Chapter Eighty-Seven: Rescue

The three of them sat in the inn, utterly helpless, sighing and lamenting their plight. Suddenly, in the dead of night, someone knocked at the window. Li Chongyuan called out in a low voice, “Who goes there?”
A man replied in broken official speech, whispering, “You wish to save the Crown Prince, do you not? Why not come with me?”
Li Chongyuan turned and said, “Wait here for me!” With that, he seized his sword and leapt out the window. Under the moonlight, a short, sturdy man dressed in black was sprinting away. Li Chongyuan immediately employed his Shadowless Lightness Skill and gave chase. Though the man’s pace was swift, it was not the lightness skill of any known sect—he was relying solely on physical strength.
As Li Chongyuan closed the distance to a few yards, the man suddenly crouched low and vanished.
Confounded, Li Chongyuan soon saw the man reappear farther ahead, on the main road, and rushed after him again. Within moments, he was about to catch up, when the man once more slipped out of sight, only to reappear over a mile ahead. Li Chongyuan was astonished—what kind of skill was this?
It was neither the martial world’s lightness skill nor the strange movement technique derived from the mystical arts, and he had never seen or heard of such a thing.
There was no time to ponder further; he pressed on. The man in black flickered into view and vanished a dozen times, leading Li Chongyuan out to the outskirts of Chang’an.
In the distance, under the night sky, stood a dilapidated temple, its signboard weathered and peeling, the faint characters “Jiālán Temple” barely discernible.
The man suddenly stopped and called out, “Halt, sir. The person you seek is imprisoned in this temple, not in the imperial prison. If you wish to rescue him, come here at midnight tomorrow—I and my men will assist you.”
Li Chongyuan demanded, “Who are you? How do you know our purpose?”
The man laughed, “You lingered at Prince Wei’s residence for days, only departing before the Crown Prince raised his banner. The moment you entered Chang’an, our spies were watching. We know you are the Crown Prince’s junior, and you would never stand idly by, so I risked this meeting. I mean no harm—otherwise, I could have simply notified the city guards, with no need for such trouble.”
Li Chongyuan asked, “What is your connection to the Crown Prince? Why help him?”
The man replied, “My master has old ties with the Crown Prince, that is why we lend our aid. Do not ask further. Farewell.”
With that, he turned and strode off. Watching his retreating figure, Li Chongyuan suddenly realized something—the man had been short and sturdy before, but now appeared tall and thin. He had thought the man’s movement technique was strange, but they must have switched people midway, hiding in pits and secret holes along the route, and every time he was about to catch up, the one ahead would hide while another sprang out to continue the chase. In this way, he was led to Jiālán Temple.
When he returned to the inn, Lin Qingli and Lan Wutong were anxiously waiting. Li Chongyuan briefly explained what had happened.
Lin Qingli and Lan Wutong hesitated for a long while, then said, “Perhaps that man truly wishes to help, or perhaps he has other motives. At this point, we have no choice but to set aside our doubts and focus on the rescue. But we must remain cautious and not trust those people blindly.”
The next day, the three ate well and rested, preparing for the battle that awaited them that night.

