The figure before him was not a breathtaking beauty in the traditional sense.
Her face possessed a cool, refined elegance, her features delicate and captivating. Years of blade training had blessed her with a healthy pallor rather than the porcelain fragility typical of sheltered noblewomen. Her almond eyes shone clear and clean, and a small mole at the tip of her nose added an unexpected touch of playfulness.
Mu Renjiu's previously impassive expression crumbled into chaos.
His long whip, which had claimed countless lives without mercy, proved utterly inadequate against Aran's blade. He retreated step by step, each movement more desperate than the last.
Aran frowned, sensing something amiss.
Mu Renjiu's hands trembled violently. He averted his gaze, and his characteristically cold voice wavered with barely suppressed emotion—
"Withdraw."
That single word hung in the air before he spun around and fled, his silhouette staggering as though in shameful defeat. His subordinates immediately followed, none daring to linger. If Mu Renjiu himself had been bested, they certainly wouldn't court death by remaining.
Aran moved to pursue but glanced back at her "coffin fund" and arrested her momentum. She muttered under her breath, "What just happened? Retreating mid-battle? I finally encounter a worthy opponent..."
Though it appeared she'd won, only she understood the truth: Mu Renjiu had lost his fighting spirit. They hadn't truly determined a victor. She'd been confident of prevailing, but Mu Renjiu had denied her the opportunity.
Aran drew a deep breath, pivoted toward a nearby tree, and slashed at it with a slight smile—
"How much longer will you hide there, friend?"
Heiyu: "......"
How did she detect me?!
The tree split cleanly, and Heiyu tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap, eyeing Aran warily. He didn't realize that since Aran had been following him, she'd naturally tracked his hiding spot.
Aran glanced at the long whip coiled at Heiyu's waist and raised an eyebrow. "You also use a whip? Come on, then."
The words barely left her lips before she pounced.
Heiyu: "!!"
He'd been stunned since Aran's sudden appearance, and Mu Renjiu's defeat had shocked him even further. Mu Renjiu's combat prowess was formidable—utterly ferocious in battle.
Where did this woman come from?!
When Mu Renjiu's subordinates had moved to assist, Heiyu had considered intervening to secretly aid Mu Renjiu. Surely they couldn't fail together, no matter how terrifying this woman proved?
In His Highness's calculations, today's outcome should have resulted in either Mu Renjiu obtaining the roster or their faction securing it.
But...
Had His Highness, whose strategies never failed, anticipated some unknown player emerging from nowhere to claim the bounty and intercept Zhao Quan?!
Heiyu couldn't ponder further.
Aran's blade was upon him.
At dawn.
A subordinate burst into the study, crying out, "Your Highness, the Black Jade Guard has returned—severely wounded!"
Xiao Heqing's brow furrowed as he looked up from his work.
Bai Yu stepped forward anxiously. "What happened? Did he clash with Mu Renjiu? Didn't His Highness explicitly order him not to compete for the roster and let Mu Renjiu take it directly?"
The messenger shook his head frantically. "No, Mu Renjiu didn't obtain the roster!"
Bai Yu's surprise manifested in a raised voice. "What?! Mu Renjiu failed? Who did the Chivalrous Villa dispatch?"
"It was a swordswoman who appeared out of nowhere. She unveiled the bounty notice. After Mu Renjiu eliminated the Chivalrous Villa's people, he lost to this sudden swordswoman. Then she severely wounded Black Jade, and Zhao Quan remains in her possession!" The subordinate delivered his report in a single breathless rush.
Bai Yu stood frozen.
A sudden... swordswoman?
Someone capable of defeating Mu Renjiu couldn't simply appear from nowhere, could they?
He instinctively looked toward Xiao Heqing. "Your Highness, someone must have intervened to seize the roster. Who's backing her?"
Xiao Heqing stared at the chess board before him. The decisive endgame had been completely disrupted, no longer proceeding toward the conclusion he'd calculated. He spoke slowly, his voice glacial—
"Investigate."
Regardless of which faction was involved, their target was undoubtedly the roster.
Meanwhile.
Aran had just finished digging a large pit.
After the battle concluded, she'd discovered Zhao Quan had already breathed his last. No matter—she'd needed to collect his head regardless of whether he survived. Recalling Zhao Quan's final words, she felt he deserved a proper burial.
Though he'd committed terrible deeds, some conscience remained.
Aran tossed the headless corpse into the pit and muttered, "I don't have a coffin yet, so I'll bury you directly. I trust you won't hold it against me."
As she prepared to fill in the earth, Aran noticed something tucked against Zhao Quan's chest—a corner protruding from his robes.
She reached out and extracted the object.
A booklet.
Though her master Chen Liu was illiterate, Aran could read thanks to her mother and Ah Xuan's childhood instruction.
She didn't recognize any of the names listed in the roster, and occasionally encountered unfamiliar characters she couldn't decipher.
