[Capital · West City · Black Market · 9-11 PM]
The west city after dark was a different world entirely.
During the day, it bustled with merchants and laborers, their carts and wagons clogging the narrow streets. But when night fell, the respectable folk retreated behind locked doors, and the shadows came alive with a different sort of commerce.
Yin Wuwang secured the ghost mask over his face and moved across the rooftops like a shadow, landing soundlessly in a dark alley of the west city. The tiles beneath his feet were slick with evening dew, but his footing remained sure—three thousand years of cultivation had made such movements as natural as breathing.
The letter from Xie Qingyan had arrived at dusk: "There's a transaction at the west city black market tonight. I'm going to observe personally."
This man really can't sit still. Yin Wuwang's lips curved slightly beneath his mask. Then again, neither can I. Fuguang always did have a talent for finding trouble—or perhaps trouble simply found him.
Over the past few days, the Prime Minister had been aggressively purchasing old currency—something was clearly afoot. Yin Wuwang had dispatched his men to investigate openly and covertly, finally tracing the source to the black market, where someone was selling massive quantities of old coins. The seller? An official from the Ministry of Revenue. Fuguang had evidently uncovered the same lead.
Ding!
Little Deer Assistant 9527's voice chimed in his mind: "Suggestion: Go alone. Display masculine bravery. No backup needed. Handle it yourself."
Yin Wuwang snorted internally. Go alone? Does this broken system think this sovereign is an idiot?
He ignored the suggestion and continued deeper into the alley.
The heart of the black market was an abandoned restaurant called "The Drunken Immortal." Rumor had it that it once belonged to some prince of the previous dynasty. When the prince was convicted of treason, the restaurant fell into disuse. Now it served as a hub for black market dealings—all manner of shady transactions took place within its walls. Weapons, forged documents, stolen goods, information—anything could be bought here, if you knew whom to ask.
The building itself was a masterwork of decay. Once-elegant latticework hung crooked from the eaves, and the painted murals on the outer walls had faded to ghosts of their former glory. But appearances could deceive—Yin Wuwang's sharp eyes noted the fresh oil on the door hinges and the suspiciously new tiles on the roof. Someone was maintaining this place, keeping it just shabby enough to avoid attention.
Clever. He noted. In the demon realm, we had similar dens—places that looked abandoned but hummed with activity after dark. The principles of vice are universal, it seems.
Several guards patrolled the perimeter in irregular patterns. Yin Wuwang counted eight of them, noted their rotation timing, identified the gaps in their coverage. Old habits. Three thousand years of warfare had made such assessments automatic.
Two minutes between the eastern patrol and the southern one. That's the window.
Yin Wuwang crept to the back entrance and was about to scale the wall when he spotted a tall, slender figure leaning against it in the shadows. Moonlight traced the cold lines of that silhouette.
Fast.
Xie Qingyan emerged from the darkness, dressed in fitted black attire, hair tied back, a half-mask covering his face. He looked nothing like the Regent of the imperial court—less imposing, more lethal. The cold arrogance was still there, but stripped of its courtly trappings, it had transformed into something sharper. Something dangerous.
Even dressed like an assassin, he's still the most elegant person in any room. Yin Wuwang thought, then immediately kicked himself. Focus, you fool.
Yin Wuwang crossed his arms and lowered his voice: "The Regent moves quickly. This Duke only just arrived."
"As does the Duke." Xie Qingyan glanced at him coolly.
Their eyes met. No words were needed.
Over two hundred years of facing each other across the battlefields of the Celestial-Demonic War had forged an understanding that transcended language. Yin Wuwang knew exactly how Fuguang moved, how he thought, where he would strike. And Fuguang—whether he admitted it or not—knew him just as well.
Left side, three guards. Right side, two. Main hall, approximately ten. Yin Wuwang calculated. Fuguang will take the quieter approach. Which means I get to make some noise.
He vaulted over the left wall while Xie Qingyan circled around the right, falling naturally into a pincer formation.
[The Drunken Immortal · Inner Hall]
The inner hall was dimly lit, with several black-clad men gathered around a table, speaking in hushed tones.
