Chapter 2: Testimony in Ashes

Shen Yanjiang's sword intent slashed through the night air, forcing the black-clad man at the alley entrance to fall back half a step. Rather than trading blows, Shen Yanjiang ducked aside, sliding past a stone statue to use the terrain to funnel several assassins into a dead end. Under the moonlight, his rusted blade cast a chilling sheen, each precise strike shutting down every escape route. The screech of boots on bluestone tiles filled the air, mixed with the pungent scent of blood and decades of old dust. He kept his profile low to avoid the protruding eaves at the alley corners, a blind spot the assassins favored for hiding. One careless mistake, and their poison-coated daggers would snake around his ankles like vipers.

"Mr. Shen, are you out of your mind?" A black-clad figure leaned against the wall, breathing hard, watching the unyielding resolve in Shen Yanjiang's eyes, "Lord Pei wants the ledger, not your life."

Shen Yanjiang didn't bother to reply. His sword tip flicked upward, shattering a tile nearby. He used the moment to leap onto the roof, vanishing into the darkness like a ghost. He knew that even a second of hesitation would let the encirclement close tight behind him. Tiles crunched under his boots with a faint, sharp snap that cut through the silence, startling in the quiet night. He sped along the ridges of the roofs, fingers digging into the cold mortar joints, his knuckles turning white from the strain.

During the chase, he shook off two close-range killers and dove into a narrow lane. Finally, he stopped in front of a derelict, abandoned temple. The temple door hung crooked, and the incense burner was rusted solid, making this neglected spot a perfect hideout. Overgrown weeds covered the rotting mud beneath. He held his breath, listening to the footsteps of his pursuers fade into the distance, until the sounds were completely swallowed by the rain-like mist of the night, before he dared to let his coiled nerves loosen.

He slipped inside, his gaze sweeping the dark corners, breathing heavily. His heartbeat echoed in the empty great hall, every step crunching on years of accumulated dust. Motes of dust danced in the moonlight streaming through the gaps, like countless tiny restless spirits. He needed to find a clue, even if it was just a fragment, to tear through the veil of hypocrisy surrounding the Pei faction. The statue of the Buddha in the center of the hall had long since lost its gold leaf, exposing the gray, decaying clay beneath, as if silently narrating the desolation of the past.

In the cellar behind the temple, Shen Yanjiang pulled aside the tattered curtain and found a figure huddled in the corner. It was the old kitchen woman, the sole survivor of the mountain villa massacre that night. She was unconscious, her clothes stained with dried blood, her eyes hazy. Her clothing was caked with black dirt and dark red stains, emitting a nauseating smell of decay.

Shen Yanjiang crouched down, gently patting her cheek, "Old lady, can you hear me? I'm Shen Yanjiang. I'm here to ask you what actually happened that night."

The old kitchen woman struggled to open her eyes, her pupils contracting sharply, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. Her voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against wood, "Don't... don't talk. They're still looking for me..." Her fingernails dug deep into the dry grass beneath her, as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Tell me, that night, what did you see?" Shen Yanjiang lowered his voice, his tone urgent, "I want to know the truth. I want to avenge those who died."

The old kitchen woman's memory seemed shattered. She muttered incoherently, "Official boats... black official boats, moored in the middle of the lake... fire... fire everywhere on the mountain..." Her gaze flickered between terror and confusion, clearly a nightmare that haunted her eternally. Dried tear tracks on her face had left white salt streaks.

Just as Shen Yanjiang was trying to extract useful information from her disjointed rambling, a burst of hurried footsteps echoed outside the temple.

"Search! Find that woman!" The constable sent by Pei Zhaoye kicked open the temple door, the flickering torchlight instantly illuminating the dim sanctuary, "Shen Yanjiang, you can't run from this." The firelight painted the broken walls, stretching their shadows long and grotesque.

Shen Yanjiang was pinned flat on the ground by two constables, the back of his neck pressed against the cold bluestone tiles. He watched helplessly as the men in gray uniforms dragged the old kitchen woman up. The chill of the stone seeped through his collar into his bones. He struggled to twist his body, but his strength drained away like water.

"You old hag, stop playing dumb." The lead constable laughed coldly, producing a yellowed piece of paper, "Press your thumb here and admit it was an internal villa rebellion. Say you did it yourself, and Lord Pei will show mercy." The paper curled slightly in the torchlight, the vermilion official seal on it looking horrifyingly bright.

The old kitchen woman's face turned deathly pale, her lips trembling, "I... I didn't kill anyone... I only saw..."

"Saw what? Saw Lord Pei's rewards?" The constable kicked her knee, and the old woman collapsed to her knees, wailing in pain, "Quick, press it! Don't make me use torture!"

