Courier Puppet
The entire incident unfolded in a flash, so swiftly it was staggering. Jiang Feng was suddenly reduced to a mere spectator, left speechless by the shock.
The old man frowned slightly, a trace of displeasure in his voice. “Such bloody methods—most unseemly.”
A lively, girlish voice chimed in, “Exactly! So much blood—how is anyone supposed to clean this up?”
A young girl in a pink dress stepped forward, wrinkling her nose as she cast her gaze around. “The stench of blood is awful!”
A guard in blue-green hurried to placate her, “Lady Yue Le, it was our fault..."
The pink-clad girl stuck out her tongue at them, her manner irresistibly charming.
The old man turned to the girl. “Yue Le, I’ll leave the rest to you. Don’t forget to send word to the Jiang family.”
The girl replied cheerfully, “Alright, I know what to do!”
She moved to the corpses, her toes skimming the ground like a dragonfly on water, her shoes untouched by a single drop of blood.
With a gentle kick of her foot, countless tiny green shoots suddenly sprouted from the earth. The shoots grew rapidly, in the blink of an eye becoming thick grass that spread across the ground.
The grass stretched upwards, reaching for the headless bodies, swiftly swallowing them whole. Amidst the grass, vines rose up, lifting seven severed heads to the girl’s gaze.
She counted them off on her fingers, “One, two… six, seven! All present and accounted for!”
Turning away, she walked back, the vines carrying the heads behind her like eerie, macabre standards.
She returned into the manor; behind her, the verdant grass gradually withdrew into the earth. By the time it vanished, every trace of corpse and blood was gone, as though devoured entirely by the grass.
The old man nodded calmly, while the girl offered him a sweet smile. The two turned and disappeared into the depths of the manor.
The two blue-clad guards exchanged a glance, touched their noses, and, regaining their former indifferent composure, also headed inside.
In the blink of an eye, the manor’s entrance was restored to its previous tranquility, as if nothing had happened.
A mountain breeze drifted past Jiang Feng’s nose, carrying with it the faint scent of blood. Perhaps only this lingering trace proved that all he had witnessed was real.
There was an unspeakable strangeness about the entire matter.
From beginning to end, not a soul in the manor—not the young, the old, nor the two blue-clad guards—had spared him so much as a glance. If not for Jiang Huaixiao and the others, Jiang Feng would have thought he’d wandered into another realm entirely!
Did they truly not see him, or had they deliberately allowed him to remain, keeping him from being drawn into their affairs?
He glanced back once at the manor, then hurried away.
He did not bother with hunting, but returned straight to the nameless little valley.
Zhong Fan was seated cross-legged under a tree, reading. Upon seeing him arrive, Zhong Fan looked up and smiled faintly. “I have some fine Mengshan Mist tea here. Would you like to try it?”
Jiang Feng strode over, picked up the cup before Zhong Fan, and drained it in one gulp. He poured himself another, downed it, then a third. Only after three cups did he finally exhale and ask, “You can see me?”
Zhong Fan was momentarily startled, then nodded. “Of course.”
Jiang Feng pondered this, then broke into a smile. “Alright, nothing’s wrong then.”
At last, he’d figured it out.
Whatever was going on in that manor, it had nothing to do with him.
What’s more, he’d been chased there, and found shelter—he’d been protected. Though the people inside had killed and buried bodies with bloody methods, it had only benefited, not harmed him.
In fact, he owed them his thanks!
At this thought, he smiled—and only then noticed what was different in the valley.
The crude treehouse he’d built himself still stood, but now, beside it, a row of wooden cabins had appeared.
There were three in all, their pale yellow wood glowing softly in the sunlight, the roofs tiled with neat blue-scaled shingles, like the scales of a fish.
The cabins were simple and unadorned, yet exuded a sense of spacious comfort. Most astonishingly, Jiang Feng had only stepped out for a while—and they had appeared from nowhere!
He did not ask, but merely cast Zhong Fan a long, searching look.
Zhong Fan rose from a pale blue meditation mat. At first glance, it looked like jade, but on closer inspection, it was woven from a special kind of grass.
Walking over, Zhong Fan said with a gentle smile, “Though one can adapt to any circumstance, if life can be a little more comfortable, there’s no need to be hard on oneself.”
Jiang Feng shook his head, thinking, He no longer bothers to hide his background, does he...
Yet he had no intention of pressing for answers. To him, Zhong Fan was simply a child he’d rescued from the wilds—frail, fond of meat but afraid to eat it, yearning to live but afraid of living...
And besides, he was a natural at business, as if blessed with the Midas touch, able to double and redouble any money that passed through his hands!
Jiang Feng laughed, asking, “Have you eaten lunch? What would you like for dinner?”
