“So they won’t give up hope just yet. As long as the appointed time hasn’t passed, they won’t leave early.”

The mirror reminded him, “That’s all under the assumption that Mr. Mai hasn’t gotten word to the people behind him. What if they’ve already made contact?”

“No harm in testing it. Worst case, I do a bit of pointless work. Even if I end up batting my eyelashes at a blind man, so what? Who can’t afford a little trial-and-error? Besides, it’s not my money paying for it.” He paused, then added, “And based on my judgment, they probably still haven’t met Mr. Mai.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t even live here permanently, but every clue we’ve gotten from him points straight to Baishajue. Isn’t that interesting?”

The Soul-Stealing Mirror asked, “He doesn’t live in Baishajue? But the old man in Shuanglu Town said Mr. Mai always comes over from Baishajue.”

“If he actually lived here long-term, why wouldn’t he buy a residence?” He Lingchuan said softly. “In Baishajue, he only stays at inns, several different ones at that. Zhongsun Mou has records of it.”

“So Baishajue isn’t his home. It’s where the person behind him lives.”

The mirror found it hard to believe. “Wait, are you saying Mr. Mai led us here on purpose?”

“What else?” He Lingchuan had been suspicious ever since he received Records on Worshipping the Gods, and everything that had happened since only deepened that suspicion. “He steered every thread toward this city, so why would he sabotage the meeting himself, a step ahead of everyone else?”

He stopped, then said, “Besides, we can verify it right now.”

The mirror did not understand. “How?”

He Lingchuan set down his tools and stood. “Knocking off work.”

* * *

The second quarter hour of the hour of the sheep arrived[1].

By then, the Chao Lake Teahouse’s occupancy had dropped to two tables.

That matchmaking meeting had concluded. From the look of things, the two sides had parted on bad terms. They each paid their tea bill and left separately.

Now, only two tables remained occupied.

At that moment, a man in white walked up from below. As he reached the fourth floor, his steps slowed. His gaze swept through the tower as if searching for someone.

On the entire fourth floor, including tea guests and wandering visitors, there were only seven people. One glance was enough to take them all in.

He looked at them, and the others, naturally, looked back at him.

But like any ordinary tourist, he did not sit down. Instead, he went to the covered corridor along the side of the tower and made a slow circuit, as if admiring the scenery.

He wore Yanghu White clothing. He was tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged, and he wore a veiled hat, specifically one of those wide hats with a curtain of mesh netting hanging around the brim to block the sun and wind.

Baishajue had abundant waterways, and with them came mosquitoes along the banks. Fishermen and travelers often wore such hats. Nothing unusual there.

But the mesh on his hat was exceptionally fine, effectively hiding his face. Only the faint outline of his features could be made out.

After walking the perimeter once, he went to the tea counter, picked up two packets of dried sweet potato slices, weighed them in his hand, then took a small chunk of broken silver from his waist and tossed it to the attendant.

As he did, a red jade thumb ring on his right hand flashed briefly into view.

“I’ll get your change for you,” the attendant said.

Just then, two of the remaining tea guests also finished their conversation and rose to leave. The attendant, perhaps flustered, dropped a few copper coins onto the floor. He crouched down to pick them up and, without thinking, glanced up from below.

It was a reflexive motion.

But after he lowered his gaze again, it was as if something struck him. He looked up a second time.

His eyes went wide, and he forgot to stand.

That reaction was not something the man in white would miss.

He took one step backward, turned his head, and swept the teahouse in a sharp lateral glance. Then, without warning, he pivoted as if to go straight back downstairs.

The attendant scrambled to his feet and called after him, “Ah, sir! Your change!”

The man in white did not even acknowledge him. In the blink of an eye, he vanished down the stairs.

The older man at one of the tables came up to settle his bill and asked the attendant, “What’s wrong with you?”

“His, his face...” The man in white was already gone around the stairwell, but the attendant still stared that way, dazed. “He looked kind of familiar. Like I’ve seen him somewhere before?”

As he spoke, two craftsmen from the repair crew wandered over, asking for a cup of tea.

Outside, the man in white stood at the entrance to Chao Lake Tower and looked left and right.

A few constables happened to pass by. He immediately lowered his head and reached up to press the brim of his veiled hat down, blending into the street crowd as he hurried east.

Chao Lake Tower stood out like a crane among chickens, surrounded by rows of low buildings, some of which were private residences, while others were shops.

Barely a dozen breaths after the man in white left the tower, three people emerged from a low building across the street. They were dressed like commoners. Their pace was unhurried, but they too headed east.

The man in white, however, walked faster and faster. In a streak, he slipped into a carriage-and-horse agency at the street corner.

In the time it took to blink, before the three behind him could catch up, he had already led out a chestnut-colored horse.

Clearly, he had boarded it there in advance.

Such agencies not only rented vehicles, but they also offered storage and caretaking services. They were convenient, efficient, and common.

Chao Lake Tower lay on the outskirts, where road restrictions were minimal. The man in white swung up onto the horse and set off at a brisk trot. With every beat of hooves, the three tailing him fell farther behind.

The man in white was extremely alert. The moment he sensed something off inside the tower, he chose to leave Baishajue outright, without lingering for even a breath.

His reaction was faster and more decisive than anyone had anticipated.

The three tailing him did not know what he had encountered inside the tower. They only knew they had a task, and they had to adapt. They hurried into the same agency to buy horses and chase after him.

They had originally meant to rent three mounts, but rentals required deposits and registration, which was too slow and too much trouble. Left with no choice, they tossed down silver and bought outright instead.

