Chapter 65
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Departure! [Leave!] (5)
Cracking an egg against a rock. The result is always the egg shattering. The rock never breaks. Whether hurled by a mighty hero or tossed by a feeble child, the outcome remains the same. That's the law of nature.
To temper the body, one must train relentlessly. Want arms like forged steel? Hone those arm muscles. Crave legs of unyielding strength? Drill them for a hundred days, a thousand if need be. Do so, and they will grow mighty without fail. That's the law of nature.
The law of nature demands that following the prescribed method yields the prescribed result for anyone.
Setting aside issues of will or effort, with equal mental fortitude, anyone should succeed, and the results should match.
Yet if an egg shatters a rock—when rocks don't shatter, but the egg stays intact while the rock crumbles—that defies nature.
Want arms hard as steel? Chant an incantation, and in a single breath, your flabby muscles harden like stone. That defies nature.
Defiance arises when results diverge despite the method. Everyone gets different outcomes.
It stems from realms humans haven't experienced.
By natural law, the Zhuge Clan is an impregnable fortress. No breach exists. To topple it requires overwhelming force greater than their own.
But defiance allows wild hopes: stroll right in, and suddenly you're in the heart of the clan. Isn't that wishful thinking? Human desires make the impossible seem possible.
Of course, the world would call you a fool. Lucky if they don't brand you mad.
That's the realm of defiance.
To pierce the Zhuge Clan, unholy arts are needed.
Four Thousand Four stepped into the pleasure quarter.
The brothel district at the crack of dawn was utterly desolate. No souls stirred. The night's remnants lingered: alleys reeked of booze and lust.
No touts hawked their wares at this hour.
Come evening around the hour of the rooster, every step drew sleeves tugging at you. But now, only a chill wind pierced his robes.
Thud! Thud!
He walked the narrow alley.
Walls pressed so close that two abreast would brush shoulders.
Here and there, last night's vomit stained the ground.
The alleys spoke volumes in silence, hinting at the night's debauchery.
"Resting before you go?"
Someone called out.
No intent to grab him—just habit toward a passerby.
Four Thousand Four walked on without a glance.
For him, priorities had flipped. He hadn't sought the brothels; his destination led him here.
Moments later, he reached his goal... a three-story pavilion.
The sign read Hot Fire Tower.
Hot fire... scorching flames!
Exactly what Four Thousand Four desperately needed now.
He had to start a blaze. Kindle a spark. Pile dry twigs high and strike flint to ignite it.
What served as the dry twigs?
What acted as the flint? Or was there already burning wood? A torch?
Once the spark caught, flames would roar to life on their own.
Who says to kindle fire upward? No one. Flames rise by nature. Ignite the spark, and they surge skyward unaided.
No need to force them up. No need to hunt infiltration routes into the Zhuge Clan through toil.
The spark... find the spark, and all follows naturally.
One moment he's tapping the Zhuge Clan with an egg—next, whoosh! He's before the clan head. An unholy miracle.
He lay on the Hot Fire Tower's roof, arms pillowed behind his head. Then he began watching the Zhuge Clan. Indifferently. No thoughts stirring. Natural law couldn't solve this.
Four Thousand Four had two days.
Until midnight tomorrow: two days, one night.
He observed the Zhuge Clan with calm detachment.
Sleep when drowsy. Nibble rations when hungry. Sip from his gourd when thirsty.
He dwelled without thinking.
Let go of schemes: piercing the clan, spotting flaws, hunting sparks. He simply watched.
Day faded into night.
The once-peaceful brothels, like any village, buzzed with life.
Errand boys lit the red lanterns.
Courtesans, faces painted exquisitely, clustered in groups, coming and going.
They bustled, prepping for the evening trade.
Four Thousand Four slowly chewed his rations. To fill up on little, he savored each bite long.
Daylong vigil on the Zhuge Clan yielded nothing.
The Zhuge Clan was the Zhuge Clan. Day or night, unchanged. Even now, with open assassination declared, it matched before: ironclad, dignified.
Four Thousand Four felt no fatigue.
He'd slept plenty by day. Dozed, woke to watch, dozed again.
Rest was ample.
What might night bring? Would something emerge while watching?
He scanned every corner of the Zhuge Clan.
By now, he'd memorized its layout like a picture in his mind.