"What is this?"
Aran flipped through it casually, tucked the roster into her robes, and resumed burying Zhao Quan.
"The bounty was claimed by a swordswoman! Zhao Quan's head was delivered to the authorities!"
"Who? Someone that formidable? A swordswoman... Is it Gu Qi, ranked fourth at Chivalrous Villa, or Qiu Shurong, ranked twelfth?"
"No, she's an unknown woman."
"Really? Tell me—do we have any information about her?"
"Nothing. We only know she's under eighteen, young, female, and uses a blade."
......
News of Aran carrying Zhao Quan's head to claim the bounty spread throughout the capital in less than half a day. "The Knife Woman" became instantly famous.
When Bai Laoer received the news, he'd been regaling Bai Laosan with tales of the "fool" he'd encountered the previous day—a woman who'd actually fixated on that bounty, practically seeking death!
Then the message arrived.
Bai Laosan stared at him, shock written across his features. "The Knife Woman is that crazy woman you mentioned?"
Bai Laoer swallowed hard. "Sounds... like it."
At that moment, an apprentice suddenly nudged him, gaping toward the doorway in alarm.
Bai Laoer followed his gaze and spotted a familiar silhouette. After one night, apart from the veiled hat, she looked identical to yesterday—carrying a bag of something, approaching with measured steps.
Her gait was calm and leisurely, as though taking a casual stroll.
Bai Laoer instinctively retreated a step. He wanted Bai Laosan to handle this, but when he turned his head—where had everyone gone?
They'd all fled!
Bai Laoer cursed internally but forced himself to smile through gritted teeth, rushing forward to greet her with an obsequious bow. "Heroine, you've returned."
Aran tossed her swaying bag onto the counter with casual indifference.
"Bang!" The sound nearly gave Bai Laoer a heart attack.
Aran: "Well?"
Bai Laoer steeled himself and peered inside—one hundred taels of gold, freshly withdrawn from the authorities and untouched.
"No problem whatsoever! The Bai family will definitely create a premium coffin worthy of our guest's expectations. Complete satisfaction guaranteed!" Bai Laoer pulled the gold ingots toward himself.
Goodness!
This is rather hefty, isn't it?
Aran nodded and extended her hand again. "The receipt?"
Bai Laoer hastily wrote out a deed while explaining, "Rest assured, guest—even if you lose this receipt, Bai Laoer has an excellent memory. As long as you return, I'll remember your order."
"How long will it take?"
"Six... months!" Bai Laoer revised his estimate.
Aran nodded with satisfaction, accepted the voucher, secured it carefully, turned, and prepared to depart.
Perhaps because she'd been so agreeable, Bai Laoer couldn't resist asking, "Guest, who is this coffin for?"
Knowing the intended occupant would help customize the design appropriately. Of course, he was also genuinely curious. This swordswoman had willingly parted with a hundred taels of gold for a coffin, yet showed no trace of sadness—Bai Laoer truly couldn't comprehend it.
Aran's voice was light. "For myself."
Bai Laoer: "???"
His hands jerked in shock, and the gold fell, striking a painfully familiar location......
Moments after Aran departed, a scream that nearly pierced the heavens erupted behind her—
"Ahhh! It hurts!"
But by then, Aran had already gone far.
With the voucher secured in her robes, she was in excellent spirits. Since learning she had only one year remaining, Aran had been determined to obtain the finest coffin possible. Even in death, Jiang Aran deserved the very best.
Yes, she had only one year to live.
Several days ago, the hermit Tanhua had descended from the mountains seeking refuge and calculated a divination for Aran in passing.
"This woman was born in the Yin year, Yin month, and Yin day. Her Yang life extends only to age eighteen," Tanhua had pronounced.
Master's expression had immediately darkened, and he'd demanded Tanhua find a solution. But Tanhua only told fortunes—he didn't alter destinies. What could he do?
Master had declared, "Don't believe Tanhua, that old charlatan."
Aran had continued practicing her bladework as usual, saying nothing. Master assumed she dismissed the prophecy, after all, Aran had never been one to believe in fate.
But Aran knew Tanhua spoke truth.
This wasn't her first encounter with the fortune-teller. Thirteen years ago, on the eve of the Jiang family's destruction, the renowned "Old Immortal" Daoist Priest Tanhua had arrived to predict their calamity of annihilation.
The Jiang family had paid with every life to prove the rumors about Tanhua—when he spoke, he was never wrong.
Aran truly had only one year remaining.
Half her being already dwelled in the Hall of Hell; she was merely a ghost walking the mortal realm.
Now that she'd arranged for her coffin, it was time to pursue what she truly desired.
When the Jiang family was destroyed, the world had been shocked. She intended to announce her return in an even more shocking manner—
Jiang family's Aran has returned.
Aran had never feared death, but she couldn't die yet—and certainly not quietly. In this final year, she would live freely and become renowned throughout the land. She would die magnificently, known to all under heaven.
