Tang Shenyan always prided himself on his years as a professional storyteller, believing he truly embodied the phrase "vivid and expressive." Whenever he reached a climactic moment in a tale, his voice would grow resonant, his diction crystal clear, and he loved to pepper the narrative with a few choice lines of opera verse to offer a sighing lament or a sharp critique.
Unfortunately, the people of the martial world had little patience for his flourishes. He was usually met with an overturned teacup before he could even reach the turning point of a story.
It was only today, faced with a true life-or-death crisis, that he realized the truth: when a person is pushed to the brink and consumed by absolute terror, they cannot make a sound at all. Anyone capable of uttering a complete sentence in such a moment could be considered a man of iron resolve.
With his life hanging by a thread, Tang Shenyan didn't dare look back. Driven by pure survival instinct, he lurched to the side and rolled into a patch of overgrown weeds.
*Clink, clink, clink.* Three crisp sounds rang out as three silver needles whistled past his backside, their lethal force absorbed by a thick, ancient vine nearby. The needles stood upright, their tips barbed and their shafts etched with fine, dense patterns that brought to mind the spindly legs of some venomous swamp mosquito.
It was bad enough to throw hidden weapons, but to coat them in poison? This person wanted him dead.
Turning pale with fright, Tang Shenyan scrambled to lift the stone slab he had been squatting over to use as a shield. He fled toward the inner courtyard on all fours.
Perhaps due to the dim light, the assailant changed tactics after the first miss. With a flick of both hands, a shimmering silver light filled the air like a falling shroud.
The sound alone nearly scared the soul out of Tang Shenyan. Relying on his familiarity with the terrain, he bolted blindly. The ducks in the courtyard, sensing the chaos, began to flap and fly about in a frenzy. Amidst the swirling feathers, Tang Shenyan finally found his voice and shrieked hoarsely.
"He—Help! Assassin!"
Within the stone walls of Tingfeng Hall, screams and the frantic quacking of ducks erupted simultaneously, turning the night into a cacophony of chaos.
Finally, movement stirred in the side room of the inner courtyard.
First came the creak of bed slats, followed by the sound of feet hitting the floor in search of shoes. A moment later, a youth’s voice rang out, short and low, seemingly from within the same room.
"Don't light the lamp!"
But it was too late. A candle flickered to life behind the tattered paper of the window, casting the silhouette of a woman upon it.
The assassin, having failed to catch Tang Shenyan, paused. Eyes narrowed behind a black mask. With a twist of the wrist, a handful of silver needles was unleashed. The silver light instantly pierced the window paper, leaving behind a row of tiny, precise holes.
A sharp cry echoed from inside, followed by the heavy thud of something hitting the floor. The newly lit candle was extinguished.
The window of the side room fell back into darkness. Not far away, Tang Shenyan had shouted himself breathless. He collided head-on with the arriving Qin Sanyou and Du Laogou, dropping his stone slab and nearly crushing his own toes.
A faint wisp of black smoke began to rise from the direction of the accounting room; it seemed the assassin had accidentally knocked over an oil lamp. Tang Shenyan didn't have time to explain the situation before limping off to put out the fire.
The assassin’s cold eyes narrowed further, as if weighing the situation.
Behind the perforated window, all was pitch black and deathly silent, as if the person who had screamed had already drawn their last breath. However, years of experience in the martial world made the assassin hesitate.
Staring at the door, the assassin sensed an invisible presence lurking behind it. Ten fingers curled slightly, revealing six silver needles tucked between them.
As if to confirm that suspicion, the closed door was suddenly kicked open from the inside with a loud *bang*. The old hinges let out a piercing screech, tearing a hole through the night’s tension.
The assassin gave a cold sneer and flicked both hands in succession.
The movement was lightning-fast, arms blurring into dark shadows. Six slender streaks of silver light flew from treacherous angles toward the figure yet to emerge from the doorway, weaving into an inescapable net. At first glance, the net seemed to be a mere afterimage left by the needles, but upon closer inspection, one could see it was woven from fine threads trailing behind the needles. The threads were as difficult to detect as spider silk, shimmering with a faint blue light—a clear sign that even a touch would bring disaster.
The weapon was not powerful in a brute sense, but it was incredibly sinister, designed to be lethal in the dark.
But such was the martial world. The strong did not always meet a peaceful end, but the shameless were certain to survive until the final moment.
