Seated in his wheelchair, Lu Fan appeared every bit the refined and elegant young noble, his smile warm and congenial. Yet, in the eyes of Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan, that very smile reeked of unspeakable malice. Was this crippled son of the Lu family—the one long secluded from the world—truly so terrifying?
"Y-Young Master Lu…" Liu Ye forced out a smile uglier than a grimace. Zhu Yishan opened his mouth as if to speak, intending to declare his lineage. But in this moment, he realized that even revealing his prestigious background might only hasten his demise.
Chen Beixun, on the other hand, sat with unwavering composure on the floor strewn with wild grass. Eyes closed, he seemed utterly unperturbed. Even if Lu Fan chose to carry out a massacre, he remained fearless. He was not only of the North Luo Chen Clan, but also a disciple of the Sword Sect. Should Lu Fan harm him, he would have to contend with the wrath of the Sword Sect itself—a force capable of turning the entire city upside down. It was precisely this reality that restrained Lu Changkong from acting against the three great clans.
Thus, Chen Beixun remained calm, his posture serene. This prison would not confine him for long. So long as he refused to confess, Lu Fan would have no choice but to send him safely back to the Chen residence.
Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan's breath grew shallow, trembling with dread. Lu Fan sat quietly in his wheelchair, his face expressionless. The Ironblood Guards, having slaughtered the Confucian scholars, now regrouped behind Luo Cheng. With a light press upon his blade, Luo Cheng signaled the guards into silent formation.
The stench of blood filled the prison, an atmosphere of death thick in the air. Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan were paralyzed with terror, legs shaking beneath them. Chen Beixun kept his eyes closed, feigning calm while his heart pounded in chaos. Lu Fan's ruthlessness and decisiveness had far exceeded his imagination. These were men of learning—Confucian scholars bearing titles and honors—and Lu Fan had executed them without hesitation. If word of this spread, the entire Great Zhou would be shaken to its core. The court's venerable scholars would rain down impeachment petitions against both Lu Fan and his father, Lu Changkong.
At last, the silence in the prison broke as Lu Fan laughed softly. His wheelchair turned of its own accord, and he now faced away from Liu Ye, Chen Beixun, and Zhu Yishan.
"I know where your confidence lies… The Sword Sect, is it?""Luo Cheng, take them away," Lu Fan ordered.
Luo Cheng accepted the command, sending soldiers to escort the three away. Yi Yue, her fox-like features cold and aloof, pushed Lu Fan's wheelchair forward with measured grace. Behind them, Luo Cheng led the Ironblood Guard. The blades at Liu Ye, Zhu Yishan, and Chen Beixun's necks gleamed coldly, forbidding even the slightest resistance.
Exiting the Lu family dungeon, the procession stepped into the main thoroughfare of North Luo City. Confused citizens parted to either side of the road, observing the strange parade with a mix of awe and curiosity.
The Ironblood Guard still bore the blood of the slain scholars on their armor. Their weapons sheathed yet ready, they moved in unison, every step causing the earth to tremble. Their destination was clear—straight toward the three great clans.
The Liu Residence stood as opulent as the Chen family estate. Yi Yue's face remained stern as she pushed the wheelchair without haste. Nie Changqing, blade at his hip, walked beside Lu Fan. Ni Yu followed, carrying a chessboard under one arm and holding an umbrella with the other, scarcely daring to breathe. She knew the young master was about to do something monumental.
In front of the Liu estate, a deathly silence prevailed. The group came to a halt.
Lu Fan rested his chin in his hand, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at the tightly shut gates of the Liu residence—it looked just like a turtle hiding in its shell.
Suddenly, chaotic noise rose from the long street. A black mass of people approached, wielding farm tools and cleavers as they marched. Luo Cheng's eyes narrowed as he stepped in front of Lu Fan protectively. Yi Yue's expression turned fierce as her hand moved to the whip at her waist. The Ironblood Guard readied their weapons.