The leader was a portly middle-aged man in brocade robes, an ostentatiously large jade thumb ring adorning his hand—obviously a wealthy merchant at first glance. But Yin Wuwang recognized him. This was a junior official from the Ministry of Revenue, surnamed Wang, one of Minister Liu's trusted subordinates.
"Official Wang, I went to considerable trouble to acquire this batch of old currency," rasped one of the black-clad men. "The price... we'll need to negotiate."
Official Wang stroked his belly, his fleshy face rippling with laughter: "Rest assured, rest assured. When has this official ever shortchanged you? As long as the goods are quality, silver won't be a problem."
"Excellent." The black-clad man waved his hand. His underlings carried in three large chests, opening them to reveal coins packed to the brim—all old currency.
Official Wang's eyes lit up. He hurried forward to inspect.
At that moment, a commotion erupted outside the door.
"Who's there!" The black-clad man sprang to his feet, hand flying to the saber at his waist.
BANG!
The door crashed open. A dark figure swept into the room like a ghost, blade unsheathed, cold steel flashing—and the two black-clad men nearest the entrance collapsed to the floor.
"Assassin!" Official Wang shrieked, his rotund body rolling under the table for cover.
Yin Wuwang let out a cold laugh, his blade sweeping in an arc to repel the attackers rushing toward him. He may have lost his demonic energy, but three thousand years of combat technique were etched into his bones. Dealing with these mortal lackeys was child's play.
His saber sang through the air, each strike precise and economical. No wasted motion. No unnecessary flourishes. The black-clad men charged at him in waves, and he cut them down like wheat before a scythe.
Pathetic. He thought. In the cultivation world, these ants wouldn't survive a single exchange.
At the same moment, the back door burst open. Xie Qingyan glided into the room like a phantom. He carried no weapon, but his movements were blindingly fast—in the space of three breaths, he'd struck the pressure points of several black-clad men, leaving them frozen in place.
One attacker lunged at Xie Qingyan with a concealed dagger. Without even turning his head, Xie Qingyan sidestepped, caught the man's wrist, twisted, and sent him crashing into two of his companions. All three went down in a heap.
The inner hall erupted into chaos. Shouts and the clash of weapons filled the air.
Yin Wuwang fended off enemies while stealing glances at Xie Qingyan. That man moved with fluid grace, every strike lethal yet precisely restrained—clearly intending to leave survivors.
That technique... "Parting Flowers, Brushing Willows"... Yin Wuwang's eyes flickered.
Long ago, Fuguang had used that very move to shatter his protective demonic barrier, nearly making him cough blood. Now, employed against these mortal dregs, it was like using a divine sword to butcher chickens.
But...
He watched Xie Qingyan's lethal silhouette, and an inexplicable feeling stirred in his chest.
This level of skill—in all the world, only I could match him.
Moments later, every black-clad man in the hall lay subdued, groaning on the floor.
Yin Wuwang flicked the blood from his blade with a casual motion. Not a single drop had touched his clothes. Disappointing. He thought. Not even a challenge. These mortals fight like they've never seen real combat.
He glanced at Xie Qingyan, who was straightening his sleeves with the same unhurried elegance he brought to everything. Not a hair out of place. Not even breathing hard.
Of course not. Yin Wuwang's lips twitched. The Sword Sovereign once held off the combined assault of seven demon generals for three days and three nights. A dozen mortal thugs are barely a warm-up.
Official Wang cowered beneath the table, trembling violently, cold sweat streaming down his fleshy face. His jade thumb ring clinked against the table leg as he shook.
Yin Wuwang seized him by the collar and dragged him out, then tore off his own mask to reveal a coldly handsome face: "Official Wang. It's been a while."
The moment Official Wang recognized the Duke of Zhenguo, his soul nearly fled his body. His legs turned to jelly, and only Yin Wuwang's grip on his collar kept him upright.
"D-Duke Yin! This lowly official was just—"
"Just what?" Xie Qingyan's voice came from behind, cold as if drifting up from the Nine Hells. He removed his own mask, revealing features as frigid as winter frost. "Just colluding with black market merchants, trafficking old currency, lining your own pockets?"
