Chapter Fifty-Six: Entering the Cai Residence, Encountering Cai Yan

Dong Zhuo led the remaining defeated soldiers into Luoyang, closing the city gates tightly behind them. The coalition warlords demanded battle at the gates, but from atop the city walls, not a breath of wind stirred, nor was any movement seen.

That night, Zifan crept quietly toward the Forbidden City. “Whizz—whizz—” Several arrows flew forth, silently felling the guards stationed at Dong Zhuo’s door one by one.

Zifan vaulted into the inner chambers, moving along the rooftops without a sound, approaching Dong Zhuo’s residence in a single, fluid motion. Sword in hand—the Seven-Star Blade—he stood behind Dong Zhuo. Wasting no words, he thrust his sword without hesitation.

“Dong Zhuo! You have shamed princesses and concubines, ruled with poison and tyranny. Tonight, I, Zifan, have come to rid the world of you, to enact heaven’s justice!”

Swish!—

Two swords collided, sparks flying.

Zifan twisted away, staring at his opponent—a masked woman, her entire being exuding a cold, chilling aura tinged with sorrow and desolation. Those eyes, so haunting, struck a chord even in Zifan, whose heart had long since hardened to steel.

The two stood twenty paces apart. Dong Zhuo, regaining his wits, hid himself behind a barrier. Realizing he must act swiftly, Zifan advanced, drawing his sword slowly. Moonlight poured down in a cold, clear stream, merging with the blue gleam of his blade. The howling wind roared across the horizon, heralding an impending torrential downpour. The music of battle was the sound of blood flowing along the sword, the instant a fatal wound opened.

In a heartbeat, a crimson flash of sword light flowed from the woman’s sleeve. Before Zifan could raise his blade to retaliate, that streak of red was already upon him.

He retreated swiftly, raising his sword to block.

The two clashed, blades flashing in the rain-soaked night.

At last, a blue arc of sword-light soared skyward. Zifan’s sword traced three phantom blossoms in the air, striking like a serpent’s tongue at the woman’s brow.

But the situation was dire, and the pursuers outside the residence were drawing near. Zifan could not afford to hold back against this delicate maiden—his strikes were merciless, each aimed at a vital point.

Yet the woman was unruffled. With a spring of her legs, she glided backward, light as a swallow.

Steel clashed with steel as they exchanged dozens of blows. Seizing his chance, Zifan thrust his sword at Dong Zhuo behind him.

In a flash, both struck out at once, their swords moving like lightning.

The blades met, and a tremendous clash of sword-qi erupted, ringing out like a bell. Zifan’s sword, crafted by a master, shattered the woman’s blade, its force driving straight toward Dong Zhuo.

A crimson arc flashed across Dong Zhuo’s chest and vanished. He had no time to react before pain bloomed in his chest; looking down, he saw a stream of bright blood flowing.

“Ah… ah… You little wretch, may you die a thousand deaths… I’ll tear you to pieces to soothe my hatred…”

Outside, torches blazed—clearly, more soldiers were arriving. Zifan seized the moment, leaping up onto the eaves.

“Dong Zhuo, I, Zifan, spare your life this time—but don’t pine for me!” His words had barely faded before he was already dozens of feet away.

Outside, Lü Bu led the charge into the residence.

“Father, are your injuries severe? I heard the commotion and rushed with troops. That Zifan is too arrogant—he shows us no respect. I’ll capture him and hand him to you myself, so your heart may find peace.”

“What are you waiting for? Call the imperial physician! Must I instruct you in everything? And the culprit’s already escaped—get after him, quickly!”

Seeing his men frozen and only mouthing empty words, Dong Zhuo cursed them roundly.

Still trembling with fear, Dong Zhuo immediately put a price of five thousand gold and a marquisate on Zifan’s head, swearing his death and ordering portraits posted throughout every district and county.

Beyond the gates, flames soared into the sky. Dong Zhuo ordered house-to-house searches—Zifan was not to be let slip away.

But Zifan, far from foolish, had already slipped over a wall into a neighboring mansion.

He moved swiftly yet silently, like a ghost, making his way toward an inner courtyard.

He pushed open a window and leapt inside.

“Who’s there?”

Startled, Zifan realized that while the entire mansion was ablaze with light, only this courtyard was silent—thus he had chosen it as a hiding place.

Before him stood a delicate young woman. Zifan quickly approached.

“Hush! … Miss, don’t be afraid. I mean no harm. I beg you for your aid—I would be forever grateful.”

At that moment, sounds came from outside the door.

“This is my room. You may not enter… Even if Chancellor Dong Zhuo himself were here, he should grant me this courtesy. Please, sirs, do not proceed…”

The voices drew nearer, right outside.

“Don’t be afraid! Come under my quilt—like this, they won’t find you,” the young woman whispered, her cheeks flushed.

Torchlight flared outside.

Creak…

The door was pushed open a crack. Soldiers peered inside, but seeing nothing amiss, quietly closed the door again.

“Scholar Cai, forgive our intrusion—these are the Chancellor’s orders, and we dare not disobey. Please do not take offense. Since all is in order, we shall leave at once.”

After the soldiers departed, Zifan poked his head out from beneath the quilt. His eyes met those of Cai Yan, and for a moment, both felt a shy embarrassment.

Zifan gazed at the young lady, freshly bathed; her skin glowed like ivory, brows arched in ink-black grace, her gaze as limpid as autumn water. Long lashes trembled; flawless skin held a delicate flush. Her lips, thin and rosy as petals, seemed to glisten with dew. Through the gauzy nightgown, the gentle curves and shifting contours of her form left Zifan momentarily spellbound.

The young man blushed to his ears, his handsome features clearly seen by Wenji beside him—a memory that later blossomed into affection, though that is a story for another time.

How could even a hero’s heart remain untouched by beauty so near? Zifan, stunned, quickly returned to his senses, leapt from the bed, and knelt with clasped fists at the side.

Miss Wenji immediately rose to help him up.

“Sir, what are you doing? Please rise at once.”

“Miss, I have gravely offended you. My actions are inexcusable. I did not mean to intrude upon your chambers—only the threat of pursuing soldiers drove me here in desperation.”

“Oh? May I ask, sir, why you are being hunted by the authorities? Have you committed any crime? Please tell me, so I know whether I’ve rescued the wrong person.”

Zifan hesitated but at last confessed: “I am Wu Zifan, governor of Youzhou. In this time of national ruin and family destruction, the villain Dong Zhuo runs rampant, slaughtering the people with monstrous cruelty. I just attempted to assassinate him, but fell into an ambush and was forced to flee, only escaping thanks to your timely aid. I will never forget your kindness, and if ever I succeed, I shall surely repay you.”

Kneeling before her, Zifan’s eyes shone with patriotic fervor and youthful ardor. Wenji, though a woman, could not help but admire such a man.

“General, there’s no need for such formality. Men of honor like yourself, who risk all for the people and the nation, deserve only admiration.”

Wenji herself was a heroine among women—such courage was truly admirable!

At dawn the next day, Zifan broke through Dong Zhuo’s encirclement and escaped from Luoyang.