Just like that?
Zhong Fan was taken aback—he hadn’t expected Jiang Feng to let the matter pass with scarcely a word.
He stared for a moment, then broke into a smile. “Well… That marinated Phoenix-Eye Chicken you made last time—I want chicken stew!”
“You can’t eat the flesh of spirit beasts…”
“I know a way to…”
Their voices mingled in the little valley, lively and real.
Rabbit Night Snack glanced in their direction, then bounded after them.
...
...
Far away, in the imperial capital, on the east side of the outer city.
From Golden Railing River outward, the east city was filled with grand mansions, their layered black rooftops stretching away, reflecting sunlight yet remaining solemn and austere.
This was the domain of the Twenty-Four Houses of Zhu Tian.
The Twenty-Four Houses of Zhu Tian were the greatest clans in the kingdom, forming the very framework of the nation, like the branches of a mighty tree.
Most had several collateral lines, their influence reaching every corner of the land, maintaining a firm grip on these territories.
In the city’s northeast, four high walls enclosed one such clan; above its vermilion gates was the character “Jiang”—the Jiang family of Birdstep City, ancestral home to the Jiang clan of Luming Town.
Compared to the Luming branch, this place was far more secluded. Like all great houses of Birdstep City, the inner court might be riven by strife, but outside all was still; the stone-paved road was swept spotless, not a speck of dust to be seen.
A carriage glided up the street, ghost-like, and halted before the Jiang gates.
The steeds were pure as snow, not a single stray hair upon them; below the knee, their legs were utterly transparent, their hooves invisible. Their movements were so rhythmical, not a hoofbeat could be heard.
The horses were white as snow, the carriage dark as ink. Its curtains hung low, hiding all within.
Soundless, the carriage stopped at the gate.
A side door opened and a gatekeeper emerged, bowing deeply. “May I ask—”
He hadn’t finished when the black curtains parted and a figure in black robes descended.
The gatekeeper froze, involuntarily stepping back.
This person’s brows and eyes were stiff, their gaze lifeless, their face white as paper. Their movements were as rigid as their looks.
A flash of realization struck the gatekeeper—he suddenly remembered who, or rather what, this black-robed figure was!
Not a man, but a puppet.
A treasure-weapon puppet.
No matter their rank, all martial cultivators treasured their artifacts—those were their weapons, their armor.
A fine, well-suited artifact could change the outcome of a battle—even a war.
But the gatekeeper knew that this puppet had come for a single purpose—
It was delivering a message.
For that was all it had been created to do.
A task any servant could have performed, yet done by a precious puppet—such things happened only in one house in the entire kingdom of Zhu Tian.
The gatekeeper’s heart steadied, then turned cold. He spun and dashed into the house.
For a puppet to arrive like this—something terrible must have happened!
The puppet stepped to the door and knocked three times.
The vermilion gates swung wide, revealing the path to the main hall.
The Jiang family had opened their noble gates for a mere puppet!
...
...
Meanwhile, at the Jiang family of Luming.
Since the incident outside Luming Town involving Thornwood and his group, Jiang Tengqing had felt a constant, uneasy dread.
Fortunately, envoys soon arrived from the capital, fulfilling the latter half of their original agreement, and Jiang Tengqing realized Lord Fuliu bore them no grudge for what had happened, allowing him to finally breathe easier.
The teacher sent by Lord Fuliu took away Jiang Huaiming and several other outstanding youths, saying they would be secluded in training until the major examination—he was determined these young men must pass the provincial exams.
At the same time, he left two disciples behind to coach those with lesser potential, to improve the county’s pass rate.
Their thoughtfulness pleased Jiang Tengqing greatly.
One day, with rare leisure, he summoned his house singers, intending to relax in style.
Amid the music and revelry, a faint sound of shattering reached his ears. The noise was so subtle, yet it cut through the music, distinct and clear.
Jiang Tengqing’s expression changed. “Silence!” he barked.
The music stopped at once. Another shattering sound followed, then another, each sharper than the last, each making his heart pound.
He leapt to his feet, shoving aside the performers, and strode out, voice hard. “What has happened?”
Moments later, someone ran up and fell to his knees. “Clan Lord, disaster has struck!”
...
...
Jiang Yongshu hurried into the main room and immediately caught the faint scent of blood from several boxes on the table.
He paused, then quickened his steps, throwing open the lids with a bang.
He’d heard the rumors before arriving, but the reality still made his head spin.
Inside each box was a severed head, set neatly, not a trace of blood or decay—lifelike as if still living!
He flipped through the boxes, one after another; every box held a head—and most of those faces he recognized all too well!
—Thank you all for your support, 5555, I truly love you!!