Aran smiled softly.
She continued walking forward, contemplating the intelligence she'd gathered the previous night.
Zhao Quan had belonged to Chivalrous Villa. Allegedly, he'd stolen treasures from the establishment, yet the bounty had been issued by the imperial court. Last night, three factions had converged—Chivalrous Villa, the palace, and another unknown power.
The waters of the capital ran deeply murky.
By intercepting Zhao Quan, she'd already stirred these waters. Only by entering the game could she participate. Aran mused—surely someone would make their move soon?
She carried her blade and walked serenely into the teahouse.
The Imperial Palace.
This magnificent and luxurious edifice wasn't universally splendid. The darkness concealed beneath its opulence was even more sinister and gloomy—like the palace's very soil, nourished by flesh and blood as fertilizer, cultivating the glory above.
Commander of the Imperial City, Mu Renjiu, bore responsibility for palace security, commanding the Imperial City Forbidden Army and the palace's martial experts. Despite being a eunuch, his status remained exceptional.
This was how outsiders perceived him.
Everyone privy to the truth understood: Mu Renjiu was merely the emperor's hound. He was a ferocious beast, inhumane, attacking wherever directed.
The mission had failed, and Mu Renjiu raised his long whip and knelt in the dark dungeon.
"Thirty lashes!"
Someone seized his whip and struck his back. The very whip he'd used to harvest countless lives was dipped in saltwater and applied to his own flesh. Skin split and blood flowed, leaving layer upon layer of whip scars accumulated over years.
Mu Renjiu's expression remained unchanged throughout. Large beads of sweat dotted his forehead and blood streamed down his back, yet his countenance never wavered.
The thirty lashes concluded.
Mu Renjiu slowly rose to his feet.
The whip-wielder lowered his head, returned the weapon, and spoke softly—
"His Majesty ordered that Master Mu receive this whipping to remember his failure. You must swiftly identify the swordswoman and whoever backs her, and retrieve the roster!"
Mu Renjiu extended his hand to accept it. "Yes."
His voice remained calm. If one didn't observe his ravaged back, he seemed no different from usual—his face still ghostly pale and emotionless.
A young eunuch helped him return to his quarters to apply medicine. The emperor had provided special ointment to facilitate rapid recovery without impeding his duties.
"Master..." After administering the medicine, the young eunuch stammered hesitantly.
After a prolonged silence, Mu Renjiu spoke. "Leave."
The young eunuch scrambled out in a frantic crawl.
No one wasn't terrified of Mu Renjiu. He was a ruthless figure whose reputation could stop children's nighttime crying. Having just endured a whipping with saltwater-soaked lashes—torture that would cripple ordinary people after a single strike—he'd received thirty without uttering a sound, his back reduced to bloody pulp. How could such a merciless person not inspire fear?
Moreover, his temperament was unpredictable. He'd kill on a whim. The young eunuch was genuinely frightened.
After the servant departed, the room fell silent.
After a considerable time, Mu Renjiu raised his head and extracted a tassel from a secret compartment in his bed. It had aged considerably over several years, showing its antiquity.
His hands trembled as he stroked it. The face that had remained expressionless even under torture now contorted with pain and sorrow, his eyes brimming with tears.
Deyi Pavilion was the capital's largest restaurant, situated on bustling Changhua Street, connecting the eastern, southern, and northwestern districts. Massive crowds passed through daily.
The first floor was raucous—storytellers, tea drinkers, and chattering patrons representing all social strata created tremendous noise. The second floor offered refinement, with a separate side entrance and private staircase, accommodating diverse clientele.
Aran occupied the first floor.
Beyond the hundred taels of gold for her coffin, Aran possessed only one or two silver pieces taken from Zhao Quan's corpse. After purchasing her veiled hat, mere copper coins remained—barely enough to sit in the teahouse's common area and order the roughest tea available.
However, the storyteller here discussed everything, so for two consecutive days, Aran had made the teahouse her regular haunt.
As for ordering a single cup of coarse tea and the cheapest snacks to occupy space all day—whatever the proprietor thought of her, she was thick-skinned enough not to care.
I still need to earn money somehow...
She couldn't sleep on rooftops indefinitely, could she?
Aran remained somewhat unaccustomed to a life where food, clothing, shelter, and transportation all required currency.
Today she occupied a corner table behind the pillars, one person at a solitary table. Someone had approached to sit nearby, but upon spotting the long blade on her table, immediately retreated in alarm. The servers bustled about, and the first floor had grown quite lively.
Conversations ranged from court politics to the Knife Woman who'd claimed the bounty two days prior. Aran was already famous.
On the platform, the storyteller slapped his wooden block decisively:
"Today, let's discuss the renowned Jiang family from thirteen years ago!"
Aran had been contemplating money-making schemes when her body went rigid. Slowly, she raised her head toward the storyteller, her eyes profound and fathomless.
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