilion brush. Qingwu rushed in carrying a secret report: "General, our secret guards have discovered suspicious wheel tracks at an abandoned City God Temple on the outskirts of the city. The cargo on the carts is unusually heavy."
"Make the deception appear real, and the real appear deceptive." Dongfang Wan'er pressed the blood-stained cloth against the center of the map, a cold smile playing on her lips. "Tomorrow at the morning court, I will publicly announce that we will proceed with the expedition to the northern frontier as planned. Issue orders for the Xuanjia Army to enter the capital in disguise in batches, setting up ambushes at the granaries, city gates, and the palace." She gazed out the window at the thick, inky night, where countless gaping maws seemed to lurk. "Since they want to put on a good show, I, the general, will be the most competent director of this play."
As the water clock ticked, Dongfang Wan'er gently stroked the gleaming soft sword on her desk. The dragon patterns on the scabbard gleamed eerily in the candlelight, like countless peering eyes. She knew that this seemingly peaceful capital city was like a lake before a storm—calm on the surface, but turbulent beneath. And the real storm was about to sweep across this majestic imperial city, bringing with it a bloodbath.
The next morning, a thin mist still shrouded the Forbidden City before the morning bells tolled deeply. Dongfang Wan'er sat before the bronze mirror, her fingertips gently tracing the silver phoenix hairpin forged from cold iron at her temple; the icy touch reminded her of the howling winds across the snowy plains of the northern frontier. She had discussed matters with her shadow guards until midnight the previous night, and now, gazing at her bluish-white eyes in the mirror, she still managed a perfectly measured smile—this was the most crucial game before the campaign.
Inside the Golden Palace, the candlelight on the dragon pillars cast an flickering glow on the dragon throne. As Dongfang Wan'er knelt and kowtowed, she caught a glimpse of the civil and military officials standing below: the Minister of Revenue stroked his beard and nodded slightly, while the Vice Minister of Works gripped his official tablet in his sleeve until it turned white. When she requested permission to lead the expedition to the northern frontier in a clear and resonant voice, a suppressed gasp suddenly came from the ranks of civil officials on her right. She looked in the direction of the sound and caught a fleeting look of smug satisfaction on the face of the Assistant Minister of Personnel.
As the court adjourned, the bells and drums sounded, and Dongfang Wan'er deliberately slowed her pace. At the bend in the corridor, she used the shadows of the vermilion pillars to observe the departing officials of the third rank and above. Zhao Ze, the Vice Minister of Rites, walked with a much faster pace than usual, his blue satin boots making a soft, clattering sound on the blue bricks. His right hand, which should have been hanging at his side, was now tightly gripping the jade pendant at his waist, his knuckles turning bluish-white. Dongfang Wan'er watched his retreating figure, her nails digging crescent-shaped marks into her palm, and whispered to the shadows, "Command Shadow One, from Chen Shi (7-9 AM), never leave Zhao Ze's side."
Night fell as dark as ink, and the Xuanjia Army, like a black stream, slipped into the city gates. These soldiers, who had fought alongside her through thick and thin, now silently dispersed throughout the streets and alleys surrounding Zhao Ze's residence. As Dongfang Wan'er changed into a dark night-clothes and wrapped her soft sword around her waist, she suddenly remembered her father's dying words: "The true sharpest blade is hidden until the very last moment." The instant she leaped over the Zhao residence's wall, the copper bells on the eaves tinkled softly, even without wind.
Dim candlelight filtered through the study window. Dongfang Wan'er pressed her face against the paper windowpane, peering through the bamboo blinds at the unfolded map on the desk. Every corner of the western granary was meticulously marked with vermilion ink, and even more chillingly, twenty-three red circles marked the locations of explosives, the ink still wet. Holding her breath, she climbed through the window. Her fingertips had barely touched the edge of the map when hurried footsteps suddenly echoed from outside the courtyard.
She quickly hid in the shadows behind the antique shelf, moonlight filtering through the window lattice and cutting cold lines across the floor. Zhao Ze's voice, mixed with heavy breathing, drifted over: "At three-quarters past midnight, make sure to light the fire..." Before he could finish, the leader of the men in black raised a hand to signal for silence. The vermilion mole at the corner of his eye looked like a congealed drop of blood in the candlelight, and Dongfang Wan'er recognized the gilded token at his waist—the totem of the Northern Frontier rebels.
The soft sword slid gracefully through her palm as Dongfang Wan'er held her breath, counting the footsteps of her opponent. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning flashed across the distant horizon, followed by a rumble of thunder that ripped through the clouds. Gazing at Zhao Ze's trembling back, she recalled the gloating looks in the court earlier that day and suddenly felt that this storm had come at just the right time—all the conspiracies would be reduced to dust in this thunder.