Chapter 3: The Banner’s Former Master

The rain in North Port was turning violent, as if the heavens themselves had split open. It wasn’t just water pouring down; it was a heavy, suffocating pressure crushing the world beneath it. Black sludge flooded the blue flagstone streets, reflecting the dim, yellow glow of lanterns on distant masts. The light fractured and reformed in the violent churning of the waves, mirroring the fragile order of this chaotic era.

Jiang Wanzhou yanked on the reins, hooves splashing muddy water that burst into murky blooms in the darkness. She swung down from the saddle with such speed that only a blur remained. Her boots hit the puddles with a dull, squelching sound that instantly swallowed the roar of the rain.

Her gaze followed the curve of the carriage wheels down into the shadows. Deep in the darkness, a black figure crouched beneath the carriage, clutching an ancient sword remnant scroll wrapped in oilcloth. The cloth was already soaked, clinging tightly to the black robes, outlining the shape of the object inside.

Jiang Wanzhou’s fingertips found the knife hilt. The cold metal seeped through her palm and spread into her heart. She said, her voice icy: “Ye Guanlan, get out. The rain is too heavy to hide your scent, or your life.”

Her voice was sharp and isolated in the downpour. The person under the carriage didn't move at first. Only the wet hem of his robe rose and fell with rapid breaths, like a startled beast desperately suppressing its primal instincts. After a moment, Ye Guanlan pushed himself up. Rain dripped from his sharp jawline, hitting the muddy water and sending up tiny splashes.

He stood straight, wiping the water from his face. His gaze was calm as still water, yet it carried a coldness that pushed people away. That chill didn’t come from the wind or the rain; it stemmed from the absolute clarity he maintained toward danger deep in his soul.

“You should go, Young Master. The waters in North Port are too murky. The Xuanming Society’s spies are already upstream. If I’m exposed, I’ll only drag your caravan down with me.” His voice was low, tinged with the fishy smell of the rain.

Jiang Wanzhou didn’t back down. Instead, she took a step closer, her heel scraping against the wet, slippery stones with a sharp, grating sound. Her wrist flicked, the knife tip lifting a shard of mud from under the carriage. The sludge flew, tracing a murky arc in the dim light: “Drag you down? Master said, on his deathbed, that if he ever saw this sword, I must bring it home.

What you’re holding isn’t exactly the murder weapon he was looking for, is it?”

Ye Guanlan’s pupils contracted. Instinctively, he gripped the sword scroll in his arms harder, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The tiny, crisp sound of his joints cracking was startlingly clear in the rain. He had originally planned to sneak into the wharf alone, using the Shadow Messenger network to send signals. He hadn’t expected Jiang Wanzhou to intercept him here and so bluntly expose his trump card. In that moment, his escape route was sealed.

“A sword is dead; clues are alive. Do you know who that sword ended up with, and what scheme it triggered?” Ye Guanlan lowered his voice, his tone carrying a bait-like allure, as if he were dancing with a venomous snake, “Follow me, and you’re a dead man.”

Jiang Wanzhou let out a cold snort. The smile didn’t reach her eyes; instead, it added a layer of grim tragedy. She pulled a yellowed Escort Flag from her robes. It was an old item from the Gu Escort Agency, the fabric spotted with dried blood. In the rainy night, it looked shocking, as if it were silently testifying against a crime.

She unfolded the flag. Rainwater slid off the fabric. She pointed to an unassuming crease at the corner: “Master said this blood wasn’t shed; it was dyed on. It matches the hidden pattern on the Remnant Scroll perfectly.”

Ye Guanlan stared at the hidden pattern. His heart skipped a beat, as if struck by a heavy hammer. That was a special mark Gu Chenzhou had used before he died. Only a very few people could recognize it. He had assumed he was the only one who knew, unaware that Jiang Wanzhou had already inherited her master’s sharp instincts.

Their gazes locked. The air between them was thick with the tension of a standoff. Rain fell between them, drawing an invisible line. Inside that line was life and death; outside it was the unknown.

Just then, the rapid sound of hoofbeats approached from the distance, rumbling like thunder. A messenger, drenched to the bone, leaped out. He didn't dismount; he simply hurled a rain-soaked letter toward Jiang Wanzhou and shouted, his voice hoarse: “Urgent message from Teacher Liu! The Xuanming Society has set up a Confusion Formation at the North Port wharf. They’re here to kill the Repairers!”

The letter arced through the air and landed steadily in Jiang Wanzhou’s hand.

Jiang Wanzhou caught it and skimmed through it rapidly. Her expression changed drastically. The ink had blurred from the rain, but those lines pierced the heart like a sword. She looked up at Ye Guanlan, the stubbornness in her eyes finally loosening by a fraction, revealing a rare flicker of confusion and vulnerability: “See? I guessed right.

They want to kill you because you’re more valuable alive than dead. If you go to the wharf alone, you’re walking into a trap.”

Ye Guanlan was silent for a moment. Rain dripped from his hair into his collar, bringing a bone-chilling cold. He knew Liu Qingwu’s intelligence network never made mistakes. Su Jingxing indeed needed a living Repairer to decipher the final secret in the Remnant Scroll. If he acted alone now, it would be like running straight into a hunter’s snare, and the bait for that snare was himself.

“That’s why I said we have to take that crate of Salt Licenses.” Jiang Wanzhou gestured to the carriage behind her. The vehicle was heavy, its lacquer gleaming with a cold, dark light in the rain, sturdy enough to withstand a surprise attack from ordinary assassins. “My caravan is guarded by Gu Escort Agency bakers. Su Jingxing won’t dare move recklessly, especially before the Hour of Zi. You help me guard the shipment; I help you break the impasse. This deal is perfectly fair.”

