"Brother… what happened?"
Zhang Ning jolted awake, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.
"Stay in bed. Don't come any closer."
Zhang Xin had already grabbed a low table as a shield. Sword in hand, he slipped behind the door, listening intently to the commotion outside.
Then—a faint, fragrant breeze.
He turned.
Zhang Ning was already behind him, also holding a low table, her expression focused and serious.
Zhang Xin's brows twitched.
Did Wuya… even teach her how to kill?
No matter how he looked at it, something felt off.
She carried herself with a strange presence—like a girl who had just come of age, brimming with strength and spirit enough to shake the world.
Zhang Ning glanced at him… and suddenly smiled sweetly.
After about fifteen minutes, the sounds of fighting gradually died down.
Zhang Xin cautiously opened the door a crack. When he saw Dian Wei rushing in with several guards, he finally relaxed.
"Old Dian," Zhang Xin called out from behind the door, "what happened?"
"My lord."
Dian Wei stopped at the entrance and reported, "More than ten assassins were discovered by the night watch. They've all been dealt with. Please rest assured."
"Any survivors?" Zhang Xin asked.
Dian Wei shook his head. "We captured a few, but they all had poison hidden in their mouths. They killed themselves after being taken."
A suicide squad…
Zhang Xin frowned. "What about our men?"
"Two dead. Three wounded."
The words hit like a blade.
Zhang Xin's expression darkened instantly.
Those former Yellow Turban soldiers—every one of them—he treated like his own.
To die like this… not on the battlefield, but to assassins—
"I understand."
He forced down his anger, ordered for a doctor to treat the wounded, then quickly dressed and stepped outside.
Dian Wei still had blood splattered across his body.
"Old Dian, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Dian Wei grinned. "This is all the assassins' blood. Thank you for your concern, my lord."
Zhang Xin nodded.
One by one, the corpses were carried into the courtyard.
At that moment, Zhang Liao hurried over.
"My lord, are you safe?"
Zhang Xin's gaze sharpened immediately. "Wen Yuan… you're injured?"
Zhang Liao's clothes were soaked in blood, and a crossbow bolt was still lodged in his shoulder.
"It's only a minor wound. Please don't worry, my lord."
Zhang Xin stepped forward and helped him up. Only then did he clearly see the bolt.
A crossbow.
"You were attacked too?" Zhang Xin's face turned grim.
"There were seven or eight of them," Zhang Liao replied. "All dead now. The ones we captured… also took poison."
Zhang Xin drew a slow breath and looked at the corpses.
Ferocious faces. Dark blood at the corners of their mouths.
No identifying marks.
A while later, the doctor arrived. He visibly trembled at the sight but quickly got to work under Zhang Xin's orders.
When the bolt was pulled from Zhang Liao's shoulder, bright red blood flowed out.
Zhang Xin exhaled slightly.
Not poisoned.
After the wounded were treated, Zhang Xin paid the doctor and had him escorted away.
Zhang Liao, now bandaged, stepped forward again.
"My lord, tomorrow I will gather the people and have them identify these bodies."
"No need," Zhang Xin said flatly. "Gather your troops. Start arresting them."
Zhang Liao froze. "Arrest… them? Does my lord know who is responsible?"
Zhang Xin looked at him.
"I was attacked the moment I returned. The assassins were death squads."
He paused.
"Do I really need to say more?"
Zhang Liao hesitated. "Which household…?"
"Take them all."
Zhang Liao was stunned. "My lord… arresting without evidence—"
"What evidence do you need?"
Zhang Xin picked up the bloodstained crossbow bolt.
"Private possession of crossbows and armor is a capital crime. Ten sets—that's treason."
He looked straight at Zhang Liao.
"If they can fire one bolt at you today, what's stopping them from having ten tomorrow?"
"And assassinating a high official—also treason."
"Treason warrants the extermination of three generations."
His voice turned ice-cold.
"These great clans have intermarried for generations. Do you think any of them are innocent?"
Zhang Liao fell silent.
Zhang Xin continued,
"Remember this: investigating a case requires evidence."
"But suppressing rebellion only requires a target."
Understanding dawned in Zhang Liao's eyes.
"This subordinate understands."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Zhang Xin called.
"The Jia, Shi, Liu, and Tao clans are large. Two thousand men won't be enough."
He thought briefly, then added,
"Take my central army from outside the city."
"Yes, my lord."
—
With the order in hand, Zhang Liao moved swiftly.
He first sealed off the prefectural offices, detaining all officials to prevent word from leaking—many of them had ties to the great clans.
Then he marched out, brought troops back into the city, and split them into four forces.
Each group, guided by local officials, moved against one clan.
That night, Pingyuan erupted.
Thousands of soldiers stormed into estates, dragging people from their beds.
Cries filled the cold air.
Many were pulled out half-dressed, shivering.
Any resistance—cut down immediately.
"Zhang Xin, you traitor! Are you rebelling?!"
Some cursed loudly.
They were answered with two hard slaps—and silence.
By dawn, over ten thousand people had been seized.
The prisons couldn't hold them all.
Zhang Xin waved his hand.
"Take them to the military camp. Interrogate them thoroughly."
Soon—
The camp echoed with screams.
"Will you confess or not?"