The theatrical play at the Joyous Spring Garden had concluded, but the true grand play in the Thang Long Imperial Capital had only just begun.
The very next day, an untraceable rumor blew like a venomous wind into the darkest, most hidden corners of the officialdom. This news was not proclaimed on public edicts, nor was it gossiped about in the bustling squares. It was only whispered, passed from ear to ear in secret tea banquets and behind tightly shut study doors.
It was said that the Vice Minister of Personnel, Vuong Tung, unable to withstand the agonizing tortures of the Six Gates, had agreed to cooperate. He had allegedly confessed the entire roster of those involved in the Gathering Treasures Pavilion's money-laundering network. However, that old fox was incredibly cunning; he laid out a single condition: he would only expose those holding positions lower than his own, exchanging their lives for his clan's path to survival.
A rumor, simultaneously true and false. True in that Vuong Tung had indeed been captured. False in that the old fox had yet to utter a single word.
But on a chessboard where the hearts of men were rife with paranoia, truth and falsehood no longer mattered. What mattered was that it had planted a seed.
A seed of fear and suspicion.
Instantly, all the low-ranking officials—those who had once accepted favors and executed shady dealings for Marquis Vinh An's Estate—were plunged into absolute panic. They resembled rats in a burrow that had suddenly caught the scent of smoke.
Within the manors, fierce arguments erupted. Clandestine meetings were hastily convened.
"What do we do now? If Vuong Tung opens his mouth, we will die without a burial place!"
"Should we band together and plead with the Marquis?"
"Fool! To go to him now is tantamount to confessing our guilt! To protect himself, the very first pawns the Marquis will sacrifice are us!"
"Then what is to be done? Do we simply sit here and await death?"
Trust, inherently fragile when built upon mere benefits, utterly collapsed. They began to suspect one another. Some feared their accomplices would sell them out to claim merit and seek a lighter sentence. Others secretly dispatched envoys to the Six Gates, hoping to be the first to turn informant in exchange for leniency.
The intricate web of connections that Marquis Vinh An had spent decades weaving had, because of a single rumor, begun to rot from the inside out. This was the terrifying power of the "Sowing Discord" stratagem.
At Marquis Vinh An's Estate.
CRACK!
The white jade teacup in Marquis Vinh An's hand was pulverized into fine powder. His normally refined and scholarly visage was now completely drained of blood, leaving behind only a gloomy darkness and a towering fury suppressed to its absolute limit.
"Tao Chinh! Duke Dingguo! You old foxes!" he roared within his study. "To dare use such a despicable stratagem against me!"
Who was he? He was one of the most monstrously powerful figures in the Imperial Court, a grandmaster of schemes. How could he not see that this was a trap, an incredibly venomous execution of "Borrowing a Corpse to Resurrect a Soul"? They were using Vuong Tung's political corpse to make his entire network collapse on its own.
He knew it was a trap. Yet, he possessed no method to break it.
He could not step forward openly to clear the air, for doing so would be tantamount to admitting Vuong Tung was his man. Nor could he order his subordinates to remain silent, because in their state of panic, such a command would only deepen their paranoia.
He had been forced into a dead-end chessboard. No matter which piece he moved, he would lose.
"Marquis," a black shadow knelt upon the floor. "What... what should we do now?"
Marquis Vinh An remained silent for a long time. In his mind, countless stratagems flashed by. Finally, within his bloodshot eyes, a glint of absolute, extreme cruelty flickered.
"Since it cannot be salvaged," he ground out, "then we must sever it entirely."
"Make the preparations," he commanded, his voice as cold as glacial ice. "I want Vuong Tung silenced forever within three days. Make it absolutely clean; leave not a single trace behind. Let Tao Chinh know that the grand prison of the Six Gates is not the safest place in the world."
He had chosen the only available move, the very move that Tran Kien had anticipated.
Silence the witness!
The fierce tiger had been forced to step willingly into the pre-laid trap.
Within the manor of Strategist Ve Nhan.
Tran Kien still sat there, before the chessboard. However, the bamboo slips bearing the names of the low-ranking officials had already been cleared from the board. Only the two largest pieces remained: Marquis Vinh An and Tao Chinh.
He had received the intelligence from Black Crow. Everything was proceeding flawlessly, exactly according to his script.
Yet, he displayed no signs of rejoicing. He only felt a profound weariness. This political chessboard drained his mental energy far more than any life-and-death struggle. Every single step required microscopic calculation; every single word could conceal a lethal trap.
He stood up and walked out into the courtyard. He drew his matte-black saber.
He did not practice his saber arts. He merely stood there, silently feeling the blade. He reminisced about his days in the smithy, the pure, unadulterated focus of swinging the heavy hammer. He was seeking to reclaim the tranquility within his Dao heart.
He knew the grand play was not yet over. Marquis Vinh An dispatching assassins to silence the witness was the exact chess move Tao Chinh had been waiting for. The grand prison of the Six Gates had undoubtedly been transformed into an inescapable heavenly net.
But Tran Kien felt a lingering sense of unease.
Marquis Vinh An was an incredibly paranoid and cunning old fox. Could it be that he doesn't know this is a trap? he thought inwardly. Why would he still jump in? Or perhaps... he possesses another chess move that we have yet to foresee?
A vague, ominous premonition slithered into his heart. He felt that on this chessboard, there seemed to be a third player—a hidden entity continuously lurking in the shadows, silently observing everything.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his saber.
It seems, he murmured to himself, this play will not conclude so easily.