The matter of Han Lingqiu being detained was actually quite simple. To summarize in one sentence: he was just an unlucky fellow caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Before Xiaoxiao died, he had mistaken Han Lingqiu for number seventeen and had likely sent a message to the Heaven Knowing. Thus misled, the Heaven Knowing began hunting Han Lingqiu. As a military commander in Daliang with excellent martial skills, Han Lingqiu was not easily approachable under normal circumstances.
Eventually, when the rebel leader of Jing State was about to surrender to Zhi, the Heaven Knowing seized the opportunity to demand that he lure and capture Han Lingqiu. For Han Lingqiu, this was truly an unwarranted disaster—a case of mistaken identity with deadly consequences.
The "seventeen" that the Heaven Knowing wanted to capture was Duan Xu.
When the real "seventeen" blinded his master and escaped, he thought that would be the end between him and the Heaven Knowing. Later, when he killed Xiaoxiao at Shuo State's capital, he also thought that might be the end. However, none of those were truly the end. Perhaps the past never truly passes—which is why it keeps reappearing, demanding a conclusion.
Duan Xu couldn't help but sigh deeply.
By the time he infiltrated Jing State's capital city, it was already deep in the night. He first blended in with the guards to enter Tang Dequan's residence, then broke away and raced across the rooftops. He stepped on the tiles as if stepping on cotton, making no sound at all. Within half an hour, he had thoroughly familiarized himself with the layout of Tang Dequan's residence.
This residence originally belonged to the Zhi governor of Jing State. Though Zhi was ostensibly governed by law in the Han style, blood ties and personal relations often took precedence over legal principles. Therefore, Huqi officials often set up private prisons, and taking lives at will was common practice.
Otherwise, how could the Heaven Knowing exist for so many years without the Zhi Censorate ever questioning this organization that had no legal basis?
Based on Duan Xu's experience, this residence must have a private prison. If Tang Dequan wanted to imprison Han Lingqiu, he wouldn't keep him too far away—most likely in the private prison within the compound itself.
Zhi had their theory of feng shui, with specific requirements for building places like private prisons. Duan Xu quickly located the likely spot. He positioned himself on a beam in the corridor, observing the prison's guards and patrol patterns with patient precision, when his sharp eyes caught two people in black cloaks emerging from the gray stone door, softly discussing something.
A gust of wind blew, lifting their cloaks, and Duan Xu saw their faces. Beneath one cloak was a white and gold priestly garment that looked immaculately clean—completely out of place in this dark, dank prison. The other person wore black clothes, with resolute features and piercing eyes, very much fitting for this place.
The Zhi High Priest Lu Da, and number fourteen of the Heaven Knowing.
So the person sent by Heaven Knowing this time was senior brother fourteen—truly a veteran. Number fourteen was Huqi, and Duan Xu had only encountered him a few times. However, once he happened to see number fourteen returning from a mission without his face covered, so he knew his true appearance.
Before him, number fourteen had been the most famous and trusted disciple in the Heaven Knowing. After he left, the Heaven Knowing seemed to stop accepting disciples for several years. Presumably, there wouldn't be another madman like him trying to steal number fourteen's thunder.
Duan Xu watched as Lu Da and number fourteen walked away. Seeing a soldier approaching with a food container, he lightly leaped down, suddenly grabbing the soldier's neck at a corner and deeply inserting a thin needle into his throat, while steadily taking the food container from his hand. The soldier convulsed once and fell silently. Duan Xu quickly dragged him into the shadows, exchanged clothes with him, and then appeared in the corridor walking toward the prison as if he belonged there.
After giving the password, the stone door was pushed open with awkward, heavy resistance. Duan Xu carried the food container down the steps. Before he had gone far, the smell of fresh blood and dampness assaulted him. Moonlight fell into the cells through small windows, and torches burned at intervals for illumination, casting dancing shadows.
Duan Xu stopped in front of one cell. In the dim light, Han Lingqiu's hands were suspended from the wall, his body covered in gashes of red and white, hanging like a broken marionette. His shoulder blades were also pierced and locked by chains. He hung his head, hair disheveled, and it was unclear whether he was conscious or unconscious.
