Chapter 605: The Rear Courtyard

Chapter 605: Chapter 605: The Rear Courtyard

The turmoil at the front lines and the undercurrent in the temple hall could not reach a small estate in the southern outskirts of the Imperial City.

This estate had over sixty households in total, all working the land diligently, seemingly all peasants. But if one were to take a walk around, they’d find that everyone here carried an air of ferocity. Many of the men were missing limbs, yet none of them bore the gloom of the maimed; they would smile when it was time to smile, glare when it was time to glare.

The surrounding villagers called this place "Wu Village," for all its residents were men retired from the army who had settled down here. There was also a very high-ranking official living here. They said his surname was Yang, but as for how high his rank was—well, folks in the countryside couldn’t say, only that it far surpassed the officials in the local government office.

But those well-informed in the Imperial City knew this "Wu Village" was no ordinary place, for every peasant here was formerly an elite soldier, many bearing noble titles and wealth not inferior to minor landowners, yet they were content to farm the fields—all for the sake of guarding one person.

At the center of the estate stood the only courtyard with walls. Built from large stones quarried and stacked from the mountains, it looked solid and imposing, yet lacked the red lacquered gates common to wealthy households and thus appeared understated.

The servants within the courtyard were almost all men, each robust and exuding a commanding aura—even those tending the flowerbeds or handling chores. Anyone knowledgeable in cultivation would realize that these men were all cultivators, and none of low attainment.

In the rear courtyard was a small plot, about half an acre, planted with several varieties of vegetables, all thriving; some were ready for harvest.

An old man, dressed like a farmer, was carrying a bucket of manure to fertilize some vegetables that were not yet quite ripe. Three men stood by him: one holding a cup of cold tea, and the other two with short blades at their waists—likely personal guards—with an unmistakable air of prowess.

When the old man finished his work, he harvested a basket of vegetables from the ready patch—these plants hadn’t been fertilized for days and were fit to eat now.

Nearby, a guard drew water from a vat to wash the old man’s hands, while another promptly offered cold tea, and the last one fanned him dutifully.

"Yesterday I told you to buy some meat from Butcher Zhang—did you get it?" The old man sat on a small stool, drank a few sips of tea, then began to inquire.

"Sir, as you instructed, I went early this morning. It was just slaughtered—the meat is fresh: four trotters, a dozen pounds of prime pork belly, and I brought back the pig’s ear for you as well."

"Good! Take the pig’s trotters and ears to the kitchen to braise. Leave the pork belly; I’ll prepare it myself later. Oh, go fetch the Immortal Brew from the cellar and chill it."

"Yes, sir. But there are only two jars of Immortal Brew. Should I take some Wuliangye to chill as well?"

"Wuliangye? Forget it. That stuff’s just for leisure drinking—hardly fit for guests. Our guest isn’t a heavy drinker and doesn’t care for spirits. Two jars will suffice. And pick up a roast chicken from the town as an appetizer."

"Yes, sir."

One took the command and left; the two remaining guards stayed behind the old man, blades at their sides.

When he finished his tea, the old man asked, "How is that fellow, the one like a block of wood?"

"Sir, all is normal. This morning we gave him the usual dose of medicine and checked all the golden needles. Everything is fine," the guard replied firmly. This was their daily duty—no room for error.

"Very good. Come, let’s take a look; we might need him in a few days." The old man rose from his stool, hands clasped behind his back, and walked toward a row of rooms ahead. The two guards followed, one carrying the freshly picked vegetables.

After some distance, they pushed open a door; inside stood two guards, who bowed at once when the old man entered. He waved them off and said, "Open the door."

Each of the two men inside produced a key, and combined them with the two keys from the old man’s guards, forming two pairs of twin-keys. Only when these were inserted into hidden keyholes and turned simultaneously did the secret door open, revealing a stairway descending into darkness.

One guard at the entrance felt along the wall at the top of the stairs, twisting a mechanism; faint beams of light flared to life along both sides, illuminating the steps.

The old man walked down, hands behind his back, flanked by the two guards. The stairway had two turns, each with an array for verification, which the guards bypassed using their waist tokens and secret techniques. Their waist tokens were those of the Ministry of War’s personal guard, but on the reverse was a raised feather-shaped motif, like a sword.

These were... Feather Guard waist tokens.

The Feather Guard, like the Xuanqing Guard chiefs’ personal guards, were considered "the elite among the elite" within the Ministry of War, assigned only to the current Minister of War.

Thus, the old man leading the way was none other than the one whom the Emperor had ordered Yang Xiusheng to seal his cultivation with the Vessel-Cutting Hand, leaving him an empty shell—Minister of War and National Pillar General, Yang Yansi.

Once in the underground passage, the aged air about Yang Yansi began to shift. In a few breaths, he was no longer the decrepit old man but radiantly spirited; though his hair was still white, no one could call him "frail" now—he was a different person from the one above ground.

They descended several dozen zhang, reaching the entrance to a long corridor lined with stone chambers, each sealed by an array lock.

The two guards opened one chamber; Yang Yansi entered, hands clasped behind his back.

The stone chamber was not large, only about three zhang square. It held nothing else—save a man standing in the center like a statue, chest and belly gently rising and falling, proof of life. He was dressed in fine clothes, with all his accessories, including a jade pendant at his waist inset with a small, exquisitely wrought golden sword.

But more than ten golden needles were thrust into his scalp, their depth unknown, though four or five inches still protruded outside.

The old man—or rather, Yang Yansi—circled the prisoner, scrutinizing each golden needle, then pressed a hand against the man’s back as if sending True Qi into him to probe his condition. Only after a while did he withdraw his hand.

"His health is declining; let him have some Elixir Food to sustain him. And the sedative decoction—you must measure it precisely; not a single mistake can be made." Though Yang Yansi trusted his two guards, he could not help but remind them again and again.

After confirming the man was stable, Yang Yansi left the underground secret chamber and headed to the kitchen—tonight, he would personally prepare dishes for his guest.

As dusk settled and night descended, Yang Yansi’s dishes were already finished, kept warm over heated trays with two chilled jars of wine beside them. The simple meal was set in the pavilion beside the vegetable plot at the rear courtyard—three meat, three vegetable dishes.

"You’re here?"

Suddenly, Yang Yansi smiled narrowly toward the edge of the pavilion—at some point, a tall, thin figure had arrived in the rear courtyard, less than ten zhang from the pavilion.