Chapter 5 : Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Broken Porcelain

Only a quarter of an hour.

So brief.

I, Chen Ji, wasted no time. I quickly scanned the study, my gaze lingering on scattered scrolls and rice paper, swiftly flipping through the books on the shelf.

“The rice paper is all blank, and the books are just common ones you’d find anywhere—no hidden notes,” Jiaotu pointed out.

I turned and headed to the courtyard.

It was a two-section siheyuan. I carefully examined every detail of the courtyard, searching for any clue. I knew I wasn’t entirely confident I’d find anything; I’d only spoken up because, facing a group of ruthless killers, not saying something would’ve meant immediate death.

As time ticked by, Yunyang grew impatient: “Too slow, too slow. Let’s add a twist to the game. See that paulownia tree in the courtyard? For every leaf that falls while you’re searching, I’ll stick a needle in you.”

As he spoke, a leaf detached from a branch.

Yunyang caught the withered yellow leaf mid-air and sighed: “Your luck’s really bad, huh.”

With that, he approached me and stabbed a needle into the webbing of my hand.

My face flushed instantly, and I doubled over from the searing pain. In the chilly autumn, beads of sweat dripped from my forehead.

I cursed Yunyang’s sadism in my mind, but it did nothing to ease the pain.

Yunyang said leisurely: “Any time wasted because of pain counts toward your quarter of an hour.”

I steadied myself against the paulownia tree, slowly straightening up, and shuffled step by step into the kitchen. I had to find a clue before the next leaf fell!

Inside the kitchen, there was only a brick stove and a pile of jars filled with spices.

The room was clean and tidy, with nothing extraneous.

After checking all the jars, I stepped out of the kitchen but froze in place.

I muttered to myself: “Something’s off. I feel like I missed a detail.”

Yunyang leaned against the kitchen doorframe, yawning and toying with the silver needle between his fingers: “You’re almost out of time. Looks like I wasted a quarter of an hour.”

I stood rooted, racking my brain to figure out what I’d overlooked.

As I pondered, another leaf fell from the paulownia tree, and Yunyang stabbed a needle behind my ear.

In an instant, I crumpled to the ground, curled up like a shrimp, nearly passing out from the pain.

But this time, without Yunyang’s prompting, I straightened up, returned to the kitchen, and pulled out two jars containing fine white crystalline powder.

Yunyang glanced curiously: “Two jars of salt. What’s the issue?”

“Why would a kitchen have two jars of salt?” I said, pinching a bit of the white powder from one jar and rubbing it between my fingers. “This isn’t salt.”

“Not salt?” Yunyang’s curiosity piqued. He and Jiaotu excelled at killing, covering tracks, and taking credit, but they were weak at finding subtle clues.

I offered my fingers to Yunyang: “Taste it.”

Yunyang scoffed: “You’re cautious, huh. What if it’s poison? I’m not tasting it.”

Jiaotu laughed out loud.

If not for the corpses littering the floor, this venomous girl’s laugh might’ve been quite charming.

Yunyang’s face darkened: “Hurry up and taste it.”

I put a pinch of the white powder in my mouth: “Extremely bitter, no distinct flavor.”

I fell into thought.

What could this be?

I rapidly searched my memories, trying to find answers from the books I’d read.

Wait—this is alum!

Some military intelligence books I’d read mentioned that alum was a key material in espionage for writing secret messages.

Words written with alum water would vanish when dry. This espionage technique originated in the thirteenth century and became widely used by spies during the World Wars.

I thought for a long time, certain I’d found the answer: Jing Dynasty spies used alum to write secret messages. Zhou Chengyi hid it with the salt to throw off suspicion. Keeping it so close and convenient suggested frequent secret correspondence. So… there must be secret messages in Zhou Chengyi’s house.

I immediately grabbed a vinegar jar from the kitchen and returned to the study, spreading out the snow-white rice paper on the desk. I tore a strip of cloth from my clothes, dipped it in vinegar, and gently wiped each sheet.

After wiping five or six sheets, I found nothing, and time kept slipping away. In the chilly autumn, sweat beaded on my forehead.

I glanced at Zhou Chengyi, who looked calm, not panicked.

Had I guessed wrong?

No, I was absolutely right!

Just then, a gust of cold wind blew, and the paulownia tree’s withered leaves fell like rain. Yunyang smiled: “Your luck’s not great…”

“Found it!”

“Hm?” Yunyang’s attention snapped to me.

On the twelfth sheet of rice paper, where the pale yellow vinegar had wiped, a line of red text appeared: “Li’s Sweet Water Shop, Lijing Lane, East City. In case of danger, go there immediately.”

Yunyang’s eyes gleamed at the sight: “This means the Jing Dynasty spies set up a new base. There might even be a big shot from their Military Intelligence Division in Luocheng!”

He turned to Jiaotu: “Big credit!”

Jiaotu thought for a moment: “Kill this kid, and the credit’s ours.”

“No way, I promised not to kill him. Besides, he’s not with our Secret Spy Division, so the credit will still go to us.”

“Fine…”

Zhou Chengyi, the Jing Dynasty spy, looked ashen.