Knowing they held the upper hand, the assassin’s movements became fluid and confident, clearly trusting in their own "shameless" methods.
That confidence shattered in the next heartbeat.
A tattered blanket, propelled by a surge of powerful internal force, flew out from the broken doorway. The six silver needles were light and agile but lacked raw power. Upon meeting this strange interception, they were instantly sucked into an invisible vortex. The needles and their trailing threads spun wildly in the air before fluttering to the ground like fallen leaves in an autumn wind.
The person behind the door clearly had extensive experience dealing with hidden weapons. They hadn't used a blade to counter the move directly; instead, they had used a simple cloth to neutralize the killing intent, redirecting the force with effortless grace—a move that carried a silent, sharp mockery.
The assassin clenched their fists. They had considered their "Threading the Needle" technique to be perfected; how could it be broken from a distance by a mere rag? This could only mean one thing: the opponent was not only shameless but also a master.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The assassin made a split-second judgment, threw a final handful of needles to cover their retreat, and turned to bolt toward the courtyard wall.
A whistling sound cut through the air, instantly striking down the silver light. After several crisp *clinks*, the needles fell, littering the muddy ground—where a few radish sprouts had just begun to peek through—with glittering metal.
Hearing the noise, the fleeing assassin couldn't help but glance back.
From the wide-open door of the side room, a long, narrow shadow emerged from the ink-like darkness.
It was a strange blade. Even under the moonlight, it didn't reflect a single ray of light, forming a stark contrast with the glittering silver needles.
Luck was poor tonight; they had run into a bladesman.
For those who specialized in hidden weapons, if a surprise attack failed, they had to seek another opportunity. A head-on confrontation was always a losing proposition. Especially in a situation like this...
The assassin quickened their pace, ears straining for any sound behind them. With a sudden pivot, they dove toward the corner where the latrine stood, their figure vanishing into the waist-high wormwood.
A few paces away, the youth with the blade followed like a specter, an inescapable shadow closing the distance between them...
Suddenly, the wooden door of the latrine was pushed open, and a foul stench wafted out.
Situ Jinbao, looking pale and sickly, stepped out while tying his waistband. Before he could process what was happening, his vision went dark.
A black shadow leaped into the air, using Jinbao’s face as a stepping stone to vault over the perimeter wall. The figure was as light and agile as a warbler.
Jinbao let out a startled yelp and fell back on his rear, completely blocking the path. Li Qiao didn't stop, looking as though he would simply step over the useless man, when a woman’s voice cried out urgently from behind.
"Don't chase him!"
The youth’s figure came to a dead halt. In that single moment of hesitation, the assassin’s silhouette vanished among the roof tiles.
Qin Jiuye stumbled out of the room, one foot bare and the other dragging a shoe, an outer robe thrown haphazardly over her shoulders. She rushed to the youth’s side.
"Don't chase him! Do you want to die?!"
Li Qiao turned around. The killing intent slowly faded from his eyes, replaced by a touch of confusion.
Why would chasing the assassin mean he wanted to die? He didn't understand the logic. But seeing her pale, terror-stricken face, he eventually lowered the tip of his blade and said nothing.
A moment later, Qin Sanyou arrived and pulled him aside, grabbing Qin Jiuye by the shoulders and turning her around to inspect her from every angle.
"Are you hurt?"
Qin Jiuye patted herself down and shook her head quickly.
"No, no."
Qin Sanyou’s beard trembled. He refused to let go, gripping her shoulders as he asked again.
"Are you sure? I saw that person throw things into the room. Are you really not hurt? Look closer..."
Qin Jiuye didn't speak. Her eyes involuntarily drifted toward the youth standing nearby with his head lowered.
She wasn't hurt because the moment those silver needles pierced the window, the youth—who had somehow been hiding in her room—had tackled her and shielded her with his body.
It had happened too fast, but she still remembered the sheer speed of his movement, the heavy, powerful thrum of his heartbeat against her, and the raw strength of his muscles as he sprang into action...
Qin Jiuye subconsciously smoothed her wrinkled clothes.
"Li Qiao was there, wasn't he? Nothing was going to happen."
As soon as she said this, Jinbao, who was rubbing his sore head, caught onto the key detail.
"What was he doing in your room?"
Qin Jiuye stiffened visibly, then slowly looked toward the youth. Realizing they had been fighting earlier, she forced herself to look away.
Unexpectedly, the youth paused and took the initiative to speak.
