The group had entered Yu Yong City and arrived at the inn.
Chen Yi called the three women into the private rooms one by one to give instructions for the upcoming battle.
Last night, Zhou Yitang had informed him of Qin Qingluo’s foundations. Chen Yi committed everything to memory, carefully simulated the possibilities, reflected on them several times, and finally devised a plan.
The most crucial element was Yin Tingxue, so Chen Yi spoke with her first. The little fox had always feared defying him, and since he was being kind for the moment, she agreed to everything without hesitation.
Next in importance was Dong Gong Ruoshu — the girl who lacked reasoning but was straightforward and forthright. Thus, Chen Yi clearly stated his requests, and she followed them without error.
The last person was Yin Weiyin, a woman who always struggled to grasp the bigger picture.
"Do you understand everything I’ve said?"
Chen Yi stared at the female crown and asked.
Yin Weiyin felt unsettled under his gaze and avoided eye contact:
"Of course, I understand."
"You truly understand?"
The female crown lowered her head repeatedly, muttering inwardly about what kind of underhanded trick he was planning. Not to mention that it was rather dishonorable, but could it really work?
Seeing her hesitation, Chen Yi spoke softly:
"A thirty percent chance of success is not my assertion—it’s my master’s words. So, I can only take a risky approach. However, even if it doesn’t work, you all won’t be in danger. The one who will die... will only be me."
Yin Weiyin paused as she heard these words, especially the last sentence. Something within her inexplicably tightened, although she erased the momentary hesitance quickly.
"This desperate method... will it really work?"
"We can only gamble on it. And Miss Donggong will also cooperate with you."
Chen Yi paused and said.
Yin Weiyin glanced deeply at him, understanding how much groundwork he had prepared for this battle.
Yet, doubt lingered—she felt restless and unsettled.
Chen Yi gently rubbed her shoulder, teasing:
"Now comes the time to test whether you can behave."
"You..." Yin Weiyin’s breathing quickened, her voice trembling as she replied, "I will behave."
Chen Yi hooked his fingers, drawing her into his embrace.
Yin Weiyin took several deep breaths, her face lowering gloomily.
Chen Yi lightly patted her shoulder and asked:
"Don’t you wish for revenge?"
"...Of course, I do. But this method is perilous—it might offend immortals and deities." Having been ambushed previously, Yin Weiyin naturally harbored deep hatred toward the Prince of Annan and his princess.
"I would die fighting to protect you."
The resolute tone entered her ears, causing something in Yin Weiyin’s chest to stir sharply. She raised her face and stole a glance at Chen Yi.
Holding her close, Chen Yi still revealed subtle hints of a scheme, speaking with faint allure:
"Don’t you want... to make your enemies taste the bitterness you experienced back then?"
Yin Weiyin’s pupils constricted, recalling something as her body trembled uncontrollably.
At first, she reacted instinctively with fear,
It turned into excitement.
A tall woman carrying a spear wrapped in cloth, accompanied by an elegant beauty, passed along the main street. Their presence drew numerous gazes. People accustomed to refined ladies found such a towering figure particularly eye-catching. Her lavish attire and imposing demeanor left many wondering which noble family she hailed from.
Qin Qingluo raised her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding sunlight, looking toward the Medicine Temple on the hillside of Yu Yong City. She asked aloud:
"That Chen Yi... is truly there?"
"Cough, cough... I’ve already sought guidance from the Bright Venerable. It won’t be wrong."
Qin Qingluo glanced at her with slight concern.
To locate Chen Yi as soon as possible and further refine her martial intent, the crimson-robed woman did not hesitate to deplete her power, using her Divination Skill.
Earlier, Qin Qingluo had effortlessly defeated two monks, but such ease often signified a lack of tempering.
In spear techniques, tempering is essential above all else.
Months for staves, years for blades, and a lifetime for spears—only through constant tempering can one grasp the true essence of the spear: precision.
Upon entering the Fourth Rank, one’s energy reaches its peak. Failing to seize this moment means missing an irreplaceable opportunity, making further growth exceedingly difficult.
To advance further, a whetstone becomes indispensable; and Chen Yi, also at the Fourth Rank, was an ideal match.
Even as Qin Qingluo acknowledged this logic, she could not suppress the faint pain in her heart when thinking about the crimson-robed woman’s sacrifices.
Qin Qingluo, in her twenty-something years, had rarely regarded many as equals. There were few in her life she truly honored as people.
Qin Qingluo lowered her gaze to her cloth shoes. Her tall stature naturally came with large feet—a far cry from the delicate three-inch golden lotuses of convention. Many seamstresses at the estate, unfamiliar with such proportions, had stitched hundreds of pairs, but ones that fit properly were rare. These cloth shoes, however, were different. From Southern Border to the Capital City, through six thousand miles, they had yet to wear out.
They were painstakingly measured and embroidered by Zhu E, personally, stitch by stitch. Sturdy and well-fitted—they must have cost the Divine Sect woman countless days and nights, marked by accidental pricks of her fingertips.
Qin Qingluo, inheriting her position amidst a storm of family criticism, had faced untold tribulations along her journey. Her mother’s foolish mistake had left her in dire straits—almost entirely ostracized.
At that time, it was Zhu E who supported her, shored her up, recruited men and soldiers from the Divine Sect for her behalf, and signed a Blood Covenant. She even forsook her own future, disguising herself as the princess for appearances, marrying personally to shield her niece.
Qin Qingluo had never believed Zhu E’s actions were simply duties—she had paid too great a price for her.
The Medicine Temple grew closer.
Zhu E stopped walking. Her face was slightly pale as she softly said:
"Prince, I’ll stay here. Otherwise, if your attention gets split later, it’d be disastrous."
Qin Qingluo didn’t say much, replying only:
"He’s going to die. Wait for me."
The tall woman slowly ascended the temple’s eighty-one steps.
She climbed with measured stability, her pace neither hurried nor sluggish, maintaining an imperceptible balance in every step.