Chapter Seventy-One: The Final Verdict

Update time: 2013-07-04

The bustle atop the cliff could hardly be described with the simple word “lively”—it was nothing short of a grand celebration, with lanterns strung and banners hung, turning the once pitch-black woods into a blaze of light.

Several temporary tents had been erected among the trees near the cliff’s edge, their insides brightly illuminated by lanterns, so much so that the silhouettes of people inside were clearly visible from without.

In the open area at the center of the tents, a group sat on stones, their faces grave as they listened to Yue Lingjun recount the events.

“That’s the general situation,” he concluded.

Yue Lingjun grabbed the water flask beside him and took several deep gulps, his gaze shifting back to his newly arrived aunt, Yue Shiru. In a crisis like this, having an elder present brought him considerable reassurance.

Even in the dim lamplight, the anger on Yue Shiru’s face was unmistakable—she had already cursed the perpetrator countless times in her heart.

She cared little for the trouble caused in Luoyang Prefecture, despite the deaths and the burden it placed on her husband—after all, with the Yue family backing them, no one could make much of a fuss. What truly enraged her was that the culprit had the audacity to use the Yue family’s carriage under her very nose to leave the city, and, even worse, dared to take someone with him—her eldest brother’s most cherished young daughter, Yue’er, who was now missing and her fate uncertain.

Already, she felt guilty every time she saw her second brother because of what Che’er had done to Lanshui; now, with Yue’er embroiled in such a calamity, what explanation could she possibly offer him?

She shot a glare full of resentment at her son, who sat to the side. Qin Che, innocent yet the recipient of her ire, assumed it was because of his own failings—after all, he had indeed bungled things badly in the past.

“Lingjun, you’ve done well today. With you taking charge of the Yue family, your second uncle can rest easy.” Yue Shiru praised him before steering the conversation back to the matter of Lian Yue’s abduction. “Your analysis of today’s events is solid, but there are still shortcomings.”

“Please advise us, Aunt,” Yue Lingjun replied, always humble in such matters.

She nodded approvingly and continued, “The second possibility you mentioned is, in fact, unnecessary. There’s no need to expend much effort on that.”

Qin Che, unwilling to concede even to his mother, couldn’t help but object. “But, Mother, if those clues were deliberately planted to mislead us, and we ignore that lead, what if cousin really was taken by them? Wouldn’t we be abandoning her to danger?”

“Let me finish before you interrupt,” Yue Shiru chided, casting a displeased glance at her impatient son, then looking at the composed Yue Lingjun beside him—even Jo Zhi, whom she never thought much of, was calmer than her own son at the moment. Had she truly failed to raise him properly? Why was there such a difference compared to her second brother’s children? Never mind; she pressed on.

“If their true aim was to divert your attention, feigning a fall from the cliff would suffice. The traces you later found of someone climbing down were superfluous—there’s only one reason for them to act that way.”

She paused deliberately, using the opportunity to teach the younger generation gathered around her.

Jo Zhi, who had managed to remain calm until now, suddenly grew agitated. “Madam, are you saying that Yue’er really did fall from the cliff?”

He could hardly be blamed. Arriving in haste, he had initially accepted Yue Lingjun’s second hypothesis and felt some relief—given Lian Yue’s status, anyone daring enough to harm her would have to weigh the consequences carefully, which, ironically, meant she was likely safe for now.

But now, with this new assertion, everything was thrown into uncertainty: Lian Yue’s survival or death, whether she was injured or crippled, all became unknowns. According to the herbalists who’d climbed into the gorge, the cliff was sheer and nearly barren of vegetation—there was little chance she’d even be caught halfway down.

The thought gnawed at him like an army of ants, leaving him restless.

Inwardly, Yue Shiru revoked the “composed” label she’d just affixed to him, and was deeply dissatisfied with his familiarity in addressing Lian Yue. Still, he was a prince, willingly abandoning his comforts to keep vigil at the cliff—his concern for her niece was genuine, so she let it go.

“It is almost certain that Yue’er truly fell from the cliff this time,” Yue Shiru declared.

Her affirmation drained the faces of Jo Zhi, Yue Lingjun, and Lanshui of all color. In the shadows, Yaoyao—forgotten by all and weeping silently—fainted from fright.

Everyone’s attention was fixed on Yue Shiru; no one noticed the collapsed figure in the dim edge of the lamplight.

“As for the group you suspect, they were either accomplices coming to meet the black-clad man who took Yue’er—perhaps they saw, or guessed as you did, that he fell from the cliff—hence your later discoveries.

“Or, they were enemies of his, and perhaps forced both the black-clad man and Yue’er over the edge. If so, they might have checked to confirm their deaths or survival. When you arrived, they left to avoid further complications.”

There was one more thing Yue Shiru left unsaid, because she herself couldn’t bear to accept it: with a cliff this sheer, the odds of survival were slim.

“At first light tomorrow, once the dew has dried, we must find a way down the cliff—no matter what. If alive, we bring them back; if dead...” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

A heavy silence fell over the clearing. No one wanted to speak; the possible outcome was a cruel blow to them all.

Yue Shiru gazed at the younger generation before her, her mind filled with memories of Lian Yue’s every smile and frown, her every playful or petulant look. Such a clever, endearing girl—was her life truly to end so soon? Three years ago, when her sister-in-law passed, her second brother aged overnight. If the daughter most like his late wife followed her in death, could her brother bear it?

“Lanshui, help me back to the tent,” she said softly, unsure whether her next words would be appropriate.

From the moment she’d seen Yue Shiru today, Lanshui had known this was inevitable. Without protest, she let Yue Shiru take her arm and led her into a nearby tent.

Qin Che shifted his feet but in the end did not follow.

Yue Lingjun watched for a moment, then turned to Jo Zhi to discuss plans for the next day.

Poor Yaoyao still lay crumpled on the grass, unnoticed by any.

Tonight, it seemed, would be a sleepless night.

Far below, in the darkness at the base of the cliff, Thirteen and Forty-Seven finally reached the ground with the aid of their “Ape’s Hands.”

Forty-Seven slumped down, gasping, and cursed, “Damn it all, this cliff is ridiculously deep. Climbing non-stop for hours—would’ve been faster to just jump.”

“Bah!” Thirteen spat out a mouthful of grit, yanked off his “Ape’s Hands,” and threw them at Forty-Seven. “Don’t sit there like a dead pig—get up and do your job! Search carefully for any trace of the young master. Damn it—why is it so dark?”

Forty-Seven dared not slack, praying inwardly, Young master, please, don’t let me find only a corpse…

Sticking close, two yards apart, they groped along the cliff in the direction Yue Lingjun had indicated.

They fashioned makeshift torches from whatever they could find, and their search sped up, quickly bringing them near their goal.

Assassins are especially sensitive to the scent of blood in the air. Forty-Seven sniffed several times, his heart sinking. His voice trembled. “Th-Thirteen… do you smell that? Blood. Over there!”

Thirteen’s face darkened as he stepped closer, falling silent. The stench of blood gave him a bad feeling.

“You don’t think it’s…”

“Whether it is or not, we’ll know soon enough. Come on!”

Forty-Seven’s legs began to shake, and Thirteen was not much better off. In this moment, they felt as if they’d returned to the devil’s training of years past.

Holding their breath, torches in hand, the two men headed toward the source of the blood.