"I upset my sister earlier and wanted to find her to apologize. I didn't expect to run into this."
An apology? What kind of apology required going into someone's room in the middle of the night? And what a coincidence that an assassin appeared just as he was apologizing.
The group cast skeptical glances at Qin Jiuye. She had to work very hard to keep her expression neutral as she summarized nonchalantly.
"Yes, quite a coincidence. I only learned today that his martial arts are a bit more useful than I imagined."
Tang Shenyan walked over, carrying a bucket of water. Wiping the soot from his face, he stepped forward, his gaze toward Li Qiao filled with an unreadable scrutiny.
"More than just 'a bit' useful. In my opinion, it's quite impressive."
Qin Jiuye looked at Tang Shenyan.
"How so?"
Tang Shenyan faltered. He was a master of the tongue but a novice in actual combat; he couldn't handle her direct questioning and immediately lost his nerve.
"Well... maybe not *that* impressive."
Qin Jiuye gave a soft huff, assuming his habit of speaking before thinking had flared up again. She didn't press him. Looking up, she saw that Li Qiao didn't seem to care about their discussion at all; he had turned to examine the stone slab Tang Shenyan had brought out.
The silver needles, about two or three inches long and as thin as hair, were embedded firmly in the stone. This spoke volumes about the skill and experience of the one who threw them. Li Qiao used the hem of his robe to pull one out. The hole left in the stone was barely visible, and after a moment, it seemed as though it might disappear entirely.
"The Flying Needle Tether, coming and going without a trace," Tang Shenyan said, having leaned in to stare at the needle. "It looks like the assassin used Ciyi Needles. That was the signature technique of Jiang Ci, a master from the Flower-Clasping Sect. While not exactly legendary weapons, they were once considered the foremost hidden weapons that gave many heroes of the martial world a headache."
Qin Jiuye scratched her head, recalling old rumors she’d heard during her days as a "corpse-bearer."
"But I heard Jiang Ci died of a serious illness years ago, and the Flower-Clasping Sect declined because of it. Where did these needles come from? It can't be that Jiang Ci faked her death and came to our little temple in the middle of the night to play ghost, right?"
The corner of Li Qiao’s mouth quirked up, his expression somewhat strange.
"People eventually die, but weapons do not. Just because they haven't appeared in the martial world doesn't mean they've vanished. Perhaps they simply cannot be shown in the light."
Tang Shenyan listened intently and nodded.
"Young Master Li is right. Even if the person is dead, the weapons and techniques can fall into the hands of others. Besides, if you look closely, these aren't the original Ciyi Needles. Before Jiang Ci entered the martial world, she was a famous 'Merciful Mother' in the Yongshi region. Though she never married, she raised six orphans to adulthood by herself. Legend says the first Ciyi Needle was modified from an embroidery needle, intended to strike an enemy's acupoints through 'threading the needle.' They were never poisoned. But the one in our hands..."
Qin Jiuye didn't say anything. She stepped forward, carefully took the needle from Li Qiao, and sniffed it.
"It's not just poison; it's a lethal toxin. But I must say, coating the needles in poison makes killing much more efficient."
As she spoke, she strained her ears to listen to the surroundings. However, it was silent outside the walls.
Tingfeng Hall had been turned upside down, yet the soldiers who usually jumped in just because someone lit some mugwort hadn't made a sound. No one had come to check. It was likely they had already met a grim end. They might have had decent martial arts, but they never expected such danger while guarding a dilapidated tea hall. Falling in a split second was a chilling thought.
Qin Jiuye fell silent. Tang Shenyan brushed his sleeves, the fear fading from his face as his talkative nature took over again.
"This is the fundamental difference between a true master and the likes of assassins and killers. In this world, killing a person doesn't always earn you dignity. Especially not with these methods..."
As Tang Shenyan rambled on, the grim-faced Qin Sanyou finally lost his patience and barked, "Isn't the most important thing right now to report this to the authorities so they can catch the culprit? You're all standing here researching some damn needles like you're some great heroes of justice!"
Qin Sanyou’s loud voice startled Du Laogou, who had been dozing off. Du Laogou irritably pushed back his messy hair and said with bleary eyes, "The person is long gone. What good will reporting it do? Will they even believe us? And even if they do, who are they going to arrest?"
Who else? It was likely Su Lin’s people.
