A Minor Scheme (1)

The burly man, who should have received some sympathy from the onlookers, didn’t even have a chance to speak before he collapsed in a dead faint. Laughter erupted all around, and then everyone fell silent, holding their breath in anticipation as the two handsome men prepared to duel.

Li Xuanfu stepped back a few paces to give them space, then spoke quietly with his attendants, the content of their conversation unknown.

“Senior brother, your skills have improved a great deal,” Bai Li Mubai remarked, noting that his elder brother’s strength was even more formidable than when he had visited the mountain with their master and him a year prior.

Obvious enough, Pan Yueyang rolled his eyes inwardly.

“Senior brother, why don’t we take this opportunity on the stage to have a little sparring match?” Bai Li Mubai flashed his usual charming smile, drawing even more attention from the crowd below. This slightly younger, striking youth truly was endearing.

But Bai Li Mubai was not merely a pretty face. Though younger than Pan Yueyang and Xue Qing by several years, he was a martial prodigy. Pan Yueyang cultivated pure yang internal energy, befitting his masculine nature and innate kingly aura.

Bai Li Mubai, however, was a rare martial genius of a different sort—he prized speed above all. He would never run when he could walk, nor jump when he could run. In truth, he was both a glutton and a sluggard!

Pan Yueyang welcomed the suggestion. Ever since he’d left his master’s tutelage to join the military, he had rarely sparred with Mubai. In their youth, their bouts had often ended in a draw, but in recent years, their meetings were more about conversation than true contests.

The crowd below gradually fell silent, their attention riveted on the two figures upon the stage. It was July—a time of splendid weather, but stifling heat, and not a hint of breeze.

The two men said nothing, merely locking gazes, each poised in absolute concentration, waiting for the other to make the first move. In terms of speed, Pan Yueyang knew he could never match his junior, so he quietly gathered his internal energy, prepared to counter whatever Mubai might unleash.

Mubai, too, fixed his eyes on his senior brother, his neck rolling side to side in preparation as if limbering up before battle. Suddenly, he spun around, pulled a face at Wanwan and Xue Qing’s direction, and stuck out his tongue.

A burst of laughter followed—Wanwan’s eyes disappeared into crescents, and the crowd below broke into delighted chuckles. Just a moment ago, everyone had been bracing for a serious fight, and now this beautiful youth had surprised them all with an impish gesture. It was utterly unexpected.

Of all present, Pan Yueyang and Xue Qing were the only ones unperturbed by this little episode. “Ah!” Pan Yueyang sighed. “Incurable as ever.”

Suddenly, Bai Li Mubai darted forward in a blur, and the laughter died at once. The duel had begun.

As always, the graceful youth struck first, his attacks swift as lightning. The cold-faced man in dark purple met each blow with calm precision, defending but not returning a single strike, steadily giving ground. It was clear from the exchange that he was yielding, if only slightly.

Xue Qing watched with mild disinterest. Mubai’s attacks were all for show; Pan Yueyang made no effort to counterattack. It was obvious that Mubai was only playing, and Pan Yueyang was obliging him, neither one fighting in earnest.

Suddenly, Mubai’s expression twisted into a mischievous grin. He sent a palm strike toward Pan Yueyang, and a surge of powerful internal energy gathered around him. Pan Yueyang retreated quickly, dodging, but Mubai pressed on, refusing to pull back. At the last moment, Pan Yueyang braced himself, using his own force to block the incoming blow.

The audience gasped, hearts pounding with excitement.

Just as Mubai, eyes flashing with a hint of menace, seemed about to close in, he abruptly halted, his inner force dissipating as it flowed along his meridians. He paused for a heartbeat—then, with a thud, plopped down on his bottom.

Xue Qing, who had been tense, fearing that the reckless youth might truly injure Pan Yueyang, saw Mubai withdraw so swiftly that he toppled backward and landed on the ground.

“I yield. Senior brother, you are as formidable as ever…” Mubai grinned up at his brother from where he sat, not the least bit discouraged.

Rascal! For the first time, a flicker of annoyance crossed Pan Yueyang’s usually impassive face.

The contest on the stage thus came to an end, and the crowd cheered, showering praise on the austere man in purple for his might—his internal energy alone had driven back his opponent’s attack.

Bai Li Mubai had, of course, lost deliberately. He would never seriously challenge his own brother, especially not at something as trivial as a public martial contest for a bride. Watching his brother win with a scowl was far more amusing to him than any victory.

Xue Qing shook her head. That reckless child—he’d nearly given her a heart attack!

“Everyone, please quiet down!” Li Xuanfu stepped forward to soothe the crowd and keep things moving.

“I have no intention of taking a wife; my thanks.” Pan Yueyang declared coolly, then prepared to leave the stage.

“Young hero—” Not marrying? All the better!

“Senior brother! Where is Wanwan?” Mubai, about to descend from the stage, suddenly noticed someone missing from Xue Qing’s side and glanced around in growing alarm.

The three of them, as well as the audience, exchanged uncertain looks. Yes—there had been four people with the two heroes when they arrived: two men and two women. The woman in the orange dress had left quite an impression—her beauty had sent ripples through many hearts.

