Chapter 70: Killing with a Borrowed Knife

Watching the followers of the Five Bushels of Rice Dao surge forward, Dao Xuan was troubled by how he could possibly stop so many people. By chance, he noticed a stone wall by the roadside, riddled with cracks. Without a second thought, he struck the crumbling wall with his palm. Having just endured the flames of battle, the wall was already unstable; with Dao Xuan’s blow, it collapsed with a thunderous crash, accompanied by a chorus of screams—many Daoist followers were pinned beneath the rubble.

Seizing the opportunity, Dao Xuan strode forward and felled the leading pursuers with two swift punches. Possessing superior martial skills, he exuded the air of a true master; though dressed in the rags of a vagrant, when roused to anger, he resembled a wrathful guardian deity. These displays of strength truly intimidated the crowd, especially the feat of toppling a stone wall with a single strike. Although the wall had been weakened by battle, the superstitious followers saw only a man capable of splitting mountains and shattering stones. Fearful, they dared not advance.

Meanwhile, Zhang Chi, clutching the Wine Maiden’s hand, had already darted into a deep alley nearby.

“Surround him! The rest, after the Saintess!” the commander barked, unwilling to let Zhang Chi escape.

Unlike the north, where roads run in neat, grid-like patterns and one rarely loses their way, the cities of the south are winding and intricate, their alleys twisting in all directions. Lose your bearings, and you may never find your way back. Such was Zhang Chi’s plight—fleeing blindly through the labyrinthine lanes, the pursuers still on his heels, he quickly lost all sense of direction.

This is dire! Zhang Chi’s heart sank. The city was crawling with Daoist followers—where could he possibly run? Separated from Dao Xuan, unable to find San Tong and Miss Ruoshui, and lacking any martial skill himself, it was only a matter of time before he was caught. What to do?

Just as Zhang Chi was growing desperate, an elderly man emerged from a side alley and said, “Young master, do not fear. Come with me—I will guide you to safety.”

Zhang Chi did not recognize the man, but with danger pressing close, there was no time for hesitation. He nodded, grabbed the Wine Maiden’s hand, and followed the old man.

The elder seemed well-versed in the city’s layout. Leading Zhang Chi and the Wine Maiden through the maze of southern alleys, he deftly lost their pursuers. When they finally reached a quiet spot, Zhang Chi looked back—no sign of any chasers. Relieved, he turned to the old man, bowed, and said, “Thank you, elder, for helping us escape. May I ask your name? I hope to repay your kindness one day.”

The old man smiled gently, evading the question. “No need for thanks, young master—it was nothing. However, the city is still filled with Daoist followers; if you go out again, you may fall right back into their hands.”

Zhang Chi had to admit this was true, and he frowned in concern.

“Perhaps you should come with me to a safe place for now,” the old man suggested. “Once you’re secure, you can consider your next move.”

With no better option, Zhang Chi agreed. If he could find a safe haven for the Wine Maiden, he could then look for his companions. Having a shelter was always wise.

The old man led them by obscure routes, taking advantage of the labyrinthine streets of the south. Had they been in the north, Zhang Chi might have found nowhere to hide. Familiar with every twist and turn of the city, the old man easily avoided the Daoist search parties, guiding them northward.

Finally, they arrived at a secluded residence near the city’s northern gate. Ushering Zhang Chi and the Wine Maiden inside, the old man closed the doors behind them. “For the time being, you’ll be safe here,” he said. “Come inside and rest.”

Zhang Chi at last had the chance to look around. The courtyard was modest but well-appointed—not the home of an ordinary citizen. Its orderly state puzzled him; how had it escaped the ravages of the Daoist incursion?

He followed the old man inside. As soon as the door swung open, Zhang Chi saw an image of the Old Lord enshrined in the central hall.

He hesitated at the threshold, suspicion rising. The Wine Maiden, too, stood quietly behind him, unwilling to enter first.

The old man smiled, as if he knew what Zhang Chi was thinking. “Have no fear, young master. This is the former residence of Master Du Zigong, who served as a Daoist teacher in his lifetime. That is why this place has been spared.”

So, it was once Du Zigong’s home. Zhang Chi felt a measure of relief, but another thought arose: was this old man a disciple of Du Zigong? If so, why had Miss Ruoshui—Du’s own daughter—never mentioned him? Did she know this man?

Having faced many trials since his arrival in this world, Zhang Chi was no longer as naïve as before. The situation was still unclear, so he refrained from mentioning Miss Ruoshui. Still, he entered the room—reasoning that if the old man meant him harm, he would not have brought him here. For now, he would bide his time and observe.

“You may stay here for the time being,” the old man said, pouring tea for Zhang Chi and the Wine Maiden. “If there is any safe place left in Shanyin, it is here. The Daoists would not dare intrude lightly.”

“But I still have friends unaccounted for,” Zhang Chi replied.

“That is not a problem,” the old man assured him. “If all goes as expected, within two days the Daoists will disperse from the city.”

“Sun Tai fought so hard to capture Shanyin—why would he simply leave?” Zhang Chi was skeptical.

The old man smiled. “He may not wish to, but he will have no choice. Prince Sima Daozi of Kuaiji—the city is his fief. He will not tolerate Sun Tai occupying its capital. The imperial army is camped just outside the city; at a single command, they’ll attack. Moreover, with the Saintess lost, the Daoists will be thrown into disarray. How could they hold the city?”

Zhang Chi was puzzled. “If the imperial army was so close, why didn’t they come sooner?”

“It’s all politics at court,” the old man said, shaking his head with a sigh. “The Daoists gathered at Kuaiji Mountain, and Sima Daozi, ever cunning, knew full well. In truth, he let the Daoists into Shanyin on purpose.”

“But what did he hope to gain?” Zhang Chi pressed.

“To use one’s enemy to eliminate another,” the old man replied.

“Use one’s enemy?” Zhang Chi was even more confused. “Who is the knife, and who is the victim?”

“Sun Tai is the knife; the great clans of Wang and Xie are the victims.”

At last, Zhang Chi understood. Sima Daozi had long sought to weaken the great clans—Wang and Xie most of all. If the old man spoke true, then everything that had happened in Shanyin was already within Sima Daozi’s calculations!

Power struggles at court truly kill without drawing blood. Compared to such men, Zhang Chi felt he was still far too naïve.