Nan Gong Yu’s cavalry caught up with the Silver-Armored soldiers. At the same time, they managed to capture all six of the watermelon-cart assassins, binding them tightly before escorting them to the roadside tea shack for interrogation.
The six assassins knelt on the ground, glancing up. In front of them sat a military officer clad in silver armor, a massive dapudao propped up beside him. To his left stood a general in leather armor. To his right sat a young man in an ordinary black hunter’s outfit, wearing an iron mask.
The six assassins exchanged furtive glances, their expressions suddenly shifting from defiant to uneasy.
The assassin closest to the masked youth was the first to react—he suddenly dropped his forehead to the ground with a loud thud.
The remaining five immediately followed suit, kneeling and shuffling around until they faced the masked youth, then bowing deeply in unison, their heads striking the floor in a rapid, rhythmic dong, dong, dong.
Wu Ma Nan Sheng and Nan Gong Yu, who had been preparing to interrogate the prisoners, exchanged baffled glances.
“What… is going on?”
Qilin sighed. “Bowing to me won’t do you any good. You lot had the audacity to release corpse beetles on innocent people. By our clan’s laws, that warrants an immediate execution—three slashes, six wounds, and a slow death by bleeding out.”
Wu Ma Nan Sheng shot to his feet and barked, “You know them?! Are you in league with these assassins?”
Qilin shook his head. “I don’t know them, but apparently, they know me. Can’t help it—I’m famous where I come from.”
He turned back to the assassins. “Who gave you the orders? Why did you attack the Silver-Armored soldiers?”
One of the assassins suddenly burst into tears, sobbing loudly. The others remained silent, their heads bowed.
Qilin handed the crying assassin a handkerchief. “Enough of that. Wipe your tears. If you tell us who the mastermind is, you might be shown some leniency.”
The sobbing assassin hesitated before unfolding the handkerchief. In one corner, embroidered in fine thread, was a tiny qilin emblem. His fingers traced the stitched beast, his trembling subsiding.
After a moment, he spoke through choked sobs.
“Clan Leader… You vanished without a trace for half a year. The household fell into chaos. The Vice Patriarch left to find you but didn’t tell anyone where he was going—he’s been gone for four or five months. No one was left to lead us. In the meantime, we’ve been taking orders from Zhang Hai Wang and Zhang Hai Xing.”
Qilin let out a soft “Huh,” but did not immediately respond.
He remained silent, his mind racing.
There were eight great clans in Mount Wang Bai, all tracing their lineage back to the legendary Eight Stallions of King Mu, the generals who had served the ancient ruler three thousand years ago.
Qilin was the leader of the Zhang clan—the largest among them. The Zhang patriarch had always inherited the same title: Zhang Qi Ling.
Yet the assassin had just said that their clan leader had disappeared for six months.
That can’t be right. I only left Mount Wang Bai three months ago, and everyone knew I was carrying out King Mu’s decree. How could they claim I had been missing for twice as long?
Still, these assassins clearly belonged to a Zhang family—they had the ability to control corpse beetles, and they recognized him as their clan leader.
But those two names, Zhang Hai Wang and Zhang Hai Xing—Qilin had never heard of them before.
They were certainly not part of his Zhang clan in Mount Wang Bai.
At that moment, Qilin understood.
This Zhang family is not mine.
There must be another Zhang clan outside Mount Wang Bai.
They, too, possessed corpse beetle control.
Their leader also wore an iron mask.
And—perhaps most dangerously—they had mistaken Qilin for him.
Qilin narrowed his eyes.
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