"He's still there?"
"On the Hot Fire Tower roof. We could nab him now."
"Wait."
Zhuge Soso's eyes gleamed.
The Hot Fire Tower was a three-story pavilion, tallest around. Its peaked roof soared like a fourth story, though usable space ended at three.
From there, the clan compound lay fully exposed.
Thus, the roof was prime for spying on the Zhuge Clan.
Yet they'd taken no action against it.
Why bother? A suspicious figure advertised his spot: "Here I am."
Just monitor the Hot Fire Tower roof. Spot intruders instantly.
So the Zhuge Clan assigned watchers solely to that roof.
It joined the patrol zones, under constant targeted watch.
Especially now, post-Heavenly Annihilation Division's bold assassination decree. Vigilance tightened; surveillance intensified.
Normally one watcher; now two.
Anyone climbing drew immediate detection.
Yet Four Thousand Four had scaled it at dawn.
His presence was spotted at once, movements reported near real-time.
Eating rations. Drinking water. Sleeping.
Every gesture, down to finger twitches, reached them unmissed.
Zhuge Soso pegged the rooftop figure as the merchant caravan slayer instantly.
The face matched.
Even without that, his bizarre conduct screamed identity—no wisdom needed.
Who else climbs the Hot Fire Tower now?
Full clan view from there, but fully visible to them too.
The assassin knew and didn't care. Didn't hide in shadows opposite—instead, sprawled brazenly in plain sight, watching.
As if shouting, "Catch me if you can!"
Only the caravan killer dared such recklessness. No one else could dream it, let alone flaunt themselves so boldly.
Definitely the one she'd missed.
Zhuge Soso narrowed her eyes.
Assassin, what ploy next? How to breach flawless Zhuge defenses?
She was curious about his choice.
Of course, not a speck of worry her father, the clan head, might die. Heaven splitting was likelier.
Her eyes flashed as she spoke.
"The civilians?"
"All mobilized."
"How many?"
"Hard to say exactly... over a hundred twenty."
Zhuge Soso nodded, satisfied.
Brothel women coexisted with the Zhuge Clan. The clan shielded them discreetly; they fed back intel from beds and banquets.
Some were dedicated spies under direct orders.
They were the "civilians."
Courtesans dotted the quarter like the clan's eyes and ears.
A hundred twenty civilians now watched Four Thousand Four. Every trait, relayed perfectly—explaining the flawless reports.
Zhuge Soso said,
"Good. Use only them for now."
"What about our own men...?"
"No. Stand down. Even if we send them, they won't stop him. He can be killed, but not captured."
Night fell, and the brothels roared to life.
Like a living beast, dormant by day, stirring at dusk. Voices echoed in alleys; songs rang from every house.
Early evening unleashed a feast of fleshly desires.
Men stumbled out doorways, skirts hitched, scurrying down lanes.
Four Thousand Four watched them blankly.
Yet... odd gazes prickled. Eyes on him. Not men's—mostly courtesans. Glancing as they passed, peering from windows.
Wonder at the rooftop perch?
Swish!
Their stares wove tight nets around him.
'Surveillance.'
The thought flashed unbidden.
He hadn't summoned it. Like sparks birthing flames, their gazes sparked "surveillance."
He forgot it swiftly.
Flames die at their peak. Without forced fuel, they burn out naturally.
Unheld, "surveillance" faded.
Their stares too.
Forgotten. He fixed solely on one point: the Zhuge Clan.
'This is...?'
'A chance!'
'That bastard's baiting them!'
Vanguard's crew walked casually.
Strangers too, but ignored. Everyone gawked at the Hot Fire Tower roof.
A hundred twenty courtesans tracked Four Thousand Four. Some whispered to patrons; word spread like itch.
Now, no one in the quarter missed the "Hot Fire Tower roof."
"Here to kill the Zhuge clan head?"
"Tch! Such a fine-looking fool."
Young and old, man and woman—all eyes on the roof, lips buzzing about the assassin.
Opportunity for Vanguard's group.
At least until scaling the walls, they'd stay unseen.
Four Thousand Four already played decoy.
"Avoid the main force. Head there, and it's over—"
Vanguard cut in.
No need for the rest: end it yourself before capture and torture.
Capture impossible.
'Then!'
'See you.'
The three locked eyes briefly, then scattered.