Official Wang whipped around. Seeing the Regent, his legs gave out completely and he collapsed to the ground, kowtowing desperately: "R-Regent, mercy! This lowly official was only following orders! Minister Liu sent me! It wasn't my idea!"
"Minister Liu?" Xie Qingyan's gaze darkened. "Who else?"
"Th-there's also..." Official Wang was so terrified he could barely speak, his teeth chattering. "There's also Prime Minister Zhou... The Prime Minister ordered Minister Liu to purchase old currency, said it would be useful later... for some big plan..."
Xie Qingyan and Yin Wuwang exchanged glances.
As expected. The Prime Minister's reach had already extended into the Ministry of Revenue, using government resources for his personal gain. The corruption ran even deeper than they'd suspected. The fish in this net were going to be fatter than they'd anticipated.
"Take them all away," Xie Qingyan said coldly. "And those three chests of old currency—seal them as evidence. No one touches them without my authorization."
Yin Wuwang nodded and summoned his guards, who had been lying in wait outside, to escort Official Wang and the others into custody.
Once the hall was cleared, only the two of them remained.
Xie Qingyan stood with his hands behind his back before the window, gazing at the waning moon in the night sky, silent for a long moment.
Yin Wuwang moved to his side and lowered his voice: "What's the next move?"
"We do nothing for now." Xie Qingyan's tone was mild. "Official Wang is a small fish. Behind him are Minister Liu and the Prime Minister. This evidence isn't enough—it proves corruption, but not the full extent of their conspiracy. To catch them all in one sweep, we need to wait for them to reveal a bigger opening."
He turned slightly, his profile caught in the moonlight. "Patience is the hunter's greatest weapon."
Yin Wuwang nodded: "Fu—Xie Lan, rest assured. This sovereign will keep watching."
He'd nearly slipped again, but caught himself in time. Calling Fuguang by his true name in this world would raise too many questions—questions neither of them could afford to answer.
Xie Qingyan glanced at him, seemingly unconcerned. If he'd noticed the near-slip, he gave no indication.
"Tonight's coordination was adequate." Xie Qingyan suddenly spoke, his tone still cool—yet the words made Yin Wuwang's heart skip.
Adequate? That was practically a glowing endorsement coming from Fuguang.
"Naturally." Yin Wuwang lifted his chin, forcing an air of arrogance to hide his sudden elation. "When has this sovereign ever missed?"
Xie Qingyan didn't respond. He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps silent on the dusty floorboards.
At the threshold, his steps paused briefly. He turned his head: "Being spotted wandering after curfew would suit the Duke's 'simple-minded' persona a little too well."
With that, he vanished into the night.
Yin Wuwang stood frozen, watching the direction he'd disappeared, his heartbeat quickening.
Was Fuguang... warning me to be careful?
He replayed the words in his mind. "Simple-minded persona." An insult wrapped around a concern. Fuguang's way of saying "don't get caught" without actually saying it. After all this time, that man still couldn't express concern directly. Always hiding behind barbs and sarcasm.
But I know you, Fuguang. A warmth spread through his chest. I've always known you.
He shook his head, banishing the thought. Don't overthink it. Fuguang was just making conversation. That's all it was. Just... his usual sharpness.
But the smile tugging at his lips refused to fade. No matter how he tried to suppress it, the warmth spreading through his chest refused to be contained.
All this time. He thought. I waited so long just to hear words like that.
The night breeze whispered past, carrying the scent of osmanthus from distant gardens. The moon hung hazy in the sky, half-hidden behind wisps of cloud.
Yin Wuwang touched the list he'd retrieved from Official Wang's person, now tucked inside his sleeve. The names on it were more numerous than he'd imagined—not just Ministry of Revenue officials, but names from other departments as well. The Prime Minister's web of corruption ran deeper than anyone had suspected.
Fuguang, this net of yours... is going to haul in quite a few big fish.
He allowed himself one last glance in the direction Xie Qingyan had vanished, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Tomorrow would bring new battles. But tonight—tonight had been a good night.
[End of Chapter 8]
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The evidence mounts. The Prime Minister grows bolder. And somewhere in the shadows, Prince Huai watches everything unfold—still waiting, still calculating.
Chapter 9: The Art of Letting Your Enemy Dig Their Own Grave