Pan Yueyang turned sharply to Xue Qing. She was a martial expert herself—how had someone vanished from her side without her noticing?

All three faces were etched with anxiety, especially as Pan Yueyang’s expression darkened. Xue Qing, frustrated with herself, scanned the crowd. She had been too absorbed watching the duel, oblivious to Wanwan’s quiet disappearance. A turmoil of emotions coursed through her.

“Mubai, head for the East City Gate!” With that, Pan Yueyang vaulted onto a rooftop, speeding toward the western city magistrate’s office.

Bai Li Mubai leaped away, moving even faster, vanishing into the crowd with astonishing swiftness. Pan Yueyang had sent him east precisely because Mubai’s speed far surpassed his own. They were in the west; the east gate was far. If Wanwan had been abducted, and the kidnappers intended to escape the capital, even they could not outrun Mubai.

Pan Yueyang drew out his token of authority, revealed his identity, and gained immediate access to the magistrate’s office. Moments later, he emerged and raced toward the west gate.

Soon, runners from the magistrate’s office appeared, cordoning off the stage.

Xue Qing did not stop searching; she remained on site, determined to find Wanwan. The townsfolk, who had come for a bit of excitement, were now startled to find themselves caught up in a human trafficking investigation.

Xue Qing forced herself to think calmly. Something wasn’t right. She glanced back at the stage—Li Xuanfu and the woman in red had already vanished. With a burst of lightness skill, Xue Qing leaped to the rooftop of the tavern opposite, drawing gasps from the crowd. She had always seemed gentle and reserved, her beauty overshadowed by the more dazzling woman beside her, but now it was clear—she, too, was no ordinary woman.

From her vantage point, Xue Qing gave no thought to what others might think. She had sensed how much Wanwan meant to Pan Yueyang, and her own carelessness had led to Wanwan’s disappearance. Li Xuanfu was clearly involved—he must be found at once.

Pan Yueyang dared not alarm the city further. Wanwan was only his concubine; he could hardly mobilize the capital’s garrison to search for her. All he could do was use his own authority to alert the magistrate, then coordinate with Mubai to watch the city gates. But his greater fear was that the kidnappers might not intend to leave the city at all…

With a furious blow, Pan Yueyang smashed his fist into the city wall, heedless of the wounds to his hand, his eyes blazing with a bloodthirsty red.

Commander Wei, in charge of the city’s garrison, had just finished drills and was making his daily rounds at the gates. The commoners might not recognize Pan Yueyang, but Wei certainly did. Seeing General Pan pounding the city wall in rage, he approached and saluted, “General Pan.”

It was as though hope had arrived. Pan had been about to seek him out, but Wei’s drills had taken him far from the gate. Pan dared not leave his post, so he could only wait in frustration. “Guard the gate. No one leaves the city!”

“At your command.” Commander Wei, unsure what had happened, could tell from Pan Yueyang’s expression that it was a matter of great importance. He had heard of no disturbances within the capital, but as one of low rank, it was not for him to question his superiors—his duty was to obey.

Immediately, he assembled his soldiers, sent riders to alert the western gate, and ordered a thorough inspection of all travelers—entry permitted, but no one allowed out.

Pan Yueyang wasted no time, mounted a horse, and galloped away, spurring his steed on with all his might.

Wanwan fluttered her eyelashes, rousing slightly, and someone immediately reached out. “Miss, miss.” When she gave no response, the person sat down beside her in defeat.

It was hard to say how long she had slept, but Wanwan felt cold—the chill of the stone floor forced her eyes open. Darkness greeted her, and suddenly a hand seized her.

A ghost! Wanwan cried out instinctively. Was she dead? Only moments ago she’d been watching her master and Mubai spar on stage. Had their martial skills been so powerful that she’d become collateral damage?

“Shh!” Her cry was abruptly muffled by a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Wanwan struggled.

A hand—warm and human. She wasn’t dead, after all.

An even deeper fear crept over her.

“Miss, it’s me.” A woman’s voice whispered in her ear, trying to calm her.

Wanwan froze, forgetting to struggle. A girl?

“Miss, are you all right?” Rui Rui turned Wanwan’s body so that, in the darkness, she could try to make out her face.

“You?” Wanwan thought the voice sounded familiar.

“Take a good look—it’s me. Do you remember?” The voice was still low and hushed.

Wanwan couldn’t see clearly in the pitch blackness, but she sensed no malice from the other girl.

“You were on the stage—Mo Qing…” Rui Rui’s voice was filled with pain.

With her prompting, Wanwan finally recalled—yes, it was the voice of the beautiful girl in red who had appeared in the contest!

Heavy footsteps sounded overhead. “What’s all that noise? Shut up, the lot of you!” Simultaneously, a sliver of light split the darkness above, dazzling the two women and forcing them to shield their eyes.

The crack widened, and as their eyes adjusted, they looked up.

“Pretty girls, you’d better behave. If you make another sound, you’ll regret it!” A hulking brute with a bushy beard glared down at them menacingly.

Wanwan and Rui Rui nodded in terror. By the new light, Wanwan saw that the girl beside her, clad in red, was indeed the young lady from the stage—the very one who had been offered as a bride.