Chapter 63: Setting the Trap

Chen Ying shook his head, appearing utterly pained and exasperated. “You’re all too stupid. His bones may be hard, but there’s one place that’s certainly soft… Take off his trousers!”

Liang Zan felt a sudden tightness and dread.

Tang Liuniang, following behind Chen Ying, flushed red.

The two soldiers stared at Chen Ying, utterly dumbfounded.

“You… you… what are you trying to do?” Luo Song, who had been slipping into unconsciousness, suddenly snapped awake, his voice trembling with fear.

“Nothing at all!” Chen Ying smiled indifferently. “Just tell me who ordered you to assassinate this general. Speak, and it will benefit you, me, all of us. Don’t make this difficult for me—I’m a man who can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“Just kill me!”

“Tsk, you really do have guts, but that’s not necessarily a good thing!” Chen Ying turned to the two stunned soldiers. “What are you staring at? Cut off the two ounces of flesh between his legs and feed it to the dogs!”

The two soldiers, obeying Chen Ying’s words, stepped forward to tear at Luo Song’s trousers.

“You’re vicious!” Luo Song nearly spat blood in rage. He could withstand beatings, curses, and even the sword—he was a man standing seven feet tall, after all. Though he had only recently joined the Star-Plucking Sect, he already knew the sect leader was a mysterious figure, seen as a dragon whose head and tail never appeared together. No one knew their face, whether they were man or woman. But one thing was known to hundreds, thousands of Star-Plucking disciples across the land:

Never betray the secrets of the Star-Plucking Sect. If even a single word were leaked, one would find neither life nor death.

Luo Song did not fear death and was ready to face torture if captured. What he hadn’t prepared for was a knife under him.

To be castrated—would he still be a man?

He would become a creature neither male nor female, a monster. For Luo Song, whose lust was his life, such a fate was worse than any torture by fire or blade.

—A ripping sound.

As his trousers were torn, a chill ran between his legs.

The Tang soldier wielding the knife wore a ferocious, murderous expression.

“No… no… stop!” Luo Song, drenched in sweat and terrified, screamed hysterically, “I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”

“That’s more like it.” The traitor hiding among the ranks had never been found, a thorn in Chen Ying’s heart that made rest impossible. Though Luo Song was an assassin, he could not have tampered with Chen Ying’s prized steed—the opportunity was never there.

Who wanted him dead?

If this question remained unanswered, Chen Ying could not sleep soundly.

Staring at the gleaming knife, Luo Song stammered, “General Chen… I’ll tell you, but only if you listen alone.”

Chen Ying’s voice was icy. “I suggest you understand your position.”

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“Uh…”

Chen Ying’s gaze, full of malice, lingered on Luo Song’s lower body. “You have no right to bargain with me.”

Luo Song’s resolve crumbled. Nervously, he said, “I don’t know much. Our sect has its rules—take money, solve problems. Half a month ago, a noble from Chang’an paid two hundred strings for General Chen’s head.”

“Who is this noble, name and surname?”

Luo Song shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is he’s from Chang’an—it’s just my guess. The assignment was accepted by the Chang’an branch at our main hall…”

“So you know nothing? Then you have no reason to live.”

“Please, General Chen, make it quick!” Luo Song seemed resigned, his expression gradually calm.

Chen Ying frowned, sensing Luo Song was not lying. He truly knew nothing.

Slowly, Chen Ying left the dungeon and gazed at the night sky, thick with storm clouds. He felt inexplicably agitated.

He didn’t seek trouble, yet trouble always found him.

Liang Zan approached, asking, “Shall we kill him first—?”

“Wait,” Chen Ying replied coldly. Just as he struggled to uncover the traitor, he realized Tang Liuniang, who had entered the dungeon with him, was nowhere to be found.

Looking about for her, he saw Tang Liuniang stomping toward him, cheeks puffed with fury.

“What happened?”

Tang Liuniang’s face was full of indignation. “It’s that vulgar Zhao Hu—he wanted… wanted…”

Chen Ying smiled slyly. “Wanted what?”

“He wanted me to sleep with him!” Tang Liuniang’s face darkened, her tone fierce. “Lucky for him he ran fast, or I’d have torn his filthy mouth apart.”

Hearing this, Chen Ying was initially unmoved. The army was full of men, and as the saying goes, three years in the army and even a sow becomes Diao Chan. Though Tang Liuniang was young and quick-tempered, she was undeniably a budding beauty. Give her a few more years, and she’d grow into a seductive little temptress.

Zhao Hu was one of his personal guards, usually seeming honest and slow-witted. Anyone in the army might tease Tang Liuniang, but only Zhao Hu appeared above such things. Now, Chen Ying’s expression grew grave—a suspicion struck him.

Perhaps Zhao Hu’s harassment was only a pretext to distract Tang Liuniang, allowing his accomplice to overhear Luo Song’s confession.

With this thought, Chen Ying’s mind cleared.

He called Liang Zan over and whispered instructions in his ear.

Liang Zan nodded in understanding.

Chen Ying returned to the main tent and called to the guard outside, Yang Shun. “Yang Shun, go to the kitchen and tell them to stew a chicken, quickly!”

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Yang Shun wore a mournful face. “General, there’s not even dried meat in the kitchen, let alone chicken.”

“You think I’m so greedy? It’s that scoundrel Luo Song—he insists on eating chicken, says he won’t confess unless he gets it. Even if we beat him, he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Yang Shun replied, “But where can I find a chicken at this hour?”

“That’s not my concern. Go tell the kitchen—whether they steal or rob, they need to stew a chicken now!”

Yang Shun left helplessly.

On his way to the kitchen, Zhao Hu encountered Yang Shun. “Yang Sanlang, where are you off to?”

“What do you think?” Yang Shun grumbled. “That damned assassin insists on eating chicken—says he won’t confess unless he gets it. Isn’t that just making things difficult?”

Zhao Hu smiled. “Yang Sanlang, leave it to me!”

Unaware, Yang Shun was delighted. “Thanks, Brother Hu! When we get back to Chang’an, I’ll take you to see Widow Lu.”

“Widow Lu?”

“Yeah, she’s got more fire than the top courtesan at Red Sleeve House. Once you taste her, you’ll never forget it!”

…

At the dungeon entrance, the two guards were deep in sleep, snoring loudly.

Suddenly, someone crept closer, footsteps muffled. The clouds shrouded the moon; the world was black, shapes only visible as silhouettes. Wind swept the clouds away, moonlight spilled onto the silent earth. A shadow appeared, face covered except for two eyes, back hunched, moving silently.

The figure in black approached the dungeon. The so-called dungeon was but a temporary holding, without even a door. In darkness, the figure tiptoed past the sleeping guards and slipped inside.

The flickering candlelight lent the place a sinister, terrifying air.

The figure straightened, drew a dagger, and lunged at Luo Song. But Luo Song suddenly raised his head and stared at him.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“But I came anyway.”

“Since you’re here, you’ll stay.” A sudden voice rang out behind the black-clad figure. He turned and saw the dungeon had filled with a dozen soldiers, led by Liang Zan.

Liang Zan’s voice was chilling. “Liu San, at a time like this, there’s no point hiding.”

With that, Liang Zan stepped forward and tore off the figure’s mask, revealing Liu San’s stunned face.