C14 Save Monkey

An hour after Hei Yushang's departure, Nangong Fan, who had been lying with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them, a spark of determination flashing within. Silently, he rose from the bed and tiptoed forward, carefully opening the door and slipping through the crack.

Like a whisper of wind, he glided through the small courtyard and beyond the unshuttered wooden gate.

The Hei family's confidence in their estate's protective enchantments was fortunate. Save for the gate guards, no one patrolled the ancestral home's interior, allowing Nangong Fan to move so audaciously. His only concern was Hei Yushang in the neighboring courtyard; her discovery of his presence would surely lead to her intervention, given her nature. She was the sole impediment to his clandestine venture.

Pressing against the wall, Nangong Fan edged northeast, careful to remain silent. Hei Yushang's quarters were just next door, and with her formidable abilities, even the slightest disturbance could rouse her from sleep.

The corridor's candles had long since burnt out, leaving only the moonlight to cast Nangong Fan's shadow long and slender behind him. Fortuitously, his spiritual energy sufficed to navigate by the moon's glow, ensuring he could discern his path.

Having traversed the Hei family's labyrinth of alleys and paths countless times, Nangong Fan could have found his way blindfolded.

With each measured step, he contemplated his rescue plan. The usually short journey took him a full hour this time.

Knowing that Qin Guang was to be surrendered to the Law Enforcement Hall in the morning, and that Hei Yulong would not dare defy them too openly, Nangong Fan was aware of the potential repercussions he faced.

Standing at the mouth of the northeast alley, Nangong Fan activated his ring, summoning a three-foot-long black sword. The hilt, adorned with a black dragon's head, appeared sinister and foreboding in the moonlight.

Grasping the dragon's head, Nangong Fan removed the sword from its scaly sheath and secured it to his back. The blade, bathed in moonlight, gleamed with a chilling blue hue, exuding an aura of icy menace.

The Black Dragon Sword was a spiritual weapon of unknown quality to Nangong Fan. Crafted with the scales of a black dragon for its sheath, its exceptional quality was evident.

Spiritual weapons require nurturing to become an extension of one's limbs. Since Nangong Fan had only recently acquired it, he hadn't had the chance to nurture it yet. Nevertheless, its sheer sharpness was unparalleled by any ordinary weapon.

Those imbued with spiritual energy are not easily commanded by the likes of Hei Yulong. Now, with spiritual energy coursing through his veins and wielding this sharp weapon, Nangong Fan felt equipped to handle the current predicament. Yet, despite the lack of spiritual energy in his adversaries, his inexperience in combat left him with an unspoken anxiety.

Gazing towards the wooden house at the end of the path, he noticed two lax figures at the doorway. The perennial calm of the ancestral home had dulled their sense of alertness, for better or worse.

The windows of the house were shut tight, the yellow glow of candlelight shining like a beacon in the night.

If possible, incapacitation would suffice. This was Nangong Fan's rationale. A person with spiritual energy could easily overpower the average individual. Although they were under Hei Yulong's command and part of the Hei family, Nangong Fan had never taken a life and was not ready to make such a drastic decision.

With lips tightly drawn and a resolute glint in his eyes, Nangong Fan's hesitation vanished. His friends were inside, and regardless of his own abilities, he was their acknowledged leader. He had been their source of joy and laughter, a beacon through his own desolate past. Now reborn, he could not allow any harm to befall them, especially since Qin Guang had already gone to great lengths on his behalf.

He would not tolerate disgrace upon himself, nor could he fail to honor the sacrifices made for him. From this night forward, the once timid yet arrogant Hei Ze would cease to exist.

Nangong Fan advanced with a chilling presence.

As a Wu Zong, the coolness of the dragon crystal had further fortified his body, making him stronger in ways he had yet to fully comprehend. His hearing had improved significantly, allowing him to discern the sounds of whipping and Qin Guang's anguished moans emanating from within the wooden house.

A dispassionate voice echoed within the wooden cabin, reaching the slightly twitching ears of Nangong Fan.

"Tell me, was it that failure Hei Ze who ordered you to kill?"

"No." The raspy reply, though hoarse, struck a chord of familiarity with Nangong Fan.

"It seems you won't speak the truth without a lesson." The sound of whipping intensified, lashing mercilessly against Qin Guang's frail frame.

Qin Guang clenched his teeth, disregarding the blood trickling from his mouth and the wounds tearing open his flesh, splattering blood in all directions. Occasionally, a hoarse groan escaped through his clenched teeth, reminiscent of a wounded wild animal—helpless yet untamed.

Nangong Feng's gaze grew colder, his body shaking with each strike of the whip, as if each lash was a blow to his own heart, causing him a deep, visceral pain. He sighed softly, "We come from the same root; why the rush to harm each other? I never wanted to kill anyone. In fact, I've never taken a life before."

Though Nangong Fan had never personally taken a life, he was born into a military family and was the only young member of the Hei family with access to the military camp. He was no stranger to harsh scenes.

This torture was insignificant compared to what he'd witnessed in the military. In the past, he had watched others endure forced confessions with a heavy heart but no outward reaction. Now, the person being tortured was his own kin, and the accusations were aimed at him. His heart could no longer maintain its calm.

A chilling intent to kill settled over this deserted corner of the land.

"San Shi, is it getting colder?" grumbled one of the men standing at the wooden door, his face etched with discomfort.

