Flower Stealing Master-Chapter 1098: The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

Song Qingshu watched with genuine admiration. This was, after all, the man who in his day had ridden out with mere dozens of riders to raid a Jin encampment of tens of thousands in the dead of night. Age had not stripped him of that instinct…to catch the bandits, first catch their chief.

Wang Baobao’s Tibetan monks scrambled to block the path, but Xin Qiji moved through them like a dragon plunging into open water, scattering the group in a tumbling rout. Fortunately, the deer-antler staff user and the crane-brush wielder gathered themselves and came rushing back to intercept him, and the monks’ combined assault technique proved sufficiently strange and intricate that together they barely managed to check his advance.

Even so, the monks were few in number and all of them bloodied. The Xuanming Elders were fighting injured as well. Any experienced observer could see they would not hold Xin Qiji much longer.

Wang Baobao had read the situation just as clearly. “Bring them out,” he ordered in a hard, low voice.

Moments later his men came forward, herding the Southern Song envoy party before them…Han Dingxiao, Lu Wenhuan, Wu Tiande… Every face among them was hollow and drawn. Clearly these weeks had not been kind to them.

“Everyone stop where you are. Move again and I will not spare them.” Wang Baobao drew his saber and laid the blade across their throats, his voice cracking out like a whip toward Xin Qiji and the others.

Seeing Han Dingxiao’s people balanced on the edge of death, Su Shidan, Xin Qiji, and Ding Dian dared not stir. They stopped where they stood.

Daoist Hundred-Harm, the Vajra Sect master, and the others hurried back to take up protective positions around Wang Baobao.

In the shadows, Song Qingshu allowed himself a quiet smile. The real performance begins now.

Beside him, Lu Guanying gave a wry smile of his own. “Young Master has nerves of iron.” His gaze drifted to the arm resting around Cheng Yaojia’s waist, and the wryness in his expression deepened considerably.

“When you’ve seen enough of the world, you naturally become steadier than most.” Song Qingshu replied without particular inflection.

Cheng Yaojia’s cheeks had gone faintly red. She had already noticed her husband’s eyes on Song Qingshu’s arm. She reached out reflexively to push it away…only to find the arm as immovable as a mountain. After several futile attempts, she gave up, her face still warm, and silently resigned herself to the situation.

“Release Minister Han at once!” Ding Dian and Xin Qiji called out in furious unison. Su Shidan alone said nothing, his expression shifting and calculating.

“I will release him,” Wang Baobao said, his lips curling into a cold grin. “As soon as every one of you severs your own right arm.”

Song Qingshu shook his head inwardly. This brother-in-law of mine really is a ruthless piece of work. Then he caught himself…why did I just think of him as my brother-in-law?

Ding Dian and the others went pale. Beside them, Ding called out sharply: “Do you take us for fools? If we cut off our right arms we lose all capacity to resist…we’d be meat on your chopping block, to be disposed of however you please.”

Su Shidan added: “Precisely. If we comply and you still refuse to release him, there would be nothing we could do.”

“If you refuse, they die now.” Wang Baobao let out a cold grunt. He applied the faintest increase of pressure, and a thin line of blood appeared at Han Dingxiao’s neck. To his credit, Han Dingxiao…for all his predicament…was a man who stood above ten thousand in the Southern Song court. He had the composure of that rank. He showed no sign of begging for his life.

“Kill me if you must. I am no man who clings to life out of fear. Shidan…don’t give them what they want on my account. They won’t dare touch me. But if they do, when this is over, see that not one of them leaves this place alive.” Han Dingxiao forced out a composed, unhurried smile.

“Silence!” Wang Baobao’s voice hardened with anger, though he knew Han Dingxiao spoke the truth. His own forces were all but spent…a full engagement now, whether against the earlier group or these Southern Song fighters, was more likely to end in defeat than victory. Han Dingxiao and his people were the only leverage he held.

“Wait—” Su Shidan’s voice cut in, terrified that Wang Baobao might let anger slip into his sword hand. If Han Dingxiao died, the entire Han network in Jiangnan would collapse. Su Shidan had served as its chief strategist for years, and in that role had made enemies of men like Jia Sidao and Shi Miyuan beyond any hope of reconciliation. There would be no road left for him.

At Wang Baobao’s questioning look, he said quickly: “Release him first, then we’ll sever our arms.”

Wang Baobao’s anger broke into a laugh. “Do you think me a three-year-old child?”

Su Shidan knew the proposal was absurd, but he had nothing better to offer, so he threw it forward anyway.

“I will count to three. If you have not severed your arms, I will begin killing them.” A cold, merciless intent settled over Wang Baobao’s face. He was a renowned commander on the steppe, and he understood…this is precisely the moment you do not yield.

“One.”

The Southern Song group exchanged helpless glances. Of course they wanted to rescue Han Dingxiao. But who would be fool enough to cut off their own sword arm in the middle of an enemy stronghold?

“Two.” Silence stretched on. Wang Baobao’s voice grew colder.

Su Shidan’s thoughts ran in frantic circles. His eyes found Han Dingxiao…who gave the faintest shake of his head, almost imperceptible. Su Shidan steadied himself at once. “If you harm a single hair on Minister Han’s head today,” he called out, “not one of your people leaves this place breathing.”