This was a mob incited by the merchants—common folk wielding tools, some with red-eyed scholars among them, proclaiming their righteous fury. They cried that Lu Fan had massacred learned men, sought to seize control of North Luo's commerce, and would soon cast the commoners into ruin.
The crowd's anger surged. Their chants echoed loudly, stirring those who had simply come to watch the spectacle. Soon, even they joined the protest, hoping to glean some thrilling story to brag about later.
The original few hundred protesters quickly swelled to nearly a thousand. Their cries merged into a thunderous roar, shaking the very heavens.
"Impudence!" Luo Cheng unsheathed his sword, eyes ablaze with fury as his shout boomed across the street. Yi Yue's grip tightened on her whip. Nie Changqing's heart was filled with dread.
Lu Fan, however, remained composed. Gazing at the would-be insurgents, his expression bore a hint of amusement.
…
Within the Chen residence, a round nanmu wood table was laid with exquisite dishes and fine wine, delicacies too numerous to name. Several men sat around the table, glasses in hand, toasting and laughing.
Some bore sword boxes upon their backs, their auras sharp and deadly.
"The City Lord's estate acts with alarming boldness. But as the saying goes, the same water that carries a boat may also overturn it. Rebellions are not uncommon across the thirteen provinces of the Great Zhou."
"With Lu Changkong away in the capital, North Luo lies leaderless. And now his crippled son dares to parade through the city, slaughtering scholars at the lake, seizing the Drunken Dust Pavilion, and capturing the heirs of the three great families… He's courting death."
A middle-aged scholar with three swords upon his back drained his wine with a chuckle. Cold laughter filled the table. Among those seated were the heads of the Liu and Zhu families, numerous experts from the Sword Sect, and influential merchants tied to the city's lifeblood.
The Liu and Zhu family leaders smiled obsequiously. Now that Lu Fan had arrested Liu Ye, Zhu Yishan, and Chen Beixun, he had openly declared war on all three clans. Their only recourse was retaliation.
They had united the city's merchants, spent considerable silver hiring local thugs and idle tenants, and orchestrated this street revolt. If, amid the chaos, they could have Lu Changkong's crippled son slain, all the better.
These tactics were nothing new. In this age of chaos, it was not unheard of for local officials to be beaten to death by "raging citizens"—often with the nobility pulling strings from the shadows.
At the nanmu table, their gazes met. Cups clinked. Toasts rose. Plans unfolded in silence.
…
The crowd on the street was a sea of black. Many of them were hired ruffians, yelling on cue and riling the masses. Their incitement swelled the protest, even as many present had no clue why they were there.
Lu Fan sat calmly in his wheelchair, toying with a chess piece in his fingers. His eyes swept across the crowd, landing on a particularly vocal scholar, a cold smirk tugging at his lips.
To hire so many thugs and orchestrate such a grand display—the three great families must have paid dearly.
Suddenly, Chen Beixun burst into laughter, his fine beard fluttering in the wind.
"Lu Ping'an, do you see now? This is the price of crossing us!"
"The Hundred Schools of Thought shall govern the cities, and the Sword Sect will rule North Luo! This is the will of the world—you cannot stop it!"
His voice was lofty, filled with righteousness. Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan, catching a glimpse of hope, stood straighter, their gazes gleaming. They believed Lu Fan would soon be forced to bow to the Sword Sect's pressure and return them to their clans.
Lu Fan didn't even spare Chen Beixun a glance. He merely turned to Luo Cheng.
"Tell me, do these people bear guilt?"
Luo Cheng's eyes narrowed, a glint flashing within.
Lu Fan had warned him—what came next would be brutal.
Luo Cheng's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he lifted his gaze toward the mass of people. His eyes turned frigid.
"Brandishing weapons and gathering to rebel—this is treason!"
At his words, the long street fell momentarily silent. The noise of the crowd faltered.
Treason—an accusation not easily shouldered.
Those who had joined for the thrill of it, hoping to later boast of their exploits, turned pale with fright. Many bolted, scrambling away in terror.
The crowd of over a thousand began to break…