Ye Guanlan narrowed his eyes, studying Jiang Wanzhou. This young mistress of the Escort Agency seemed hot-headed and impulsive, but in reality, every step she took was calculated. She had already tied her fate to his mission. If he refused, he wouldn’t just lose the cover of the information relay; he would also lose the only martial force capable of countering Su Jingxing’s ritualistic trap. The rain sound faded, leaving only the pounding of his own heart in his chest.

“I can come with you,” Ye Guanlan said. His voice was hoarse, squeezed out from the depths of his throat, carrying a weight of finality. “But you have to give me the general ledger. Without the ledger, I can’t mobilize Yan Guihong’s messenger network at the Canal Transport Wharf. That is your vital point, and it is my bargaining chip.”

A flash of wariness appeared in Jiang Wanzhou’s eyes, but she nodded quickly. She pulled a thick ledger from her robe and shoved it into Ye Guanlan’s hands: “Take it. Remember, if I find out you betrayed me at the next stop, I will kill you with my own hands.” Her tone was flat, but every word carried a thousand pounds of weight.

Ye Guanlan gripped the ledger. It felt icy, like holding a block of cold ice. He sneered internally, though his face remained impassive. What he needed was not just the ledger, but Jiang Wanzhou’s trust in him. That trust would be the springboard for his next move.

He turned his body slightly, letting the curtain of rain completely hide his expression. All he left was a cold promise: “Get in the carriage, Young Master. The night in North Port has only just begun.”

Jiang Wanzhou didn’t hesitate. She swung up into the carriage, her movements crisp and decisive. The carriage began to move slowly. The wheels crushed through the mud, emitting a creaking sound, like the groan of some ancient mechanism.

Ye Guanlan followed closely behind, his gaze sweeping toward the wharf. Faintly, he saw ghostly lanterns swaying in the rain mist. Those were Su Jingxing’s men, like venomous snakes lying in wait, ready to launch a fatal attack at any moment.

“What was Gu Chenzhou’s last word?” Jiang Wanzhou asked suddenly from inside the carriage. Her voice came through the gap, carrying a tremor that was hard to notice. It wasn’t from the cold, but from touching a sore spot in the depths of memory.

Ye Guanlan’s steps paused. Gu Chenzhou’s pale, resolute face flashed through his mind. The old man had clutched half a Jade Tablet tightly, his eyes full of unavenged blood debt and entrustment. That half-Jade Tablet was the key to unraveling the flow of Salt Licenses and the truth of the blood debt, and it was also a boulder weighing on Ye Guanlan’s mind.

“He said...” Ye Guanlan answered in a low voice, barely audible, as if afraid of disturbing the soul of the dead, “Blood debt must be repaid with blood.”

The carriage curtain fell, cutting off the sound inside. Ye Guanlan stood in the rain, watching the carriage fade into the distance. He clutched the ledger tightly in his hand, his knuckles white. A complex emotion surged through him, as tangled and clear-less as this chaotic rainy night. He was both the protected one and the controller; both the avenger and the seeker.

This game in the rainy night had only just begun, and he had already backed himself into a corner.

The carriage bounced along. The rain gradually eased, and the outline of North Port appeared and disappeared in the mist. Ye Guanlan did not follow the carriage away. Instead, he turned back to the abandoned hull near the wharf. What he had actually seized was not the ledger, but a blood-soaked remnant page—a “piece of evidence” he had casually picked up from a hidden compartment in Jiang Wanzhou’s Escort Agency the previous night.

He needed this item to confirm whether the flow of Salt Licenses really pointed to Su Jingxing, or to his own family. He unfolded the remnant page, relying on the faint light leaking through the hull. His pupils shrank sharply.

On the edge of the page, half a crimson jade seal emblem was clearly printed. It fit perfectly with the half-Jade Tablet Gu Chenzhou had held in his dying moments. Ye Guanlan’s fingertips trembled slightly; cold sweat soaked his clothes. So Jiang Wanzhou wasn’t just escorting Salt Licenses; she was carrying ironclad evidence that could topple a high-ranking minister in the capital.

She had insisted on traveling with him not out of trust, but to use his martial skills as the last line of defense. And when he had taken the ledger, intending to use it to extort Jiang Wanzhou into handing over the ancient sword, he hadn’t realized it was actually a meticulously laid trap.

In the distance, a dull sound of hoofbeats broke the silence. Su Jingxing’s fast horse was approaching Shilipu. Ye Guanlan took a deep breath, tucked the ledger close to his body, and a cold, sharp arc formed at the corners of his mouth. Since there was no way back, he might as well gamble everything. He drew the short knife from his waist. The blade reflected the determination and madness in his eyes. He was no longer a passive prey; he was a wolf holding a sharp blade.

The night grew darker. Ye Guanlan swept forward with his knife and vanished into the rain mist. In his mind, he recited Gu Chenzhou’s dying words. Every step he took was on the edge of life and death. Meanwhile, in the carriage ahead, Jiang Wanzhou was peering through the gap at that figure disappearing into the darkness. The ancient sword in her hand drew slightly out of its sheath, the blade humming softly, as if responding to the call of this bloody night.

This game had long since veered off her planned course. Ye Guanlan’s betrayal and loyalty were intertwined, making the situation more dangerous and unpredictable.