Chapter 139: Revenge (Part One)

Inside the Longjing Pavilion, seated on a chair by a desk near a wooden window, was a woman dressed in green, nibbling on the end of a bamboo brush and lost in thought.

In reality, she was using the system design interface to mark the Manichaean strongholds on a three-dimensional map of Chang'an. A rough calculation revealed over fifty strongholds of all sizes scattered throughout the city, making one marvel at how terrifyingly fast an organization like the Manichaean sect could grow.

According to the intelligence provided by Zhang Heng, the Grand Master—that is, the man named Toman—was not a Han Chinese person, but rather of mixed Uyghur and Tibetan descent. Therefore, his most prominent physical feature was a ring of whiskers along his lower jaw, and he excelled in the use of double curved sabers.

Combining the final game mission with the events of that night, were they users of curved saber weapons?

At this point, one could safely surmise that upon entering that mission, she had already arrived in the Tang dynasty. One wondered if it was appropriate to understand it this way, given that the bandits defeated during the mission indeed wielded curved sabers.

The window swung outward. A swallow, paying no heed to the daydreaming figure sitting by the desk, flicked its scissors-like tail and perched on the window frame, rolling its human-like eyes and turning its tiny head to search for a nesting spot under the eaves.

Before long, Wu Yueling snapped out of the system interface. The swallow seemed to have chosen a fine spot beneath the window eaves, and with a flutter of its small wings, it flew away.

The room was deathly quiet, save for the rustle of turning xuan paper and the soft scratching of the bamboo brush against the paper surface. Just another ordinary day.

Such was the thought in her mind, when suddenly three urgent knocks sounded at the door.

Thump, thump, thump.

Very urgent indeed. Hearing the sound, she put down the bamboo brush and turned around in puzzlement.

"Your Highness!"

It was Wan'er's voice, though there seemed to be someone else outside with her, and the urgency was unmistakable.

For with a crash, the door swung open unnaturally.

Wan'er looked thoroughly flustered, her eye rims red and hot tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, presenting a pitiful sight.

Following closely behind was another person in white snow-garments, her neat long hair cascading over her shoulders and panting heavily as if she had just finished a sprint. It was Qin Muyu.

Puzzled, Wu Yueling turned around completely, studying their panic-stricken faces closely. As for beauty, it was impossible to say who was more stunning; each had her own distinct charm.

The two of them had become soulmates through their shared love of music and often spent time together, but none of that mattered now. Shaking off her train of thought and casting aside her doubts, she asked,

"What is the matter?"

"Xiao Chun, she..."

A sickening premonition welled up in her heart. Something had gone wrong. Surely not? Because of the fire earlier, the security within the estate had been significantly increased.

Come to think of it, Xiao Chun had mentioned going out to procure donkey meat, and at noon she had eaten the meal prepared by Xiao Mi.

Something was amiss. Trouble had broken out outside, yet who on earth would dare to touch the Princess Estate's guards? Before she could even rise from her chair, a sobbing Wan'er threw herself into her arms. She could feel the turbulent waves heaving against Wan'er's chest, but Xiao Chun's condition weighed far more heavily on her mind.

"Xiao Chun was attacked by people from the Manichaean sect. By the time she reached the medical clinic, she was already gone..."

It was not Wan'er who spoke, but Qin Muyu. As she said this, she turned her head away, her expression dim and laden with palpable sorrow.

Wan'er's emotions completely collapsed. Her arms tightened further around her neck, her sobs growing louder and eventually turning into endless, heart-wrenching, and profoundly sorrowful cries.

Hearing this, Wu Yueling felt her heart skip a beat. A chilling sensation swept through the depths of her soul, followed immediately by a wave of disbelief. It was all too sudden, completely unguardable. After another bout of gripping pain, her mind went utterly numb, and she could no longer even hear Wan'er's weeping.

She knew not how much time had passed, nor did she remember to comfort Wan'er. Burdened by doubt and uncertainty, she finally made her way to the main hall.

