Before the first light of dawn could break, signs of life stirred within the dilapidated relay station.
Amula sat alone at the only table in the room—a rickety thing with a missing leg—noisily gnawing on dried meat. His accompanying warriors were scattered around, some crouching and others leaning against the walls as they chewed on their dry rations.
Gu Huaiyu yawned as he took a seat opposite Amula. Pei Jingyi sat down beside the Proprietor with casual bravado, his broad back perfectly obscuring the view of the warriors behind them.
Amula wiped his greasy mouth and pulled a roll of parchment from his robes. Spreading it out, he jabbed a stubby finger at a specific point. “We take this path today. We should reach Yunneizhou in three or four days.”
Gu Huaiyu’s gaze lingered on the map for a moment before he looked up. “Did you sleep well last night, Proprietor?”
Amula’s chewing faltered. “Why? Did you two not sleep soundly?”
Pei Jingyi broke a piece of toasted flatbread in half and handed it to Gu Huaiyu. “The hostel has a bit of a rat problem,” he said nonchalantly. “The noise made it hard to rest.”
“The grasslands are crawling with rats!” Amula spat disdainfully. “You Han people are far too delicate.”
Seeing his reaction, Gu Huaiyu’s brows knitted slightly. He took a small bite of the hard, dry bread. “Proprietor, are all the men you brought on this caravan your own kin?”
“Of course. They are all Meng’an warriors of my household.”
Amula puffed out his chest with pride. He leaned past Pei Jingyi to look at his men, introducing them to the pair. “That one is Erden, a divine archer who can pierce a willow leaf from a hundred paces.”
His thick finger pointed at each in turn. “Sangji, who once fought a wolf single-handedly. Jamukha, who has never lost a match in the wrestling pits…”
His voice suddenly trailed off. Amula’s finger hung suspended in mid-air as his brow furrowed into a knot. “Where the hell did that brat Bulga go?”
Gu Huaiyu’s chewing paused. He exchanged a knowing look with Pei Jingyi.
Setting the bread down, Gu Huaiyu asked with feigned casualness, “Do your Meng’an warriors know the true nature of the business we are conducting on this trip?”
Amula looked puzzled, his eyes still scanning the area for Bulga. “Our Meng’an are only responsible for my safety. They never meddle in the dealings of trade.”
Gu Huaiyu’s furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and he asked no more.
Amula rolled up the map and stomped out the door, shouting at a warrior crouching by the entrance, “Has anyone seen Bulga?”
The warrior shook his head blankly, muttering something in the Eastern Liao tongue.
At that moment, the sudden, frantic thunder of hooves erupted from outside the courtyard.
Bulga came charging out of the dense woods on horseback. Amula was about to bark a reprimand when he saw the man violently draw his bow and notch an arrow—
Whiz!
The arrow whistled past Amula’s ear, carving a path of blood through the air.
The instant the sound of breaking air reached him, Pei Jingyi seized Gu Huaiyu’s wrist. With a heavy thud, he kicked the wooden table over, pinning the Chancellor safely behind it.
A sharp whistle pierced the air from the forest. Immediately after, a pack of black-clad warriors wielding blades charged out, lunging into the courtyard with murderous intent!
Amula’s warriors scrambled to respond. In an instant, the scene dissolved into a chaotic swirl of flashing steel and flying blood. Screams of agony rang out without end.
Gu Huaiyu leaned his back against the tabletop, his expression calm. He had already surmised that these people were likely sent by Yelü Chi, and their target was not him or Pei Jingyi.
Pei Jingyi peeked over the edge to survey the battlefield. Amula’s warriors, caught off guard, were already falling in heaps. He pressed one hand firmly against the back of Gu Huaiyu’s neck while his other hand gestured frantically toward Amula. “Tell your men to retreat and hold their ground!”
Amula snapped out of his shock, roaring in the Eastern Liao language, “Fall back! Protect the master!”
It was a stroke of luck that Gu Huaiyu had dismissed the guards the day before. The black-clad assassins were unaware of Gu Huaiyu and Pei Jingyi’s true identities, assuming they were merely ordinary Great Chen officials. Their blades were focused entirely on Amula.
Three or four blood-soaked warriors stumbled back to Amula’s side, but seven or eight black-clad killers were already closing in, blades raised.
Amidst the glint of cold steel, Pei Jingyi suddenly whispered to Gu Huaiyu, “Don’t look up.”
Before the words had even fully left his lips, the short blade at his waist was out of its sheath.
As Gu Huaiyu had said when reorganizing the Provincial Army—Pei Jingyi was not only a master of mounted archery, but his close-quarters knife work was equally formidable.
He slammed his left hand against the table to propel himself upward like a pouncing leopard. The moment his body cleared the tabletop, his short blade buried itself with a wet thud directly into the heart of the first warrior to reach them.