Duan Xu put down the food container and looked around cautiously, using the keys he had taken from the soldier to open the cell door and enter. Han Lingqiu's handcuffs, ankle chains, and shoulder blade chains were all locked—clearly they couldn't be opened by the keys from this soldier.
Duan Xu quickly examined the thickness and material of the chains, then drew the Pówàng sword from his waist, weighed it in his hand, and said softly, "It's up to you, Pówàng."
He swung the sword left and right, the characters "Pó" and "Wàng" on the blade flashing with light, cutting through the chains as if they were mud. Duan Xu satisfiedly sheathed his sword, squatted down to pat Han Lingqiu's face, and said, "Han Lingqiu, wake up, come with me."
Han Lingqiu frowned, shook his head with difficulty, and then opened his bloodshot eyes, looking at Duan Xu in confusion.
Then that look changed. He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Duan Xu's collar with surprising strength, and enunciated each word: "Chi Ye Yu…"
Duan Xu's pupils contracted sharply. He quickly broke free from Han Lingqiu's grip and stood up, looking down at Han Lingqiu, who resembled a fierce beast awakening.
What Han Lingqiu had just said was in the Huqi language—it was Duan Xu's bed position when he was in Heaven Knowing. Before becoming full-fledged members, they weren't allowed to have names, so they were often called by their bed positions.
This was the worst possible scenario—Han Lingqiu had recovered his memory.
Back then, he had given Han Lingqiu a memory-erasing potion stolen from the Heaven Knowing, which also had an antidote. Now that Han Lingqiu had fallen into the hands of the Heaven Knowing, Duan Xu had anticipated they might administer the antidote upon discovering Han Lingqiu's memory loss.
But he also knew that the potion was difficult to prepare, and after drinking it, it would take anywhere from two days to half a month to gradually recover memories. He had thought that even if Han Lingqiu had taken the potion, he could rescue him before his memory returned. He hadn't expected Han Lingqiu to recover his memory in such a short time.
Moonlight fell coldly on Han Lingqiu's face. The scar running down from his temple looked increasingly ferocious—as if he had been torn apart by this mark. His blood-red eyes reflected Duan Xu, containing deep, visceral hatred.
Hatred.
Just like during those seven years in Heaven Knowing—strangers to each other, fighting to the death, not knowing what they hated, just hating with every fiber of their being.
Duan Xu squatted down, grabbed Han Lingqiu's collar, and stared into his eyes, smiling. "Han Lingqiu, come to your senses. Open your eyes and look carefully. I am your marshal, you are my general! I don't have time to argue with you now. Stand up and follow me."
Han Lingqiu was startled. He repeated softly, as if testing the words, "Marshal… General… Han Lingqiu…"
Han Lingqiu clenched his fists, lowered his head, and bit down hard, making a sound like a wail—as if torn apart by his absurd and contradictory past, by two identities that could not coexist.
Sensing footsteps, Duan Xu immediately stood and turned to see Lu Da, who had returned. He walked slowly into the cell, looking at Duan Xu with a complex expression.
"Seventeen, you're still alive." After a pause, Lu Da added, "You are Duan Xu, Daliang's General Duan."
Duan Xu was silent for a moment, then tilted his head and smiled brightly. "Long time no see, High Priest. I said we'd better never meet again, this is truly unfortunate."
A creaking sound emerged from the darkness—as if wheels were turning on stone. Duan Xu gripped the Pówàng sword tightly and turned his gaze. A wooden wheelchair slowly emerged from the darkness into the area illuminated by moonlight. The person in the wheelchair wore a black robe with decorations made of bones and silver unique to the Huqi hanging at his waist. The light gradually crawled up the newcomer's face—a face close to sixty, covered in wrinkles, still showing resolute features and an imposing presence, except that where his eyes should be, there were only purplish-red scars, and his white hair was neatly braided.
Duan Xu slowly widened his eyes.
His master Mu'ertu, his "father" from the age of seven to fourteen.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was—past and present bleeding together.
He seemed to hear the crackling of burning trees from the past, the gurgling of spurting blood, the clanging of swords, the explosive sound of disciplinary whips, the crisp snap of breaking bones. Crying, screaming, someone shouting hoarsely that they would never forgive him, someone begging him pitifully to spare them, and someone laughing—seemingly real yet unreal.