There she beheld a scene she wished she never had to see. Be it Chu'er, Yu Chaoen, the guilt-ridden Physician Sun, or familiar faces like Cen Shen, Gao Shi, and Du Fu; along with the gnashing-of-teeth Vigilante Commander Zhang Heng, Qingyu seated in a wheelchair, and Liang Zixin who stood hugging her arms against a pillar with a tightly knitted frown.

Grief was etched upon all their faces—yes, the grief of mourning the departed.

Nearby lay a guard of the Princess Estate, heavily wounded and breathing by a mere thread. Even with personal bodyguards assigned for protection, it had been of no avail; this was not the guard's fault.

Even if it was no one's fault.

Perhaps she was the one least capable of accepting this. Ever since the incident at Shili Village, a persistent feeling of rejection welled up in her chest—a mixture of guilt, helplessness, and a torrent of rage and hatred!

Above all, while she had previously been escaping from such reality, she now finally had to face the most fragile part of her inner self, sharing the very same cowardly side inherent in ordinary human nature.

Did she truly think she could avoid it by running away? The cruel reality would show mercy to no one, let alone permit evasion; besides facing it head-on with braced nerves, no other path existed.

Pulling back the linen cloth, enduring the stinging pain in the corners of her eyes as she looked down, she saw that the pale face, devoid of its normal rosy hue, was still chubby. The eyes were tightly closed, and the bloodstains around the collar had dried.

This was a corpse, yet this person had been a close friend. She touched the chubby face—it was ice-cold, completely devoid of warmth. In an instant, her heart felt utterly hollow. Pulling the linen cloth back over, her mind went blank.

She had no idea what she was doing. With a sharp hiss, she drew the longsword resting on its rack, and simultaneously pulled the Black Rose revolver that had materialized at her waist.

To exact revenge, to kill—was that not only natural?

"Your Highness, you..."

"Your Highness, you must not..."

The voices were chaotic, and the main hall was in an uproar, yet no one could block her path. Vengeance had fully consumed her soul; come what may, she was unwilling to let this go. Absolutely unwilling. Not a single member of the Manichaean sect would be spared.

She swore this in her heart with every step she took!

As she approached the estate gates, her path was blocked by Chu'er.

Even the mud-flattened ground could not stop the tender grass from sprouting, but Wu Yueling walked over them with a cold detachment, stepping around Chu'er.

"My Lady!"

The voice was urgent, tinged with a measure of self-reproach and reprimand.

She halted her steps, standing beside Chu'er. The longsword emanated a chilling frost, appearing somewhat aggressive and imposing.

"You are not alone!"

Chu'er turned around, gazing firmly at the young lady, shedding her usual frivolous demeanor and speaking with utmost seriousness.

At that moment, shouting and arguing drifted in from the estate entrance.

"Two guards, I must trouble you to announce my presence. This tiny token of respect is hardly worth mentioning, heh heh..."

Just by hearing the voice, one could vividly imagine how that fellow was contorting his face or reluctantly wearing an ugly, ingratiating smile while bribing the guards.

Walking up to the gate, she saw a fat man and a sturdy fellow bowing their heads in admission of guilt.

She raised her foot and stepped forward—one foot inside the courtyard, the other outside the gates. So life and death were separated by a mere step?

Suddenly, she began to mock herself, though she knew not whom she was mocking. Was she mocking herself? Indeed, she was mocking herself!

As she calculated in her mind, she suddenly burst into a fit of maniacal laughter. In her past life, she had excelled at calculation, but now she realized that schemings and calculations were merely pastimes favored by those with deep, hidden motives.

Hearing the laughter, the fat man looked toward the gate and instantly recognized the Protector Princess. He stepped forward to plead for mercy, saying, "Your Highness, I am a merchant of the Manichaean sect, and today I have come specifically to confess my sins..."

Before long, he found a razor-sharp longsword pressed against his neck, the cold blade subtly biting into his fleshy throat, breaking out a cold sweat all over. Just as the rumors said!