186: Chapter 186 Teahouse Bloodbath

Jia Ma Holy City, afternoon. With four days left until the auction, Hun Muxiao had already explored the busiest streets of the Imperial Capital. A clerk at an apothecary in the east of the city took her for an ignorant outsider, holding up a century-old lingzhi and bragging about it incessantly. She picked up the lingzhi, inspected it against the light, and remarked, "The age is insufficient; its medicinal properties are at most seventy percent." The clerk was instantly speechless. The shopkeeper of a long-established weapon shop in the north of the city had been eyeing the blood abyss sword on her back since she walked in. He beat around the bush, asking if she would sell the sword. Without looking back, she replied, "You cannot afford it." The shopkeeper watched her leave with a darkened face.

At this moment, she was leaning against the window on the second floor of a long-established teahouse in the south of the city. In front of her sat a pot of what was said to be the best Cloud Mist Tea in the Jia Ma Empire, and a plate of osmanthus cake, of which she had taken only two bites before setting it aside. Outside the window, directly facing the square in the center of the city, stood the imposing statue of Emperor Shitian—her father was sculpted holding a battle spear, the tip pointing towards the sky. Every time she caught a glimpse of it, she wanted to laugh. Today, she wore a fiery red celestial dress, with nine-colored scale patterns embroidered in dark gold thread on the hem, shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight. Her pitch-black hair was tied high into a ponytail, and seven ribbons in her hair swayed gently in the breeze. The nine-colored snake scale at the end of the silver chain around her waist occasionally flashed with a faint luster; it was the first scale her mother had shed from her original form. She had worn it for over a decade, never leaving her side.

She poured a cup of tea, brought it to her lips, then set it down. The tea in the Imperial Capital was just so-so; it was far worse than the tea brewed by Auntie Xun'er.

Suddenly, a chaotic sound of footsteps came from the stairs. Four or five men looking like servants crowded around a young man in brocade clothes, swaggering up to the second floor. The young man was in his early twenties, with fair skin and facial features that could barely be considered decent, but his long, narrow eyes were filled with undisguised frivolity and arrogance. He wore a moon-white brocade robe with a gold-inlaid, jade-encrusted long sword hanging at his waist. His gaze swept around the teahouse and landed precisely on the girl in red by the window, unable to move away again.

"Young lady." The young man in brocade walked straight to Hun Muxiao's table, sat down opposite her without invitation, and put on a smile he thought was dashing and charming. "It is so boring to drink tea alone; why don't I accompany you for a few cups? The owner of this teahouse is very familiar with me. I shall treat you to today's tea."

Hun Muxiao lifted her eyelids to glance at him, picked up her teacup, took a sip, and said indifferently, "No need."

The young man in brocade was not annoyed; instead, he smiled even more obsequiously, closing his folding fan and tapping it lightly against his palm. "You look unfamiliar, miss; you must be from out of town, right? I am Zhao Huan, and my father is the current Minister of Revenue. The city has not been peaceful these past few days, and it is inconvenient for a young lady to stay in an inn alone. My humble abode is in the east of the city; it is quiet, spacious, and fully staffed. I also know a thing or two about the tea ceremony, so it would be perfect to exchange pointers with you."

Hun Muxiao set down her teacup and looked at him with a faint, enigmatic smile. "Is this how Young Master Zhao invites people to be guests at your mansion? You see a girl on the street, tell her the city is not peaceful, and ask her to come live at your house?"

Zhao Huan laughed, tapped his folding fan on the table twice, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice. "I do not invite just anyone. Your demeanor, miss, shows at a glance that you are no ordinary daughter of a common family. To be honest, I was struck by you the moment I saw you, and it is truly fate that we could meet in this teahouse today. If you do not mind, why not move to my humble abode? I will prepare some light wine, and we can have a pleasant chat. How about it?" He paused, his gaze sliding from Hun Muxiao's face to the nine-colored scale at her waist, a flash of greed passing through his eyes. "If you need anything sorted out in this Imperial Capital, just say the word. Even the officials in the court have to give my father some face."

"The tea is finished. Farewell." Hun Muxiao placed a few gold coins on the table, stood up, and walked toward the stairs.

Zhao Huan's expression darkened instantly. He slowly stood up and slapped his folding fan onto the table. "Stop. Miss, I invited you with kind words, yet you won't even give me this little bit of face. Isn't that a bit inappropriate?"

Hun Muxiao paused, turned back to look at him, her peach-blossom eyes still filled with a lazy smile, though there was no warmth beneath it. "Inappropriate? Then how do you think it would be appropriate?"

Seeing her stop, Zhao Huan thought she was afraid, so his smile returned. He paced in front of her, fanning himself. "Don't misunderstand, miss; I am not an unreasonable person. It is just that the people in and out of this Imperial Capital who want to curry favor with the Zhao family could line up to the city gates. You, however, refuse to even give me the face of sharing a cup of tea after I personally invited you. How about this—accompany me to the Drunken Immortal Restaurant for lunch, and we will call this matter settled." He leaned forward by half a step, speaking almost right against Hun Muxiao's ear. "A young lady as beautiful as you is in so much danger running around alone. Why not come with me? You will live in luxury from now on. Wouldn't that be better?"

