Late at night, the candlelight in the inn flickered. Crimson Nine gazed at her bracer; the red light representing Yellow Seven was moving north with steady, unwavering determination.
"She's heading straight toward us," Crimson Nine said to Blue Five, a rare flicker of excitement in her cold eyes.
"That's great!" Blue Five leaned in, unable to hide her curiosity. "I really want to see what Yellow Seven looks like now. I bet she's even more of a 'Big Boss' than before."
Crimson Nine stowed the bracer and issued a calm order: "We depart at dawn. A-Zhan's rash can't be exposed to the wind. Tomorrow, he stays inside the carriage to rest. You'll be outside with me, driving."
Just as she finished, a steady knock came from the door.
Xiao Zhan entered. Though the red rash on his face had faded slightly, it still looked startling under the lamplight. He held an opened secret letter, his expression grim.
"Ning'er, my contacts in Southern Tang just sent word. A few days ago, a catastrophic fire broke out at the Prince Qi Manor," Xiao Zhan lowered his voice, a hint of regret in his tone. "The entire manor was reduced to ash and scorched earth."
"What does a fire at the Prince Qi Manor have to do with the person we're looking for?" Blue Five scratched her head, puzzled.
Xiao Zhan glanced at Crimson Nine and said slowly, "I suspect... the old friend you seek was hidden inside that manor. This Princess Qi is no ordinary woman."
As Xiao Zhan spoke, the image of a brilliant, formidable woman unfolded before them.
"A year ago, the Prince and Princess Consort of Qi died unexpectedly, leaving only two siblings to hold the line. In that desperate situation, the Princess managed to seize control of seventy percent of Southern Tang's tea and silk trade. Her 'Linglong Pavilion' became the nation's top merchant house. Then, a month ago, the Southern Tang Emperor, coveting her immense wealth, decreed that she enter the palace as his consort."
Xiao Zhan paused, a glint of admiration in his eyes. "The Linglong Pavilion immediately announced it was closing for 'renovations.' Everyone assumed she was preparing to enter the palace. No one expected that on the eve of her departure, the manor would go up in flames, leaving everyone's fate unknown."
Crimson Nine and Blue Five shared a look; the truth was now clear as day.
This decisive business strategy, this ruthless control of the situation—who else could it be but Yellow Seven, the logistics and finance expert of their modern squad?
"Only she would have the guts to build an empire from scratch in a year and then spit in the Emperor's eye," Crimson Nine scoffed, though her eyes were filled with pride. "That fire wasn't an accident. It was her ultimate move—the golden cicada shedding its skin."
"So that's why the signal is moving north!" Blue Five slapped the table in delight. "She's bringing her fortune and her brother to find us!"
Two days later, the merchant ship neared a deserted, desolate pier on the Southern Tang border under the dying sun.
The manor servants had already been dismissed by Uncle Li with their freedom papers. The massive ship now carried only Yellow Seven, her brother Qi Hao, and the brothers Lin Feng and Lin Jin. The river breeze was bleak, rustling the withered reeds along the shore. This was supposed to be the rendezvous point, yet it was so silent that not even a bird cried.
Yellow Seven leaned against the cabin door and stepped onto the deck. Her old ankle injury throbbed, but her hawk-like eyes swept over every shadow on the shore. A very faint scent of blood—one that couldn't escape a top-tier special ops soldier—was drifting through the air with the tide.
"Teacher Lin, something's wrong," Yellow Seven whispered, her right hand silently reaching for the silk pouch of poisoned needles at her waist.
Lin Feng's eyes narrowed. In a flash, he stood like an iron tower in front of Qi Hao. The sharp, battle-hardened aura he had been suppressing exploded outward, instantly transforming the "ordinary" teacher into a commander of thousands. Behind him, the limping Lin Jin's gaze shifted; his fingers tightened around the hilt of his heavy blade.
"Princess, get back!" Lin Feng barked, his tone brooking no argument. "There are ambushers in the reeds. At least fifty."
The silence was shattered instantly.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Countless black-clad assassins rose from the withered reeds like a swarm of locusts. Cold arrows poured down on the deck like a rainstorm, every one aimed at Yellow Seven's heart. The Southern Tang Emperor had clearly seen through her "escape." He no longer wanted a consort; he wanted this "Phoenix" who tried to break her cage to have her wings clipped here forever.
"Protect Hao'er!"
Yellow Seven shouted, ignoring the searing pain in her ankle as she rolled and dodged like a lithe cat. Her blade flashed like a streak of silver in the sunset, precisely deflecting the incoming arrows.
Simultaneously, Lin Feng's sword left its sheath. His sword energy was like a rainbow piercing the sun, carving a path of survival through the rain of arrows. He let out a cold laugh, looking at the approaching death squad with contempt: "If you want them, you'll have to see if Southern Tang's blades are fast enough!"
The secret pier was instantly transformed into a bloody Shura field. Looking at the closing circle of torches in the distance, Yellow Seven calmly calculated their escape route—the road to reunion, it seemed, was destined to be paved in blood.
On the deck, the clashing of steel was deafening.
Lin Feng moved like lightning. The moment his sword was drawn, his scholarly air and feigned mediocrity vanished, replaced by a chilling, murderous intent. Standing alone on the gangplank against the surging tide of assassins, he allowed not a single soul to step onto the deck.
"You seek death!" he roared. His sword carved a wide arc, the cold light followed by a spray of blood as he sliced through the three closest assassins. He needed no flowery moves; every strike was a precise execution—throat, heart, lungs. This was a killing art forged in the heart of war.
The Southern Tang assassins realized with horror that this man was no mere bodyguard, but a god of death returned from the underworld.
Behind him, despite his mangled left leg and sluggish movements, Lin Jin remained pinned like an old pine tree in front of Yellow Seven and Qi Hao.
"Young Master, Miss, get back!" Lin Jin growled, the veins in his forehead bulging. Whenever an assassin managed to slip past Lin Feng, Lin Jin would throw himself forward regardless of his injury. Since his left leg had no strength, he dropped to one knee, using the torque of his waist to swing his heavy blade in a massive sweep.
Clang! Sparks flew as he blocked a heavy overhead strike aimed at Qi Hao. Though the impact numbed his hand and drew blood, he didn't even flinch. For him, his life had been given to General Chu on the battlefield long ago; protecting the ones his Young General cherished was his only reason for living.
Yellow Seven held Qi Hao tightly, her fingers poised with poisoned needles, ready to strike any gap. She watched the blood-soaked back of the man fighting in front of her, her heart racing.
This is absolutely no ordinary teacher.
That arrogance that treated an army as nothing, that composure while dancing on the edge of a blade... Lin Feng's true identity was far deeper than she had imagined.
"Sister, I'm not afraid," Qi Hao whispered. Though pale, his hands gripped her robes tightly. Watching Lin Feng and Lin Jin fight with their lives on the line, a new light ignited in his eyes.
Seeing they couldn't take the ship, the assassins began frantically throwing jars of fire-oil. Lin Feng flicked his sword, shattering the jars in mid-air. Flames erupted across the river, illuminating his blood-spattered face. He stood his ground, a cold smile on his lips—an insurmountable wall of steel.
"As long as I have a single breath left, no one touches a hair on their heads!"
As the sun sank below the horizon, the battle at the pier reached a fever pitch. This desperate, life-risking protection painted the path of their escape in a tragic, heroic shade of crimson.