Agent secret Wind Boy

Chapitre 23

"And what about Mr. Ye?" I inquired further.

"He is the head of the Weiyuan Escort Agency. Ye Gucheng, who died in Sunjiawan, was his third brother. It seems that he followed the clues of the Heartless Decree and came to the Number One Manor in the World because of his brother's death." He was very open and honest.

"What about the Heartless Decree?"

"Well," he stopped talking, but handed me his wine glass—damn it, he's keeping me in suspense. I held back my anger and quickly refilled his glass. "Brother, this meal's on me."

"Hehe, then I won't be polite." He chuckled and took another sip of wine before continuing, "You've come to the right person, because no one else really knows what the Heartless Decree is."

"What do you mean?" A crowd had already gathered around, and someone immediately questioned, "Isn't the Heartless Decree just a token?"

"No, no." He shook his head and curled his lip in disdain. "Haven't you heard the saying?"

"What did you say?"

"The Heartless Decree has appeared; only those who shed blood will return!" He looked at everyone triumphantly. "Do you know what that means? It actually tells us that the Heartless Decree is not a token."

"What is it? Tell me quickly!" Everyone was already impatient and urged him eagerly.

"The Heartless Decree is actually a knife. Well, it's not really a knife, more accurately a dagger. A divine weapon made of thousand-year-old cold jade, neither gold nor iron, yet incomparably sharp! Legend has it that anyone who receives the Heartless Decree has no chance of survival!" As he said this, the smile on his face completely disappeared, and he kept looking around—as if the Heartless Decree might appear at any moment and take his life.

"How do you know? You're probably just making this up!" someone immediately questioned his words.

"Don't you all know who I, Xie Laoliu, am? There's nothing in Jiangning that I, Xie Laoliu, don't know! Would I boast?" His face immediately flushed red, filled with anger. "My cousin's niece is Jiang Mo Hui's maid. She even saw that dagger with her own eyes! It's engraved with many strange patterns! It's a precious dagger that can cut through gold and jade, and sever a hair with a breath!"

A dagger that was neither gold nor iron? A sudden thought struck me. I remembered the gleaming dagger Huaiyuan used to kill the little golden snake, the one I later found. Could this be what they were talking about? I instinctively reached into my pocket—of course, it was gone. It seemed I'd dropped it at the crime scene in my haste to escape!

So Huaiyuan already knows I dropped it, so he'll naturally assume I perished in that massacre, right? Actually, that's fine. That way, I'll completely disappear from his world—isn't that exactly what I've always wanted? But why are the emotions welling up from the bottom of my heart so bitter and unbearable?

I took out a silver ingot, tossed it on the table, and silently walked out of the restaurant. I strolled alone down the long street late at night—the night was truly cool and chilly. The banks of the Qinhuai River were brightly lit, and the faint sounds of laughter drifted to my ears on the night breeze.

I was distraught, bewildered, and filled with anxiety, unable to control myself. I stood there, hesitant and uncertain—I wondered if my carelessness could clear Huaiyuan of the murder charge? But even if I were to step forward and explain what happened that day, how could the world believe the words of an unknown nobody like me?

However, remaining silent would be ungentlemanly. Although he wronged me, using and deceiving me, he also saved me twice. In the end, I still owe him a favor! How can I repay kindness with enmity?!

"Brother, why are you lingering here so long? Could it be that you also have a special fondness for this lamp?" Suddenly, someone stopped beside me.

"Huh?" I looked at him blankly. "What light?"

"Hey," he tilted his head, "aren't you admiring the lanterns? This is the top lantern for this year's Qixi Festival. What do you think, brother?"

Following his gaze, I saw the palace lantern that Xiao Feng had made herself—it turned out that she really had won first place.

He shrugged slightly and smiled elegantly. "My name is Yan Zongwang. May I ask your esteemed name, sir?"

"My name is Ye Qingyang." I nodded slightly to him, my gaze fixed on the lamp, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

Seeing that I remained silent, he didn't mind and continued to chat and laugh. "Although the brushwork in this painting, 'The Magpie Bridge Fairy,' is a bit immature, the figures are painted very vividly. The ink is used in a good balance of light and dark, making full use of the expressive power of brush and ink. It simply and accurately depicts the figures' shapes, expressions, and movements. Many of its techniques are quite different from traditional Chinese painting techniques. I wonder which school or style the painter studied under?"

