Bloodkiller - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Accountability

The Shuanglongmen had flourished through the ages and now stood at the height of its power. Besides its main headquarters in Bianjing, it maintained six regional branches: Qingzhou to the north, Anji and Yongzhou in the south, Dingzhou in the west, and Guiping and Yaocheng in the southwest. Qingzhou, positioned just under 300 miles south of Bianjing, could be reached within a day’s ride on a swift horse.

That King Huai was granted such a coveted fief so close to the capital spoke volumes about the favor he enjoyed.

Liu Lin, known as King Huai, was the eleventh son of the late emperor and the fifth born to Empress Xiaowen, making him the current emperor’s younger full brother. Though a legitimate prince, his temperament never suited palace life—he detested court protocol and preferred the company of martial artists and wanderers. Known for his generosity and charm, he attracted many skilled fighters and gained considerable renown in the martial world.

Three years earlier, King Huai had hosted a grand banquet in Qingzhou, inviting prominent figures from across the Jianghu. The Shuanglong Sect was among those invited, though Yao Chuan, assisting in Dingzhou at the time, hadn’t attended. Later, his junior martial sister, Fang Ruyunxiu, had told him about the event—and the man himself.

Yao Chuan had teased her, “You’ve been cooped up in Bianjing for so long, how could you tell this prince has remarkable martial skill?”

Fang Ruyunxiu had frowned, clearly unimpressed by the insinuation. “Don’t look down on me, senior brother. I may not match you in martial arts, but I know what I see. The prince was refined, composed—elegant even. But beneath that charm, he carried an edge, like a smiling tiger. Dangerous. You’d be foolish to underestimate him. You’re not the only hero in the world, you know. Stop coasting on your reputation, or it won’t last.”

Yao Chuan had laughed it off back then. But now, as he replayed those words in his mind, he began to wonder—was that enigmatic figure from the Nuanxiang Pavilion actually King Huai?

—

That evening, restless and unable to shake off his thoughts, Yao Chuan stepped out into the courtyard, half tempted to seek out Tanjiu and drink away his frustration. But before he could take more than a few steps, he spotted Lin Yi already sitting there, alone under the moonlight, pouring himself a drink beneath the fragrant osmanthus tree.

Hearing footsteps, Lin Yi turned with a faint smile. “A clear sky, a bright moon, and the scent of blooming osmanthus. I was just thinking it would be a shame to drink alone. Would Brother Yao honor me with a few cups?”

Yao Chuan chuckled to himself—Lin Yi had already set the scene; how could he refuse?

He sat across from him and picked up the open jar of wine, taking a long sip. The flavor was rich and smooth, warming him from within. “Excellent wine,” he praised.

Lin Yi smiled. “With someone like Brother Yao sharing it, the osmanthus brew tastes all the better.”

Yao Chuan narrowed his eyes. Lin Yi was clearly laying on the charm. He sensed that this wasn’t just a casual drink. “Out with it. What are you really trying to say?”

Lin Yi replied calmly, “I imagine you’re just as troubled as I am. Since we’re already in this together, why not lay things bare and ease our minds?”

Seeing Yao Chuan remain silent, he continued, “Madam Qian’s diagnosis today must’ve raised some questions for you too. She explained my internal energy disruption clearly enough, yet missed the root cause—the drug. Strange, isn’t it? But it makes sense, in a way. The poison she couldn’t detect had already been suppressed by your treatments last night. It’s not surprising that her methods missed it.”

He paused, then added, voice lowering, “But her story afterward—that’s the part I can’t accept.”

Lin Yi looked Yao Chuan in the eye. “You’ve traveled enough to know where Qingzhou is, how close it lies to the capital. It’s an imperial fief, under the nose of King Huai. The prisons there, especially those holding death-row inmates, aren’t places you can just walk into. That governor, Liu Zichong, is notorious for his vigilance. Even someone like you would struggle to sneak in. Yet Bai Yan, the so-called ‘White Hell,’ somehow slipped in without trouble and had a private conversation with a high-security prisoner? And who was this prisoner, anyway? Lian Li had no family, no friends—why would he trust a stranger enough to reveal anything?”

Yao Chuan pondered quietly. “If it was a lie… why would she tell it?”

Lin Yi gave a wry smile. “Because it nudges us toward one conclusion—that whoever drugged me is tied to King Huai. As for the rest… we’re still grasping at threads.”