His companion offered no reply. Suddenly, a thud rang in his ears, followed by a splash of liquid that hit his face, its warmth momentarily banishing the icy chill of the night, eliciting a comfortable hum from him.

"Is it starting to rain?" he wondered aloud, but before he could finish his thought, he was sent flying. He could see clearly now—the headless, burly figure that had been standing at the door, blood gushing from its neck as it slowly collapsed to the ground.

Standing beside him was a young man clad in pajamas, wielding a long sword—the young master everyone had dismissed as worthless.

Nangong Fan stood before the wooden door, listening to the gradually weakening sounds of whipping emanating from the cabin. He paid no attention to the two lifeless bodies on the ground, his face a mask of steely resolve, his eyes ablaze with a fierce desire for vengeance. He whispered under his breath, "To aid a tyrant is to deserve death!"

His voice was barely audible, as if he were justifying the act of killing to himself.

The cabin was desolate, save for a frail, naked figure huddled on the floor, hands shielding his head, his body marred by bloody welts, quivering as he withstood the lashes from the man in black.

As the soft thud of the bodies outside reached his ears, the emaciated figure lifted his head slightly, his dull eyes showing a flicker of astonishment.

Suddenly, the wooden door burst open with a thunderous crash, sending splinters flying. An icy long sword thrust forward in the wake of the door's fall, its blade gleaming menacingly in the candlelight.

The man with the whip deftly maneuvered his hands, retracting the whip with a swift motion behind him.

The whip, like a dragon, lashed out with a piercing whistle, striking the side of the Black Dragon Sword.

Nangong Fan's wrist flicked, a flash of white light emanating from his palm as the Black Dragon Sword spun, slicing the whip into fragments that fluttered through the air like snowflakes, scattering across the floor.

Could an ordinary whip possibly withstand the sharpness of the Black Dragon Sword, enhanced by the sparse Spiritual Energy within him?

As the man in black turned, the Black Dragon Sword bore down on him, exuding a fierce chill.

The man's expression twisted into a snarl as he let out a bellow, launching a punch enveloped in white light. This man was significantly stronger than the two at the door; though he lacked Spiritual Energy in his body, the Spiritual Qi from beyond had suffused his being. His only shortcoming was his slightly inferior talent, which had prevented him from retaining it.

A smirk played on Nangong Fan's lips, his eyes dancing with mockery. The Black Dragon Sword met the man's punch head-on. If Spiritual Energy could deflect the mundane, how could it possibly stand against a divine weapon, especially one imbued with wisps of Spiritual Energy?

Empowered by Spiritual Energy, the Black Dragon Sword became unstoppable, slicing through the air like a tiger with wings. The long fist, solid as iron, was no match; it was severed in a mere moment, falling to the ground with a thud.

With a gentle thrust of his Black Dragon Sword, Nangong Fan pierced the heart of the man in black, who wore a look of unwillingness on his face. Sheathing his sword smoothly, Nangong Fan completed the action in one fluid motion.

Despite never having formally trained in swordsmanship, Nangong Fan's privileged upbringing had afforded him a wealth of knowledge about the basics.

"Young Master," a feeble voice escaped Qin Guang's lips, "you shouldn't have come."

"Xiao Guangzi, if you're in trouble, how could I not come? Don't be scared; the Young Master is here and nothing will happen to me. I've come to save you." Nangong Fan stepped forward to support Qin Guang, his incantations barely audible. His complexion was pale, and a slight discomfort betrayed his calm demeanor; the act of taking a life for the first time had unsettled him.

The sight of Qin Guang's earlier ferocity and brutality was discomforting, but the thought of leaving the severely weakened man alone was unbearable. If not for his sense of duty, Nangong Fan might have succumbed to his nausea.

Qin Guang, lying against Nangong Fan, gazed at the fallen man in black with a look of violent thirst, akin to a famished person eyeing a meal. Yet before he could act, he collapsed into unconsciousness atop Nangong Fan.

Nangong Fan watched Qin Guang with a contemplative look. Was this the look of someone about to commit cannibalism? Was this even the look of a human?

He sighed softly, shook his head, and dismissed the thought. It was time to leave this place.

Carefully, Nangong Fan laid Qin Guang down on the ground and briskly exited the cabin. Fighting off his own discomfort, he dragged the two lifeless bodies at the entrance inside. He efficiently stripped them of their clothes, taking one set for himself and draping the other over Qin Guang, whose body was stained with blood.

Nangong Fan moved with delicate care, wary of aggravating the pain from the bloodstains that were seeping through his skin.

After dressing Qin Guang, he hoisted him onto his back and made his way out of the courtyard with measured steps.

Thanks to the family ring, Nangong Fan didn't need to exit through the main gate. He deftly scaled the fence and sped towards the eastern gate of Dragonstone.

By the time they arrived, the city gate was still closed. Nangong Fan settled Qin Guang onto a bench in a nearby pavilion, draping his own black garment over him for warmth.

Next to the pavilion was a well, from which Nangong Fan briskly drew two buckets of water. He placed one beside Qin Guang and took the other to the side, where he spent some time retching before rinsing his mouth.

Seated next to Qin Guang, Nangong Fan kept a watchful eye on the city gate in the distance.

The bustling noise of merchants and travelers already filled the air outside the city gate.