This laughter was extremely harsh, like sharp thorns growing from a sea of blood, tearing everyone, including himself, to pieces. Who was laughing?
It seemed to be number seventeen.
It was himself.
At that time, the old man before him had sharp ears and bright eyes, with an arrogant and contemptuous expression. He bent down, held his blood-soaked hands, and said—you are indeed a genius, a blessing from the Azure God.
—You've done well, worthy of being chosen by me.
Duan Xu stepped back twice. Amidst the overwhelming bloodshed, the old man before him occasionally showed awkward gentleness—rare glimpses of something almost human.
—The Western Regions have offered some fruits, very sweet, only children like such things. Take them and eat.
—Injured again? I permit you to rest for three days. What's wrong with showing favoritism? If they were all like you, I would favor them too.
Duan Xu's eyes gradually reddened, the madness he usually concealed gradually emerging. Like a hedgehog with all its spines raised, he smiled and said, "Master, long time no see. Congratulations, you've finally ambushed me."
This detestable and fearsome person, who always praised him with what he feared and detested most, who pressed him into the mire over a long period.
And who also, with his other hand, supported the back of his head, allowing him to rise from the mire to breathe.
The old man was silent. Between them was a distance of two zhang, nine years, the relationship of master and disciple, and blinding hatred—too much history to ever bridge.
He said calmly, "You saved him once, and now you've come to save him a second time. Why?"
Duan Xu seemed to think seriously, then said, "Why? Why… Perhaps for the same reason I didn't kill you back then—because of the compassion you despised."
"Your martial arts, all your skills, I taught you."
"All the people I killed, you also ordered me to kill."
"People are divided into classes. You betrayed me for those lowly ones?"
Duan Xu laughed. He shook his head, then realized that Mu'ertu couldn't see him shaking his head, so he said, "Master, we have fundamental differences that grow from our bones. We cannot understand each other."
At this point, he suddenly had an epiphany, understanding what he had been avoiding all along—he had longed for an ending where he would never meet Mu'ertu again.
The hatred between them could not be clarified. Let all the inexpressible resentment, pain, gratitude, and betrayal be hidden in the shadow behind number seventeen, forever hidden in the shadow, with death as the end.
When he escaped, he thought that such a strong and proud person as his master, after experiencing betrayal and blindness, would probably never leave the Heaven Knowing manor for the rest of his life, hiding his wretched and dejected appearance behind his glorious name. He never thought he would see him again in this lifetime.
"Han people are inferior and untrustworthy," number fourteen said. He stood behind Mu'ertu, pushing his wheelchair, his vigilant eyes watching Duan Xu like a hawk tracking prey.
Duan Xu lowered his head and smiled, lifting Han Lingqiu from the ground. "Did you hear that? Are you still not coming with me? Do you want to stay here and be a servant?"
But Lu Da said to Han Lingqiu, "All who dedicate themselves to the Azure God are his people. You are Zhi. You are not Han Lingqiu. Your parents are faithful believers of the Azure God. They dedicated you to the Heaven Knowing, hoping you could stand out and serve the Azure God. To this day, your parents are still in Zhi, eagerly waiting for your return. You also have a sister, do you remember?"
Number fourteen said softly, "Originally, you should have been number seventeen. That fellow is a treacherous apostate who had no right to participate in the Darkening Trial. He ruined your life, separated you from your parents and relatives, and led you astray to serve an enemy country. He is the one you should hate most. Today, neither of you will leave."
Han Lingqiu let out an almost frenzied cry. He broke free from Duan Xu's grasp, covered his face with both hands and trembled violently. He suddenly pinned Duan Xu against the wall, gripping his throat, his eyes crimson as he shouted, "Why did you, why didn't you just kill me back then? Why did you save me? Why did you save me?!"
Duan Xu looked around at the people standing in this prison—Lu Da, number fourteen, Mu'ertu, Han Lingqiu, and countless soldiers hidden in the darkness beyond the torchlight.
This was truly a situation surrounded by wolves.
"To be honest, I'm starting to regret coming to save you," Duan Xu smiled.
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