This was a much simpler and cleaner way to handle the matter.

Still, one of them did not have enough money on hand. He had to borrow from a companion to make up the difference before he could secure a horse.

That delay cost them precious time.

Fortunately for them, the man in white was not galloping at full speed. Once they mounted up and pursued, the gap began to close again, little by little.

Above them, a magpie kept pace in the sky, flying after the man in white. From time to time, it landed on treetops or rooftops, then launched again.

Just as the distance between the two sides shrank to less than thirty meters, the three were about to accelerate when, without warning, more than a dozen riders burst from the woods beside the road. They were dressed like soldiers, and the leader pointed at the man in white and shouted, “Found him! That’s him!”

Hooves thundered in chaotic rhythm behind. The man in white twisted in the saddle to look and, without a word, snapped his whip and urged his horse onward.

“Stop! If you run, you will be killed on sight!” the pursuers roared.

The man in white only fled faster.

Beside the road lay a field of sorghum, lush and thriving. In this season, it formed an endless green curtain.

The man in white simply drove his horse straight into it.

Baishajue was famous for sorghum liquor, and the countryside planted the crop widely. The stalks were tall, typically between 3 and 5 meters. Once horse and rider plunged into the field, all he had to do was duck his head, and the pursuers behind him could no longer see him. They could only chase by sound.

This boundless field was a labyrinth. Anyone who entered could lose their bearings in moments.

The three who had been first to tail the man in white deliberately stayed a few lengths behind the soldiers, slowing by a step or two as they arrived.

The dozen-plus pursuers who had just appeared immediately charged into the sorghum field, and in an instant, all vanished into the green curtain. Only voices and neighing horses remained.

At the field’s edge, the three men stopped and looked at one another.

To chase? Or not chase?

Their orders were to keep close watch, ideally to bring the target back, and if they could not bring him back, then...

The leader thought for a heartbeat and made a decisive call. “Chase!”

The pursuers might get lost, but they would not, because they had a magpie monster guiding them from above. With eyes in the sky, the sorghum field would actually become an advantage, helping them locate the target and cut off the soldiers.

One of the three turned his horse around to report back. The other two fixed their eyes on the black-and-white figure darting in the air and plunged straight into the sorghum.

They had barely gone about seventy meters when a wall of flesh appeared right in front of them.

Both riders yanked hard on their reins. One managed to stop, but the other did not.

Bang!

Horse and rider toppled in a heap.

The “wall of flesh” turned its head, face full of dumb panic.

It was a bull hiding in the sorghum to steal a meal, convinced the tall stalks would conceal it. It had not expected two blind fools to come charging in and slam directly into its backside.

The bull, thinking it had been caught red-handed, panicked first. With a furious kick, it thundered off.

It was like a living bulldozer. Wherever it ran, it flattened swaths of sorghum.

Instantly, countless birds swooped down from the sky, scrambling to peck at the fallen sorghum heads.

“F—!” the two riders cursed.

There were too many birds. Flapping bodies everywhere, chattering everywhere. In the chaos, they could not tell where the magpie was anymore.

They could only keep charging in the direction they had been headed.

After another thirty meters or so, the birds in the field suddenly erupted into flight again in a dense wave, the beating of their wings loud and muffling any other sound.

A goshawk plunged down and pinned some unlucky creature in the field.

With the air filled with the noise of wind, human shouts, horse cries, and bird calls, the two men found it even harder to judge direction.

Then the sorghum on their left rustled sharply, but this time, it was different from the sound of the wind.

An instant later, a dark, tawny blur lunged out, fast as lightning.

The horses screamed and reared.

But the rider on one of them was already off the saddle, and was then tackled clean to the ground.

Only then did the deafening roar slam into human ears.

A tiger monster had actually been crouched inside the sorghum field.

The moment it appeared, it bit down on its prey’s shoulder and did not let go. A massive paw pinned the man’s collarbone. The tiger’s head gave a light twist.

Crrack. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

The man’s shoulder joint dislocated.

It happened too quickly. From the tiger’s strike to its successful takedown, less than a breath and a half had passed.

The man on the ground had not even processed what was happening before he lost the ability to fight back. And now a gaping maw filled his vision, fangs gleaming with cold light.

He screamed.

The second rider drew his blade and hacked at the tiger’s back, only for the beast to roll aside as if it had eyes in the back of its head.

Not a single one of its hairs was even cut. Instead, the rider in its jaws was dragged and wrenched violently half a turn, shrieking like a pig being slaughtered as he was dragged away.

One look was enough for the second rider to realize that he had been ambushed. He did not even dare try to save his companion anymore. He just kicked his horse and tried to flee.

But from every direction, riders closed in, surrounding him in a tightening ring.

At the front stood the man in white they had been chasing.

He had taken off his veiled hat and was using it as a fan, fanning himself twice in leisurely comfort. “Get down and surrender. Now, would you rather lose an arm or a leg?”

That man was none other than Young Master He.

Trapped, with the tiger’s low, suppressed growl rumbling behind him, the rider’s eyes darted about, clearly plotting something.

He Lingchuan’s voice snapped colder. “Don’t get any ideas. Your companion will talk. If you die here, you’ll die for nothing!”

His companion’s pained groans continued—loud, strong, and very much not the sound of a dying man.

At last, the rider’s will broke. He jumped down from his horse and raised his hands. “I surrender! Don’t kill me!”

The soldiers surged forward, binding the two men tight as dumplings.

Only then did He Lingchuan step closer and ask, “Whose men are you?”

1. 1:30 P.M. ☜