Chapter Sixty-Eight: Preparing for the Storm

With a swift and decisive strike, Qin Yi seized the still-warm corpse, leaping into the shadows and vanishing into the night.

Within the city, in the courtyard of an abandoned residence, Qin Yi hauled the body to the old well. He rummaged through the corpse, producing a money pouch and a waist token.

"Golden Alliance, Steward?" Qin Yi murmured in surprise as he examined the token.

He had expected trouble from the Scarlet Sect, not from the Golden Alliance. For so long, only the Scarlet Sect had caused him trouble; he could recall no other force making a move against him.

He’d only learned of the Golden Alliance after the armored goods incident. Under interrogation, the two captured leaders revealed that the Four Seas Trading Company was a front for the Golden Alliance—a clandestine power that had risen through smuggling, its reach stretching into the shadows.

Originally, the Golden Alliance operated smuggling routes along the border between Northern Yuan and Dayong, but had since expanded, branching into multiple enterprises, even conducting trade overseas.

“This must be retaliation,” Qin Yi’s expression darkened.

Four Seas Trading Company had been destroyed, and now the Alliance sought revenge. Vaguely, Qin Yi sensed that He Xiongjian’s death might also be tied to them. He was simply caught in the crossfire—like an assassin sent against the district governor.

He pocketed the money pouch, then tossed both the corpse and the token into the well, disappearing into the night. This courtyard was a place Qin Yi had discovered during his patrols—a trysting spot used by a noblewoman and her lovers, almost never inhabited, making it the perfect place to dispose of inconvenient things.

Back home, after bathing, Qin Yi sat at his table and opened the money pouch. Inside were more than a dozen banknotes—over five hundred taels in total.

"Sudden fortune," he breathed out, calculating his savings now exceeded six hundred taels.

"A pity I acted too quickly—I didn’t have time to ask if she had accomplices."

He had chosen to end the woman's life swiftly; between masters, the tide could turn at any moment. He would never give his opponent a second chance: if he could kill, he would kill, never hesitating. She was not like the two third-rate thugs he’d captured before, whom he could interrogate for information—she was an eighth-level expert.

He could have worn her down, but that would have taken too long, and he risked discovery by the city guards or another expert, which would have brought even greater trouble.

“If she had accomplices, my father could be in danger.”

Qin Yi was not concerned for himself—he could defend his own life—but his father was an ordinary man. If even a few hired ruffians were sent, his father would be defenseless. Qin Yi couldn’t protect him every hour of the day.

“No, I have to get him somewhere safe tonight. Once I finish learning that martial art from the Giant Elephant Martial Hall, I’ll resign and take him with me to the provincial capital,” Qin Yi resolved.

Above the district was the province. Dayong had twelve provinces, each with three districts—thirty-six districts in all. Below the district were the counties.

Jiangning District belonged to Xiang Province. At present, two of the three districts in Xiang Province had already fallen to rebels—Nanyang District next door had seen over half its territory lost, and Jiangning itself had seven counties occupied. Only Jiangbei District remained untouched by rebellion.

"But the city gates are closed at night. Getting out will be tricky," Qin Yi frowned.

Still, it was safer to try to leave at night than during the day, when spies might be watching. Night was the only safe option.

“I’ll give it a try,” he decided.

Swiftly changing into his night clothes, he went to his father’s room and woke him.

“Fourth Son, what are you doing?” his father asked, confused by Qin Yi’s appearance.

“Father, pack your things, I’m taking you out of the city.”

“Out of the city? Why?”

“I’ve had a conflict with someone—they might send people after you. I want you to hide at the Fangxian Daoist Temple for ten days or so,” Qin Yi explained.

“Ah? Is your enemy powerful? Shouldn’t we flee together?” his father asked, worried.

“They’re not stronger than I am. I’m just worried they’ll use you to threaten me. Don’t worry, they’ll meet their end soon enough.”

After some persuasion, his father packed a few clothes, and Qin Yi carried him out of the house.

Half an hour later, in a shadowed corner of the city, Qin Yi gazed up at the ten-meter-high city wall and drew two daggers from his belt.

With three hundred thousand people living in Jiangning, the city was vast, and the wall stretched for miles. There simply weren’t enough guards to cover every part of it, day or night—the patrols moved in intervals.

Qin Yi and his father hid in the shadows.

“The patrol has passed, Father—climb on my back.”

“Are you sure you can make it up there?” his father asked anxiously as he climbed on.

“Yes.”

Ten meters was the height of a three-story building—impossible for an ordinary man, but for someone of Qin Yi’s strength, it was no obstacle.

He secured his father with a cloth strap.

“Instant Step!”

With a burst of speed, he shot to the base of the wall.

“Moon Step!”

His foot left a deep imprint in the earth as he leapt two meters into the air.

Thud! Thud!

Both daggers bit into the stonework.

Thud, thud, thud!

Using the daggers in succession, Qin Yi climbed swiftly, making use of every crack and crevice.

Soon, he reached the top, then repeated the process to descend, vanishing into the darkness.

The whole process took less than two minutes.

Over an hour later, before the gates of the Fangxian Daoist Temple, Qin Yi handed his father a banknote worth one hundred taels.

“Father, stay here at the temple for the next ten days or so. Donate incense money from time to time, and they’ll let you stay as long as you need.”

“Take care of yourself,” his father said, accepting the money with concern.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

He knocked on the door—three times, then three more, until finally it opened.

A sleepy young Daoist peered out. “Layman Qin, is that you?”

The youth was the same one from before; Qin Yi had tipped him a hundred-wen copper note last time, so he remembered him.

“The inns are full tonight. Can you arrange a place for my father to stay?” Qin Yi pressed a copper note into his hand.

The little Daoist’s face lit up. “Of course, of course! Layman Qin, aren’t you staying yourself?”

“I have official business—I must travel tonight,” Qin Yi replied casually.

“No problem. I’ll arrange everything right away.”