Hun Muxiao lowered her eyelashes and laughed softly. The laugh was very light and short, yet it inexplicably made a chill run up Zhao Huan's spine.

"Young Master Zhao," she said, lifting her eyes to look at him, her tone as flat as if she were stating a trivial matter, "if you say one more word, I will kill you."

The atmosphere on the second floor of the teahouse suddenly froze. The guests at the tables near the window set down their teacups, and a few of the timid ones had already quietly moved toward the stairs. The smile on Zhao Huan's face could no longer hold. He took a step back, sneered, and tucked his folding fan into his waist. "You refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit! Men, take her! I want to see who can walk out of this teahouse today!"

The four servants responded and moved, closing in on Hun Muxiao from the stairs. Several tea drinkers downstairs heard the commotion and looked up. Those who recognized Zhao Huan whispered, "It's over; it's that Zhao family young master again," while others quickly pulled their sleeves, signaling them not to meddle in other people's business.

Hun Muxiao sighed. She hadn't intended to fight. In the past two months, she had traveled through half of the Jia Ma Empire, seen bandits, swindlers, and drunken mercenaries threatening to kill entire families, and she had endured it all. But this pampered, silk-clad playboy before her, using the most frivolous tone to treat her as a plaything to be trifled with—this had crossed her line.

"Zhao Huan," she said, looking at the fair face, which was slightly distorted by anger, her voice as calm as stagnant water, "do you know why I dare to go out alone? Because no matter where I go, no one can do anything to me. People like you don't even have the qualification to make me angry. But you made a mistake today—you looked at me with that kind of gaze. The last man who looked at me with that gaze has grass growing on his grave as high as your knees."

Zhao Huan's face turned pale and livid, and he shouted sternly, "You, do you know who my father is—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the blood abyss sword was unsheathed. No one saw when that bloody sword light appeared behind Zhao Huan, nor did anyone see how Hun Muxiao disappeared from where she stood and reappeared behind him. She held the hilt with one hand, the blade pointing diagonally at the floor, with a drop of blood that had not yet fallen hanging from the tip. Zhao Huan's expression was permanently frozen in that moment of terror; a very, very thin line of blood appeared from his forehead to his jaw, and fresh blood slowly slid down the bridge of his nose. His eyes were wide open, his lips moved slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he could no longer make a sound. His body collapsed to the floor with a crash, shaking the teahouse floor twice.

The entire teahouse was deathly silent. The teacups in the hands of the onlookers near the window were held in mid-air, forgotten. A tea server at the stairs stood holding a tray, dumbfounded, not even noticing that a teapot had shattered at his feet.

Hun Muxiao shook the blood drop off the sword tip and sheathed the sword. She looked down at the corpse on the ground that was still warm, took another gold coin from her sleeve, placed it on the table, and said to the dumbfounded tea server, "To pay for your teapot."

The tea server held the gold coin, his lips trembling for a long time, unable to utter a single word.

Hun Muxiao said nothing more and turned to walk toward the stairs. The four servants scrambled to make way, one of them missing a step and rolling down the stairs, but he scrambled up and kept running, not even bothering to pick up the shoe he had lost. As she walked down the stairs, all the tea drinkers on the first floor simultaneously moved to the sides. The few guests who had been whispering a moment ago were now silent as cicadas in winter, keeping their breathing extremely light. She passed through the crowd, the back of her fiery red celestial dress disappearing into the midday sunlight outside the teahouse door.

Not until that splash of red completely disappeared around the corner of the street did the guests in the teahouse gasp for air, as if they had been released from a pressure point. A few tea drinkers near the window huddled together, whispering— "What is that girl's background? She killed Minister Zhao's son with a single sword stroke!" "Didn't you see the scale at her waist? That is no ordinary item." "To kill the son of a Minister and still walk out so calmly—she is either a madwoman or simply does not hold the Shangshu Mansion in any regard." "Didn't you hear what she said—'The last man who looked at me with that gaze has grass growing on his grave as high as your knees.' Could she be an ordinary person?" The tea server held the gold coin, his palms full of sweat, and muttered, "Who on earth... is this girl?"

No one could answer him. Hun Muxiao walked out of the teahouse and stood in the bustling market, looking up at the statue of Emperor Shitian. Dad, she had caused trouble again. But this time it wasn't her fault—it was that Zhao fellow who had sought his own death. She withdrew her gaze and strode toward the inn. With four days left until the auction, she still had to stay in this Imperial Capital for a while. As for whether that Minister of Revenue would come looking for trouble—she was not particularly worried. In any case, in this Jia Ma Empire, no one could do anything to her yet.