Their minds drifted back to the blade that had surfaced in Hangzhou, the bitter history between the Mou and Jiang families, and the tangled motives at play. Was the Jiang heir truly after the Shuanglong Sect’s leadership? Who was the masked figure at the Nuanxiang Pavilion, and what of the mysterious “patron” behind the Qinglong Gang? Bai Yulian’s timely return to the Qian residence, right after Lin Yi was poisoned—was that coincidence, or part of a larger plot?

The deeper they dug, the more questions surfaced. Yao Chuan shut his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Lin Yi spoke again, voice hushed.

“Brother Yao, don’t you think… this all feels a bit too perfectly timed?”

He was right. Lin Yi’s ambush at Nuanxiang, Bai Yulian’s sudden reappearance—every step seemed orchestrated.

Lin Yi watched him for a moment, then asked, “I’ve said all I had to say. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Yao Chuan looked up. Lin Yi’s eyes were sharp, but not guarded—he was concerned. Yao Chuan almost wanted to share what was on his mind, but hesitated. This man was clever—he’d already worked out much on his own. What could he say that Lin Yi hadn’t already guessed?

Instead, he asked softly, “After last night… are you feeling alright?”

Lin Yi blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes before he recovered with a chuckle.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” he said. “After I was drugged that night, I felt weak, like my strength had drained out of me. Then I was hit with ‘Frost Veil Powder’—I was delirious. But after your treatments, not only has the drug faded, my inner strength has started returning. Sixty, maybe seventy percent now. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

He met Yao Chuan’s gaze.

“This ‘Frost Veil Powder’—it doesn’t act like a poison. If anything…”

“It’s an antidote,” they said at the same time.

Lin Yi nodded. “Exactly. That was the missing piece. If it’s not meant to kill me, but instead to neutralize the first drug… then whoever used it wasn’t trying to hurt me—they were trying to save me. Which means, someone else was behind the original poisoning. The people at Nuanxiang Pavilion… weren’t working together. The place was a battlefield that night, not a trap. And we walked straight into the middle of it.”

Lin Yi laughed, a little too cheerfully. “Someone drugged me to catch me. Someone else drugged me to rescue me. And then you showed up in the chaos. Brother Yao, it was quite the party!”

Yao Chuan finally relaxed. Knowing Lin Yi’s condition was improving lifted a weight from his shoulders. He glanced at the man before him—there was something about the way they’d faced danger together, uncovered threads side by side. The frustration and confusion he’d felt earlier had eased into something else. A quiet understanding.

Lin Yi raised his head and looked up at the sky. “The moon is beautiful tonight. Let’s leave the scheming for tomorrow. I’ve been itching for a spar. Care to humor me, Brother Yao?”

He stood, drawing the purple bamboo flute from his waist and assuming a stance. His real sword, Liushui, rested on the table, catching the moonlight with a cold glint. But tonight, he’d fight using the flute—Xiao-as-sword.

Not one to back down, Yao Chuan set aside his own weapon—the famed bl00d-drinking saber—and instead plucked a single osmanthus branch from the tree, twirling it lightly.

Lin Yi grinned. “What? You think so little of me you’ll fight with a flower branch?”

With that, he lunged, swift and graceful, drawing on the renowned Qingfeng sword style. But his energy hadn’t fully returned—his strikes, while sharp, lacked force. Yao Chuan dodged effortlessly, then tapped Lin Yi’s midsection with the flower branch, chuckling, “The technique is famous, but the power’s still lacking, young master.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Lin Yi responded with more ferocity. They exchanged over fifty moves, dancing through falling petals, their clothes and hair dusted with fragrance. But there was no malice in their duel—only challenge, and perhaps, something more.

Eventually, Lin Yi overreached. Yao Chuan saw the opening and swept his leg, sending Lin Yi off balance. Before he could fall, Yao Chuan caught him by the waist.

Breathing heavily, faces inches apart, both still flushed from wine and exertion, Yao Chuan leaned in and asked softly, “It’s almost midnight. You’re sure you’re not feeling anything… unusual?”

Lin Yi didn’t answer right away. He smiled slowly, then reached up and gently lifted Yao Chuan’s chin.

“You’ve had my osmanthus wine, and now you’ve grown bold, Brother Yao. Well then… how could I say no to a beauty’s invitation?”