Qin Jiuye grumbled internally but didn't say it aloud. The misfortune of her trying to find Qiu Ling for her own selfish reasons and nearly being "silenced" by Su Lin was something only Li Qiao knew.
After a moment’s thought, she looked at Tang Shenyan.
"How did you discover the assassin?"
Tang Shenyan took a deep breath and recounted the whole story: his stomachache, his business in the weeds, and how he stumbled upon the intruder.
Qin Jiuye listened intently, then suddenly asked, "You said when you found him, he was at the accounting room?"
Tang Shenyan nodded.
"To be precise, he was hiding under the eaves outside the accounting room."
Qin Jiuye went quiet.
If it were truly a killer sent by Su Lin to silence them, why wouldn't they go straight to the inner courtyard where people were? Why go to the accounting room, which clearly had no residents?
Li Qiao noticed her silence. As if reading her mind, he spoke in a low voice.
"Perhaps silencing us was only part of it. They might have been looking for something. They didn't kill immediately because they wanted to leave someone alive for questioning."
Qin Jiuye was still puzzled, her fingers unconsciously twirling the ends of her hair.
"But what were they looking for? Kang Renshou’s golden gourd?"
If it were about the golden gourd, wouldn't tonight’s event be a misunderstanding? After all, neither she nor Li Qiao had the gourd...
Wait. Just because they didn't get it didn't mean no one else did. If that person was someone they were associated with, the Su family would naturally suspect Tingfeng Hall.
"It’s Xu Qiuchi," Qin Jiuye said, her voice laced with a hint of gritted teeth. "At the birthday banquet, Li Qiao and I were with Xu Qiuchi the whole time. We were clearly in the same boat. Afterward, that playboy dodged the subject and refused to leave, then turned around and played dead, not showing his face all day. He probably got the item and decided he didn't care if we lived or died."
Coincidentally, Su Lin had seen her at the Governor’s Estate during the day, so his suspicion naturally turned toward Tingfeng Hall. That was why he sent someone to test them tonight.
Qin Jiuye didn't voice this last deduction.
But what she had said was scary enough. The others turned pale, and Jinbao, who was already weak, sat down hard on the ground.
"This... what do we do? Does this mean the Second Young Master is burning the bridge after crossing it?"
Qin Jiuye ignored Jinbao’s useless lament, her mind racing.
Her deduction wasn't without merit, but something still felt off.
"Even if they were looking for the golden gourd, why the accounting room?"
Almost simultaneously, her doubt was echoed word-for-word by the youth.
Qin Jiuye paused. She was about to follow up when she saw Old Tang’s silent face and suddenly understood.
"If it were an important piece of evidence like the golden gourd, we would carry it on us. We wouldn't leave it in a room full of junk where no one stays," Qin Jiuye said, staring at Tang Shenyan and getting straight to the point. "You said before that the accounting room also stores the information you haven't sold yet. Is the information on 'Yan Heitou' kept there as well?"
Tang Shenyan looked embarrassed, seemingly caught off guard by having his secrets exposed in public. After a long pause, he muttered, "Even if it is, what are you trying to say?"
Qin Jiuye looked away, knowing her guess was likely correct.
"Do you remember? Xu Qiuchi once said that the reason Qiu Ling suspected you were involved in these cases was because Kang Renshou visited Tingfeng Hall half a month before he died. Kang Renshou took information on 'Yan Heitou.' When Xu Qiuchi found out, his first reaction was to come find trouble with you. It stands to reason that if any other interested party found out, they would think the same."
And the mastermind behind everything would think so even more. For someone doing evil deeds, nothing was more important than pulling up the roots and destroying the evidence.
Tang Shenyan’s expression turned grim. No matter how slow he was, he could now hear the unspoken implications in Qin Jiuye’s words.
The fire in the accounting room had been extinguished, but tonight’s chaos was only the beginning.
After a moment, Tang Shenyan asked with difficulty, "So, is this assassin one of Su Lin’s people or not?"
"It’s hard to say. If it were Su Lin’s intention, isn't it a bit late to strike now? But then again, I ran into him at the Governor’s place today, and this happens tonight. It would be strange if there were no connection at all."
Qin Jiuye’s face was no better than Tang Shenyan’s. They were all under the same roof; Tang Shenyan’s worries were her own.
"But one thing is certain. The information Kang Renshou traded at Tingfeng Hall is very important to them. Even more important than that golden gourd that could serve as evidence of murder."
***
**Glossary**
