Chapter 56

Chapter 56: Someone Stole My Stuff (Part 2)

“Young Lord Shen,” Zhai Le panted, “are you sure that thief is outside the city?”

Even with adrenaline in his veins, something felt wrong. That thief was absurdly good at running.

They’d been chasing for ages. No shadow. No suspicious figure. And Shen Tang still wasn’t slowing down.

A sour thought hit him.

What if she’d tricked him out here?

Zhai Le wasn’t bragging, but his face really did make women throw fruit until carts overflowed. If someone wanted to lure him somewhere…

But—Young Lord Shen was a tough, upright young lord. A real man. Handsome, too. Did Shen Tang really need to covet his looks?

Besides, Zhai Le was a martial gall warrior. In a straight one-on-one, what was a scholar supposed to do to keep a warrior from leaving?

He shoved down the ridiculous “lust” theory—and another possibility popped up in its place.

What if she wanted him dead?

Or what if there were accomplices waiting in the wild?

And behind them was still that “guide NPC” brother, chasing like a madman.

Zhai Le’s eyes darkened. He stayed ready for Shen Tang to turn on him at any moment.

He didn’t even realize they’d entered the mountains.

Summer had only just passed. The woods were thick, wet heat clinging to the air along with the sharp scent of grass and leaves. In the distance, mountain ridges rolled beneath the night like resting beasts.

The moment they crossed into the trees, Zhai Le’s skin prickled.

“Young Lord Shen,” he said low. “This place feels wrong.”

He grabbed her left arm.

Shen Tang’s face stayed numb, sword tucked under her arm like she’d carried it a hundred times. “I know. That hateful thief is here.”

Zhai Le swallowed. She’d run out in sleep clothes with a sword. Something about this had been off from the start… but he’d been half-drunk himself, reeking of Du Kang Wine, and he’d missed the biggest clue.

They followed running water deeper in.

A village appeared—simple huts of stone, wood, and thatch built along a stream.

And it was burning.

Firelight smeared the mountain night red.

Zhai Le’s heart lurched. He started forward—and Shen Tang slammed a hand down on his head, forcing him into a crouch.

He twisted, furious. “Young Lord Shen, what are you doing?”

She asked flatly, “And what were you about to do?”

“Can’t you see the fire?” Zhai Le snapped. “People could be inside. I’m going to save them!”

Shen Tang gave a cold snort. “Save a nest of thieves? They’re already blood-mad. You go in there and they’ll stab you the moment your back is turned.”

“A nest of thieves?” Zhai Le hissed.

Only then did he notice the “fire” wasn’t just fire.

In the jumping flames, people were killing each other—no, a group was killing one man.

The group wore rough cloth, but they moved like trained troops. Three to five at a time, covering each other, forming angles, tightening the net with practiced coordination.

Their target was a single burly man, savage and relentless. Even outnumbered thirty or forty to one, he didn’t falter. Every opening meant a head, an arm, a thigh—blood and screams, quick and ugly.

Zhai Le’s gaze sharpened. “He’s hurt. Bad.”

To an outsider, the man looked unstoppable. To Zhai Le, the truth was plain: his breath was deep, but it was breaking. He was running out of everything—blood, stamina, martial gall. And the enemy kept coming.

Retreat?

They weren’t giving him a road.

Shen Tang’s voice cut in, hard as steel. “That’s the thief who stole my treasure.”

Zhai Le’s jaw dropped. “You mean the one being surrounded?”

Shen Tang nodded. For the first time, something bled through her blank face—real grievance. “He stole my stuff. And not just one thing.”

Zhai Le’s stomach tightened. He admired that man’s grit, but stealing was a stain you couldn’t ignore. Jumping out to save him didn’t feel right.

While he hesitated, the night split.

A blazing red slash of saber-light dropped from the sky with a boom, aimed straight at the “thief.”

Shen Tang’s eyes widened. “Holy shit—what is that, a ten-meter saber?”

The saber-light hit like a falling guillotine, splitting the roof beneath the “thief” and carving a deep trench into the structure.

The “thief” reacted on instinct. He grabbed one of his attackers and hurled him into the strike like a shield, then twisted aside.

The unlucky man exploded into a cloud of blood before he could even scream.

As the saber-light scattered, a man in armor hit the ground like lightning, goose-feather saber in both hands. He charged the “thief” without a pause.

The blow had been building for a while—heavy enough to flatten a house.

One clash. A thunderous impact.

The already-wounded “thief” flew six or seven meters and smashed through a nearby window and door. Wood splintered. Dust billowed.

A few breaths later, he dragged himself out of the wreckage, gray with grime and slick with blood. He spat a mouthful of gore and dirt and glared at the armored man.

“It’s you?”

The armored man smiled like he’d already won. “It’s me. I’m here to send you on your way.”

Others closed in behind him.

Zhai Le exhaled, grim. “He’s done.”

Then a gust of wind tore past Zhai Le’s cheek.

His head snapped around—just in time to see Shen Tang sprinting straight into the firelight.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She simply moved.

Her sword cut once.

A transparent blade of sword qi roared out, carving a long trench between the armored man and the “thief.” Anyone too slow to dodge was cleaved apart. Shen Tang didn’t even glance at them.

Both sides jolted.

The wounded “thief” lifted his head, and for a heartbeat, hope flickered across his blood-smeared face.

He saw a pale figure burst from the trees like a storm, sword leveled at the armored man.

His voice cracked with fury. “So you’ve come for my treasure too?”