As night fell and the hour of the pig arrived, the three made their preparations, strapping their weapons and treasure pouches close to their bodies. They exchanged glances, aware of the peril ahead—tonight’s mission might cost their lives. Li Chongyuan and Lin Qingli risked themselves for their elder brother, but Lan Wutong, who had no ties to the Tianshan Sect, also chose to brave the danger, and Li Chongyuan was deeply moved.
He was about to speak when Lan Wutong laughed, “Why so sentimental, gentlemen? You’re rescuing your fellow disciple, but I’m helping because I can’t stand by while you face danger. No need to say anything more—let’s go.”
The three employed their lightness skills and sped toward Jiālán Temple, arriving nearby in half an hour. Li Chongyuan was surprised to find that Lin Qingli’s internal strength had advanced so much that “covering a thousand miles in a day” was no exaggeration.
Lin Qingli’s martial arts had once been the weakest of the three, but now she surpassed Lan Wutong and was only slightly inferior to Li Chongyuan. During their nighttime foray into the palace, she had shown some skill, which had startled Li Chongyuan then. Now it seemed she had not revealed her full strength that night. With the impending battle, he had no time to question her, but in any case, her prowess was a boon.
The three silently leapt onto the roof of the temple’s main hall. Though the temple had been repaired and the wild grass and trees cleared away, its dilapidated state was still evident—the monks’ quarters and Buddha halls had broken windows and crooked doorframes, and the wind made a piercing, creaking sound that was chilling in the deep night.
Footsteps echoed as a pair of soldiers with long spears patrolled the courtyard. Midnight was near, but the man in black had not appeared. Li Chongyuan resolved to wait a little longer before charging in to rescue the captive himself.
Just then, he heard the tiles shift. Turning, he saw the short, sturdy man in black leap onto the roof. The man bowed and whispered, “You are indeed punctual. I have arranged reinforcements. Soon, we will blast open the Crown Prince’s cell—you must rescue him.
Our men will occupy the guards, but any other experts you must deal with yourself. We have prepared swift horses on the south side of Jiālán Temple. When you hear the explosion, fight for the duration of a stick of incense and then retreat. Do not delay.
Once you’ve rescued him, head south to Falling Blossom Mountain in Yǔ County; ropes are set up on the cliffs, and horses await below. Take care!” With that, he leapt off the roof.
No sooner had he jumped than a thunderous explosion erupted. Nearly a hundred men in black, like phantoms, poured over the walls into the temple. It was impossible to tell where they had been hiding.
The patrolling soldiers, stunned by the explosion, were cut down like vegetables by the black-clad assailants. The stationed guards rushed over, and a fierce battle ensued. Though the soldiers were brave, the black-clad men fought in groups of twelve, their blade formations precise and their long sabers a foot longer than the soldiers’ broadswords. The soldiers, caught off guard and fighting individually, were no match; soon the ground was littered with corpses.
Knowing there was no time to lose, Li Chongyuan leapt toward the explosion. The firelight still flickered, making it easy to find in the darkness. He vaulted over several buildings and arrived at the scene.
He saw someone lying limp on the ground, blown over by the blast, uncertain whether alive or dead, and cursed inwardly: “Could these black-clad men have killed our elder brother with their reckless explosives?”
He had barely jumped down when a fierce wind swept over his back. He immediately dodged with the “Wind Turn” move, and a heavy monk’s staff missed him by inches. At the same time, someone shouted, “Wretch! Do not act so brazenly!”
Li Chongyuan was furious: “How shameless—attacking from behind and then yelling once the ambush fails.”
He turned to see a bald monk in a robe. He was about to draw his sword when Lin Qingli rushed over and stopped him, saying, “Brother Chongyuan, saving our man is more important—leave this bald scoundrel to me.” Li Chongyuan nodded and hurried toward the cell.
Nearby, dozens of armored guards stood in strict formation. Unlike the chaotic soldiers before, these men were clearly well-trained, unmoved by the chaos and cries around them.

In front, they knelt on one leg, holding heavy shields and single sabers, their blade tips pointed forward. Behind them, others rested long spears on the shoulders of those in front, forming a phalanx like a hedgehog. Even with Li Chongyuan’s formidable skills, he found no easy way in.
He paused briefly, then summoned the energy of his Asura Skill and struck out with a palm at the foremost man. His internal strength was now immense, and this palm strike was terrifying in its power. The front ranks sprayed blood and collapsed, their armor deeply dented.
The others, though frightened, did not panic. Those on the sides immediately moved forward, filling the gaps left by the fallen. The formation remained tight, with no openings. Li Chongyuan hesitated—if he continued to use his palm strike, it would take time and drain his energy; if another expert appeared, he might be at a disadvantage.
Lan Wutong jumped down from the roof and called, “Leave these men to me, you go rescue him!” Without waiting for Li Chongyuan’s reply, she grabbed handfuls of black powder from her treasure pouch and scattered it over the armored guards. The powder was strange—when it stuck to skin, it caused unbearable pain and itching.
At first, the guards felt nothing, but soon their faces changed. They tried to endure, but within moments, they were howling in agony. Finally, someone could bear it no longer and threw down his spear, stripped off his armor, and scratched wildly at his body. This act spread like a plague—everyone went mad, tearing off armor and rolling on the ground, their nails raking their flesh bloody.
Lan Wutong laughed, “This powder dissolves in water—just go wash in the ditch and you’ll be fine!” The armored guards scrambled to their feet and plunged into the ditch, scrubbing themselves desperately.
Meanwhile, Lin Qingli sized up the monk and burst out laughing: “Master Yuanhui, I trust you have been well?”
It turned out this monk was Yuanhui, the abbot of Guizhou’s Demon-Slaying Temple, who had once aided Zhu Shitian.
That day, when he was beset by Ghost Sword Han Qinghua and White Snake, he abandoned nine disciples and fled Hengyang alone. As their master, leaving his disciples to die for his own escape was a grave violation of martial ethics. He could never return to Guizhou’s Demon-Slaying Temple and vanished from the martial world.
Yuanhui stared at Lin Qingli, his face changing dramatically. He cried, “You… you are Xu Qianfan’s disciple, Lin Qingli?”
Lin Qingli smiled, “You remember well, Master. We all thought, after such disgrace, you would seek out some deserted place and end your days. Who knew you’d become a hound of the court, living so comfortably? It seems we overestimated you!”
Behind Yuanhui stood a young man, who had rushed over to aid him. Upon hearing Lin Qingli’s name, he stopped, glanced at her from afar, then turned and fled at full speed.
Lin Qingli felt the man seemed familiar, but could not recall where she’d seen him. With enemies at hand, she had no time to ponder further. (To be continued.)