A gentle breeze brushed against the boy’s face, clear and handsome like polished jade, while the aroma of roasted chicken wafted into everyone’s nostrils.
The boy stood tall and motionless amidst a rain of silver needles and arrows, still dazed and unresponsive—what a pity for such a stunningly handsome face!
Just as the assassins were inwardly lamenting, pfft—
The arrows they had just fired all suddenly reversed course and fiercely pierced their own bodies.
The excruciating pain from their pierced internal organs, combined with the onset of potent poison, contorted their faces into grimaces of agony as they struggled in pain.
How could this be!?
Everything happened in an instant.
None of them understood why until death; most assassins died with eyes wide open, refusing to rest in peace.
The one who clung to life the longest was the chicken vendor.
His face, like a porcupine, was covered with the very silver needles he had just shot, the venom spreading rapidly, turning his face instantly black and swollen like a pig’s head.
His swollen red face was scrunched up like a chick’s beak, trembling as he sputtered out black blood.
Hearing footsteps approaching, he forced his eyes to move and fearfully looked at Shen Weimu, who squatted beside him.
The boy’s once irresistible face now looked terrifying, like a hellish Asura.
How was this possible?
How could the arrows suddenly stop midair and shoot back?
Ghosts!
It must be demons!
Mother, come save him!
He’s seeing ghosts!
A drop of roasted chicken oil fell onto the vendor’s swollen, blackened face, making him twitch uncontrollably.
“Bland,”
Shen Weimu commented, then bit into a chicken leg, eating it with resignation.
When the Dali Court officials arrived at the crime scene, they were shocked by the scene in the alley.
Corpses lay both inside and outside the narrow alley walls, with two hanging atop the wall.
The man lying crosswise in the middle of the alley died in the strangest way: his face was pierced by silver needles, which were clearly poisonous, causing his face to blacken and swell so much that his features were almost unrecognizable.
Nearby, by the wall, stood an iron roasting furnace with a row of five roasted chickens, emitting a fragrant charred aroma.
The charcoal inside still glowed, so the sides of the chickens closest to the fire were blackened.
Yuchi Feng was inspecting the corpses one by one, frequently picking up crossbows scattered nearby and comparing the wounds to the bolts, revealing an increasingly puzzled expression.
Song Qiyun picked up a bare bamboo stick by the roasting furnace.
The stick was about the thickness of a thumb and matched the style of the sticks used to skewer the roasted chickens.
Both ends of the stick showed scorch marks and blackening from the fire, while the middle section remained its original color, coated in grease that smelled faintly of chicken.
That stick had originally held a roasted chicken—but now it was gone.
The alley was secluded with little foot traffic; setting up a stall here was very unusual.
The stall only had five lotus leaves prepared, not enough to wrap six chickens, nor was there a coin pouch for giving change to customers.
This vendor, like the assassins with crossbows pressed against the wall, was also a killer.
“What’s unusual here?”
Song Qiyun asked when he heard Yuchi Feng sigh for the seventh time.
“These arrows fit perfectly with the crossbows they had, but it seems they were killed by arrows fired from their own crossbows,”
Yuchi Feng said.
Song Qiyun’s expression darkened slightly.
“How is that possible?”
“Exactly. Crossbows require distance to fire effectively, but these crossbows were in their hands. How could they shoot themselves?”
Bai Kaizhi also disagreed with Yuchi Feng’s assumption.
“The shoulder blades of this victim were pierced all the way through. That kind of force must come from a distance.”
“That’s exactly what puzzles me,”
Yuchi Feng added.
“Look at the red fluid residue inside the crossbow’s arm groove, the same juice on the arrows, and their wounds—swollen and darkened. This poison can be confirmed as the Seven-Petal Red Lotus, one of the eight most deadly toxins in the martial world.”
Bai Kaizhi moved closer to examine the silver needles on the vendor’s face, vaguely discerning traces of a red substance on them.
“Those silver needles are also laced with this poison.”
Lu Yang found a small red porcelain bottle on one of the assassins.
Yuchi Feng inserted a silver needle into the bottle to test it briefly and confirmed it contained the Seven-Petal Red Lotus.
“The arrows are poisoned, obviously intended to kill. These people are definitely assassins.”
Bai Kaizhi stood in the middle of the alley, stroking his chin and pacing in circles.
Lu Yang called out,
“Hey, stop spinning around! Everyone else is busy with the autopsy, investigating, and analyzing the case, and you’re just walking in circles?”
“The Yin Needle Phantom Arrow! If those arrows and silver needles weren’t shot at themselves but at the spot where I’m standing now, that would be the Yin Needle Phantom Arrow!”
Bai Kaizhi exclaimed excitedly.
Song Qiyun said,
“Explain.”
“The Yin Needle Phantom Arrow is the trademark weapon of Sun Feiyun, the third-ranked assassin of the Shadow Pavilion. It is said that no matter how skilled a martial artist is, once they fall into his Yin Needle Phantom Arrow trap, survival is impossible. Seven years ago, the top swordsman Xiao Changmo died in this trap. When his body was found, it was a ghastly sight—blackened and swollen, with only his belongings and clothing identifiable.”
Bai Kaizhi told Song Qiyun that one major feature of the Yin Needle Phantom Arrow is that the head is pierced with silver needles and the body with arrows, with wounds swollen and pitch black—completely matching the scene.
Suddenly remembering something, Bai Kaizhi rushed to lift the vendor’s clothes.
Yuchi Feng stopped him.