In the face of extreme fear and despair, the old kitchen woman extended a trembling finger and pressed a fresh, red thumbprint firmly onto the forged confession. In that moment, Shen Yanjiang felt his own heart being clenched tightly. It was a stain of blood and tears, a defilement of the truth. The pulp around the thumbprint soaked up the moisture, bleeding a dark blotch, like an inescapable sin.

Just as the constables prepared to take the old kitchen woman away, a cool female voice drifted from the depths of the shadows: "I'll buy that transaction."

Chu Hanyi had appeared at the entrance without anyone knowing how. She swayed a string of gold beads, their glow blinding. She was dressed in plain white, out of place in the murky night, yet radiating a dangerous elegance. The night wind rustled her robes, the sharp, cold clinking of the gold beads breaking the stifling silence inside the temple.

"Miss Chu, Lord Pei has given orders. No one is to interfere." The constable drew his saber warily, a wary respect in his eyes, "Are you willing to risk your wealth and your life?"

Chu Hanyi let out a light laugh and dropped the gold beads to the ground, they rang out crisply, "That cur Pei Zhaoye dares to put on airs in front of me? Old sister, come with me. I'll ensure you live out your days in splendor." The gold beads rolled across the floor, clinking and tinkling, mocking the self-righteous men around them.

The old kitchen woman looked at the gold beads on the floor, and the fear in her eyes was gradually replaced by greed and a primal urge to survive. She violently shook off the constable's grip and stumbled toward Chu Hanyi like a drowning woman grasping at the last floating wood. Her violent movement kicked up a cloud of dust.

Chu Hanyi pulled the old kitchen woman up. Her gaze swept over Shen Yanjiang, who was still pinned on the ground, a mocking smirk curling her lips, "Shen Yanjiang, you're still the same. Swapping your life for the truth. How laughable." Her eyes were ice-cold, like water in a deep winter well.

A half-piece of the Black Iron Casket had appeared in Chu Hanyi's hand, carved with ancient patterns. She held it up to the torchlight; the metal surface reflected a cold, faint glow. The patterns were complex and obscure, hiding some ancient secret.

"This iron fragment was pried off the Black Iron Casket," Chu Hanyi said, her tone flat but carrying undeniable authority, "It originally belonged to the Master of the Villa, not the Pei family. You've all been heading in the wrong direction."

Shen Yanjiang's heart jolted. He quickly scrambled to his feet, standing side-by-side with Chu Hanyi. Two meters separated them, yet an invisible chasm lay between them. He smoothed out his disheveled robes, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"Chu Hanyi, why are you helping that ancient relic?" Shen Yanjiang stared into her eyes, trying to find a trace of old affection in her cold face, "You know perfectly well this will just pull you deeper into the vortex."

Chu Hanyi glanced at him, a hint of amusement in her gaze, "Shen Yanjiang, you're too naive. You're obsessed with physical evidence, but you forget the logical flaws in the testimony itself. Those official boats that night weren't there to steal the Black Iron Casket."

Shen Yanjiang frowned, his mind rapidly reviewing all the clues. If the official boats weren't coming to rob them, then what was their purpose? What did the fire the old kitchen woman saw actually mean?

"Silencing witnesses," Shen Yanjiang blurted out, his voice trembling, "They were there to destroy evidence and kill to cover their tracks. Pei Zhaoye uses legal procedures to turn a historical heritage into his private property, but uses bloodshed to bury the past."

Chu Hanyi nodded, the mockery in her eyes fading, replaced by a look of seriousness, "Good that you figured it out. Now, my men are holding off those constables outside. Follow me."

Before she finished, a metallic clash rang out from outside the temple. Pei Zhaoye's men had finally broken through the outer perimeter, their swords and blades closing in on the temple. The sound of metal striking metal was like the knock of death, urgent and fierce.

Shen Yanjiang grabbed Chu Hanyi and retreated to the dry well in the backyard. He quickly kicked over a few empty vats, using the debris to set up a makeshift barrier, buying them precious time to catch their breath. Shards scattered everywhere, pattering on the ground.

"Go north," Chu Hanyi held his hand, her steps light and quick, "Remember, the real proof of the massacre isn't in that casket."

Shen Yanjiang stopped, turning to look at the approaching silhouettes, then at the woman who was both familiar and strange standing beside him. The night wind howled, tangling her hair, and chilling his burning heart. In the distance, firelight painted half the sky red, a signal of chaos and danger intertwined.

"If it's not in the casket, where is it?" Shen Yanjiang asked, his voice startlingly clear in the wind.

Chu Hanyi didn't answer. She just offered a knowing smile, then vanished into the deeper shadows, leaving that half-piece of the Black Iron Casket in Shen Yanjiang's hand. It was ice-cold to the touch, as if he were holding the pulse of the entire jianghu in his palm.