In truth, Su Shidan had known all along what the right choice was…his hesitation had come from worry that Han Dingxiao might later hold it against him if he chose not to trade. But now that Han Dingxiao had made his own position clear, Su Shidan stood on firmer ground.

“Is that so?” A thin, cruel smile touched Wang Baobao’s lips. He gave a signal. One of his men stepped forward, raised his blade, and the head of the prisoner he was holding tumbled from the steps and rolled across the stones, eyes wide open…the look of a man who had died with fury unspent.

“Consider that a lesson. From this moment, I will count, and for each count that passes without response, I will take another life…until the blade falls on your Minister Han.” Wang Baobao watched the blood silence the courtyard with obvious satisfaction.

In the shadows, Lu Guanying’s face went white. He recognized the man who had just been killed…someone of equivalent standing within the envoy party. Had he not been pulled to safety not long ago, the body on the steps might well have been his. For the first time, he felt something like reluctant gratitude toward Tang Kuabian, whom he had spent weeks cursing under his breath.

Song Qingshu’s brow furrowed slightly, though he remained still. The deeper the wound between the Mongols and Southern Song, the better. He was in no hurry to reveal himself.

“One.” Wang Baobao started his count again.

Su Shidan huddled urgently with Ding Dian and Xin Qiji…but what answer could they possibly arrive at?

Wang Baobao waited a beat, then let out a cold grunt. A signal was given; a blade came down; another soul was taken.

“You—!” Xin Qiji watched in roaring fury and surged forward…only for Wang Baobao to nudge the blade at Han Dingxiao’s neck, and Su Shidan lunged to drag Xin Qiji back by the arm.

“Two.” Wang Baobao called it out and did not wait this time…he gave a look, and another life was extinguished.

The killings were coming faster. Su Shidan and the others were shaken to the core. Even Han Dingxiao, who had held himself so steadily, had gone pale, a barely perceptible tremor moving through his frame. He knew Wang Baobao almost certainly would not kill him…but the body knew nothing of almost, and his trembling could not be stilled.

Su Shidan and his companions had gone silent. The hatred in their eyes was absolute. If a look could kill, every one of the Mongols would have been reduced to scattered ash.

“Three.” Wang Baobao smiled coldly and called out again, utterly unmoved by those eyes.

Song Qingshu let out a quiet breath. He could wait no longer. The blade was now hovering over Wu Tiande…over Linghu Chong.

In Song Qingshu’s heart, by the measure of the original story, Linghu Chong had not been a particularly admirable disciple. As the senior disciple of Mount Hua, he had carried no sense of responsibility or accountability, and his later estrangement from the orthodox sects was the inevitable result of his own relentless self-destruction.

And yet…when all was said and done…Linghu Chong had at least one virtue that could not be denied: he was chivalrous, to the marrow.

At the Return Wild Goose Inn, knowing full well it might cost him his life, he had thrown himself into a duel to the death with Tian Boguang to save a stranger…a young novice nun he owed nothing to. That kind of courage was genuinely admirable.

And beyond that, Linghu Chong was Ren Yingying’s beloved. Even though the man was his rival, Song Qingshu had no wish to see him cut down by lesser men. He had his own pride. He intended to win Ren Yingying away from Linghu Chong fairly and openly…and how could he stand here and watch his rival die in a place like this?

If nothing else, should Ren Yingying one day learn that Linghu Chong had died while Song Qingshu stood by and did nothing…how could she ever forgive him?

His mind made up, Song Qingshu was about to step forward when Zuo Lengchan’s voice rang out first.

“A moment!”

Wang Baobao’s expression shifted. He had been carefully avoiding provoking that particular quarter, having no wish to invite more trouble…and yet here it came regardless.

“What business brings the Mount Song Sect Leader to speak?” By now his subordinates had already quietly identified the Mount Song contingent and passed the information to Wang Baobao.

Hearing himself recognized, Zuo Lengchan’s expression grew even more closed and sunken…but there was no way back now. He pressed forward: “Hand this man over to us, Young Prince, and we will leave at once.” His finger pointed to Linghu Chong.

So Mount Song came for him. Wang Baobao’s puzzlement deepened. A mere Quanzhou garrison commander, whose only real distinction was his swordsmanship…what could possibly justify the price Mount Song had paid tonight?

But this was not the moment to dwell on it. A thought formed quickly. “Kill those men,” he said, “and I will deliver this General Wu into your hands.”

The faces of everyone present shifted at once.

Seeing Zuo Lengchan’s expression darken, Wang Baobao pressed on: “Have no concern…this General Wu is of no particular value to me. All I ask is that you slaughter these Song dogs, and he is yours.”

Song Qingshu shook his head quietly in reluctant admiration. Wang Baobao truly deserves his reputation as a commander. The stratagem of killing with a borrowed blade…and deploying it here with such effortless, unhurried precision.

But Zuo Lengchan was no soft target either. “These people are formidable fighters,” he replied in a low, measured voice. “I cannot guarantee we can kill them outright. Would the Young Prince consider joining forces? We deal with these Song fighters together…afterward, you hand Wu Tiande over to us, and all past grievances between our sides are wiped clean. What does the Young Prince say?”

Wang Baobao could see plainly that the Southern Song group would never be foolish enough to cut off their own arms. He was riding a tiger and could not dismount…and now the variable of Mount Song had arrived to offer him a way down. He barely hesitated.

“Agreed.”