“He’s poisoned. The Seven-Petal Red Lotus toxin is not yet fully understood; it’s safer to be cautious.”
Yuchi Feng had Bai Kaizhi coax the vendor verbally while he helped lift the clothes with leather gloves.
“His arm—the left arm,”
Bai Kaizhi said.
Yuchi Feng pulled back the vendor’s left sleeve to reveal a scar running along his arm and a cloud-shaped tattoo.
“He’s Sun Feiyun! My uncle once fought him and sliced his left arm. I saw a cloud tattoo just like that on his left arm.”
Bai Kaizhi had long vowed to personally kill the villainous Sun Feiyun and then boast to his uncle that he had surpassed his master.
He had searched for the elusive Sun Feiyun in the martial world for three years without success.
Now, seeing Sun Feiyun’s corpse was beyond anything he had imagined.
Shouldn’t the Yin Needle Phantom Arrow be breakable only by a shadowy assassin as skilled as him?
Who else in the martial world is better at this?
How did this person manage to reflect all those silver needles and arrows back onto each shooter?
Bai Kaizhi was baffled.
Yuchi Feng was just as perplexed.
Song Qiyun’s headache worsened as he failed to come up with a reasonable answer or theory.
Rubbing his temples, he ordered his subordinates to first carry the bodies back to the Dali Court.
Shen Weimu stood panting at the alley entrance, his face pale as he stared at Song Qiyun and the others inside.
“Little Brother Shen, why are you here? Your face looks so pale—worse than before,”
Bai Kaizhi hurried over, concerned.
Shen Weimu smiled gently.
“Probably because I rushed here.”
His body had just started to recover when these worthless pests disturbed him, forcing him to overuse his spiritual power, worsening his condition.
So now, he could only replenish his depleted power by sharing gossip clues about the crime.
“Why did you rush here? Did you hear about the murder and have news to share?”
Song Qiyun followed, reasoning from Shen Weimu’s usual behavior.
The case was too strange and baffling, and Song Qiyun eagerly hoped Shen Weimu might reveal something to give them a lead.
Shen Weimu raised his hand and unfolded a lotus leaf he was holding.
Bai Kaizhi and Song Qiyun leaned in.
A small pile of chicken bones, picked clean, lay wrapped in the center of the lotus leaf.
“That roasted chicken was delicious.”
“You bought that roasted chicken at the stall?”
Song Qiyun immediately reacted, narrowing his eyes to scrutinize Shen Weimu.
If he answered yes but there was no money at the scene or on Sun Feiyun’s body, that would make Shen Weimu suspicious.
Shen Weimu:
“The chicken was given to me; he didn’t want my money. What he wants is my life.”
Shen Weimu frowned.
“Would you accept a free gift? Don’t you find that suspicious?”
“No, I think it’s normal.”
Shen Weimu looked at Song Qiyun innocently.
“It’s understandable if Young Master Song can’t grasp this. After all, my face is rare in this world, and ordinary people find it hard to relate. Since childhood, strangers often gifted me things because of my face—a roasted chicken, even gold beads and jade pendants.”
Song Qiyun:
“…Ordinary people.”
Is he ordinary?
Song Qiyun, a youthful top scholar known for his handsome, heroic looks—once fought over by many families—how could he be called “ordinary” by Shen Weimu?
“That’s the advantage of good looks—envy envy,”
Bai Kaizhi praised without catching the sarcasm in Shen Weimu’s words.
Shen Weimu smiled back,
“You’re not bad either.”
“Really?”
Bai Kaizhi happily touched his own face.
Though handsome, compared to Shen Weimu, he felt it was like comparing a common chicken to a phoenix.
Yuchi Feng thought it odd that an assassin would gift roasted chicken during a mission, but he couldn’t rule out Shen Weimu’s explanation.
Handsome people often received special treatment.
Sun Feiyun ranked third in the Shadow Pavilion, was very high in status, and extremely arrogant—such unusual behavior wasn’t surprising.
“Did you notice anything unusual when you took the roasted chicken? See anyone else in the alley?”
Shen Weimu:
“Besides the vendor, I was the only one in white robes with a lotus-shaped white jade pendant at my waist. But after he handed me the chicken, more people arrived.”
Yuchi Feng hesitated before writing down Shen Weimu’s words.
Was Shen Weimu aware that their department kept detailed records of crime scenes, and so he deliberately described his attire?
Song Qiyun brought Shen Weimu back into the alley to let him re-experience the environment and carefully recall the scene, hoping any tiny anomaly might help solve the case.
Shen Weimu:
“I love to eat, you know that, right?”
Song Qiyun thought Shen Weimu was hinting for a meal again and sighed helplessly,
“Don’t worry, tomorrow at noon, I won’t break my promise. But for now, let’s focus seriously on this case, okay?”
Shen Weimu:
“Some time ago, my personal maid Qingqiu was killed by the Broken Heart Palm.”
Song Qiyun was surprised.
“Why didn’t you say earlier? What happened to the body?”
Shen Weimu:
“The body disappeared; I don’t know where it is.”
Kang Anyun had handled the body, but Shen Weimu truly didn’t know the location.
“The killer was Wu Qi? Why didn’t you report it then?”
Shen Weimu:
“I did. Qingqiu’s identity was fake; no further information could be found, so the case was dropped.”
He later informed the Jingzhao Prefect, which counted as reporting.
Suddenly, Song Qiyun felt something was wrong.
“Why are you telling me all this now?”
“Of course, to tell you—I’m the one who killed them.”