No longer pretending, he drew a hidden soft sword from his belt and lunged at me, intent on killing to silence me.

In a flash, the Jing Dynasty spy shed his earlier pathetic demeanor, charging with the ferocity of a beast.

I leapt back, while Jiaotu suddenly darted forward like a phantom, moving like a fluttering butterfly.

She blocked Zhou Chengyi’s path. As their figures crossed, the silver needle between her fingers grazed his waist like a dragonfly skimming water.

With a thud, Zhou Chengyi collapsed, kicking up dust, drained of strength.

At that moment, a cold current surged from Zhou Chengyi’s body. In the dark night, it looked like a flowing gray-white dragon, burrowing into my body.

It was a sensation I’d never felt in my seventeen years, like glacial water from a snowy mountain, clear and pure, coursing through my blood.

Where did this cold current come from? Why? I didn’t know.

Everything I’d seen tonight—things that belonged in movies—showed this world was entirely different from the one I knew!

I observed Jiaotu and Yunyang, noticing they seemed oblivious to what had just happened. Could only I see it?

Yunyang, seeing Zhou Chengyi incapacitated, turned to me with interest: “How does a clinic apprentice know these things?”

Without hesitation, I explained: “Alum can be used in medicine for hemostasis, treating ulcers, and pain relief, so I’m familiar with it.”

“Oh?” Yunyang pinched some alum from the jar and popped it in his mouth: “Perfect, I’ve got an ulcer from being on edge lately.”

Jiaotu stood straight on Zhou Chengyi’s back: “Enough chitchat. Send people to Lijing Lane to take down that Li’s Sweet Water Shop.”

Eight waiting black-clad men immediately mounted horses and galloped toward Lijing Lane.

The crisp sound of hooves on the midnight bluestone road tore through the night’s silence.

I asked: “Can I go now?”

“Uh… probably not,” Yunyang shook his head.

“Going back on your word?”

“Not exactly. I only said you could live, not that I’d let you go,” Yunyang said, brushing dust off his clothes. “I need to take you to the Inner Prison for a proper interrogation.”

“Interrogate what?”

“For instance, why’s a lowly apprentice from Prince Jing’s Medical Clinic here at Zhou Chengyi’s house in the middle of the night? Has Prince Jing already colluded with the northern Jing Dynasty through Zhou Chengyi, plotting treason with their support?” Yunyang spread his hands. “See, I’ve got plenty of questions.”

Jiaotu coaxed: “Zhou Chengyi’s just a minor county magistrate, but if you can implicate Prince Jing, we’ll grant you wealth and glory!”

I sighed inwardly at how complicated my situation had become, beyond imagination.

Where was the Jing Dynasty? Who was Prince Jing?

Did the person I’d become have such complex social ties?

I responded: “I was just delivering medicine and got caught up in this.”

I said this because I’d seen two packets of herbs labeled “Taiping Clinic” in the kitchen, wrapped in yellow paper, unopened, by the clay pot stove.

Yunyang shook his head: “That’s just your side of the story. I only trust answers I get from interrogation.”

I shifted tactics: “You want to catch that big shot from the Jing Dynasty’s Military Intelligence Division?”

“We’ve already sent people.”

“You won’t catch them at the sweet water shop in Lijing Lane. That’s obviously just a place to help Zhou Chengyi escape—not where a big shot would be.”

Yunyang looked thoughtful: “Got other clues?”

I stayed silent.

Yunyang stepped toward me, his middle and index fingers holding the slender silver needle, lightly tapping my shoulder.

Instantly, excruciating pain surged through me. In a few breaths, sweat soaked my clothes. But the pain came and went quickly, vanishing as if it had been an illusion.

Yunyang said casually: “I’ve got plenty more tricks like that. In all my years in the martial world, few can withstand three of my needles.”

Yet I remained silent.

Yunyang stabbed another needle into the back of my hand. My body trembled uncontrollably, but I didn’t make a sound.

He stabbed two more times, and still, I said nothing.

“You can endure that?” Yunyang marveled.

The next second, I flipped the broken porcelain in my palm, trembling as I aimed for my carotid artery!

That piece of porcelain had been hidden in my hand all along.

As it neared my neck, it stopped abruptly—Yunyang had grabbed my wrist: “Threatening with death?”

“Forget it, we’re wasting time, and the big credit might slip away,” Jiaotu said, raising three fingers. “I swear on my mother’s honor: if you give us information to help us succeed, I’ll grant you freedom.”

Yunyang raised three fingers: “I swear on my parents’ honor too—if I lie, may they fall into eternal hell.”

I stayed silent, weighing the sincerity of their oaths.

People in this era were likely superstitious, so oaths carried weight… but no, I still couldn’t trust them.

But if I showed enough ability, proved myself valuable enough, could I gamble for my life?

Finally, panting, I said: “That rice paper must’ve had alum writing on it when it was bought, likely written by that Jing Dynasty big shot you mentioned. So if you want clues now, don’t go to Lijing Lane—find the shop that sold the rice paper. That’s the real channel for critical intelligence.”