"Of course," I thought to myself, "it incorporates not only sketching techniques but also borrows from Western oil painting styles. How could an ancient person like you possibly understand?"

“Look at this cursive script. It’s gentle and elegant, vigorous and upright, yet full of spirit, revealing a strong scholarly air. It has the style of the ‘Two Wangs’ (Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi), and the brushwork is wonderful, unprecedented. The only flaw is…” He paused here and looked at me.

"What's the only flaw?" I wanted to see what he thought of my painting and calligraphy. I gestured for him to proceed.

"This piece, 'The Magpie Bridge Fairy,' was originally a smooth and unrestrained work, but unexpectedly, the brushstrokes changed at the end, becoming weak and powerless, ultimately becoming a failure." He lamented, "I suppose the person who wrote this painting was either a delicate and frail woman or suffering from a serious illness, which prevented her from putting in the effort."

The more I listened, the more alarmed I became. I couldn't believe someone could glean so much from just a drawing and a few words. I subconsciously rubbed my right arm and couldn't help but smile wryly. "I didn't see that much. It's just a doodle, a joke. How could it be so detailed?"

“Otherwise, if you look closely, you will be able to see many clues.” He looked at me, then suddenly smiled mysteriously and fell silent.

"What else?" I couldn't help but press on—I really wanted to know what else he could glean from this painting and calligraphy.

“Look, although the Cowherd’s eyes are full of affection, it’s a pity that he’s not looking at the Weaver Girl who he only sees once a year, but rather gazing at the night sky, as if he has something on his mind. And the Weaver Girl is beautiful, but she is inevitably a bit too delicate.” He glanced at me again, then suddenly smiled wryly. “From this, I deduce that the painter is not only a woman, but also has a faint, almost imperceptible affection for the Cowherd. Perhaps she is saddened because the Cowherd is married.”

"That's just your wild speculation. Besides, I don't know about anything else, but one thing is certain—the painter is a man. You're mistaken." I stammered in rebuttal, but I was shocked—had my thoughts really been revealed so obviously? So obviously that even a complete stranger could see right through me?

In the two months since we parted, I've gradually calmed down, and the shock, anger, sadness, despair, and indignation I felt when I first learned Huaiyuan's identity are gone. What I think about most after we parted is the peaceful time we spent together on the mountain—or rather, what I miss is that feeling of having someone silently caring for me no matter where I am or what I do.

If I had to choose again today, perhaps I would go back and listen to his explanation instead of just leaving—but what's the use of saying all this now? As Yan Zongwang said, regardless of whether he deceived me or not, regardless of whether he had feelings for me, he is already married! And I will never allow myself to be a third party.

The most important thing right now is how to clear Huaiyuan of the murder charge without letting anyone discover my whereabouts. — Sigh! I still don't feel comfortable calling him Jiang Mohui.

As for Mr. Ye, it will probably take a lot of trouble—since he went to great lengths to bring me to the Northern Song Dynasty, he must have had his own schemes. There's no reason for him to let me go back so easily.

"Brother Ye? Brother Ye?" Seeing that I didn't react, Yan Zongwang waved his hand in front of my eyes—because I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I forgot there was this fellow surnamed Yan beside me.

Looking at that palace lantern, a sudden idea struck me. That's it! Why don't I...?

It seems I have to thank Brother Yan for his advice. I looked up and gave him a bright smile. "Brother Yan, it's late. Perhaps we should take our leave now. Maybe we'll meet again someday?"

"I believe we will meet again." He smiled confidently.

And I, without time to delve into the meaning of his words, hastily disappeared into the night...

This book was first published on Xiaoxiang Novel Original Website. Please retain this information when reprinting!

[Volume Two: Parting Chapter Four - With Whom Do the Drifting Clouds Travel?]

"Brother Qingyang, open the door! I have good news to tell you!" Little Feng ran to my door early in the morning, shouting excitedly.

"The door isn't closed, come in." Luckily, I had anticipated that she would come, so I simply left the door open to avoid any trouble.

"Brother Qingyang, I saw the fairy sister!" Her round face was full of excitement.

"What fairy sister?" I replied casually, while looking down at the charcoal stick I was drawing, without looking up at her.

"It's that fairy sister you drew on the lamp yesterday! I actually saw her on the street today! I didn't know there really are people this beautiful in the world!"