Chapter Thirty-Five: Sinister and Ruthless

“Cang Feng, the Black Chamberlain is coming.”

Not far away, another attendant, also holding a small iron spade and loosening the soil in the flowerbed, quickly said in a low voice. He didn’t even lift his head, nor did his hands pause in their work. If Nan Luo hadn’t clearly heard the voice coming from him, and if there had been anyone else nearby, one would hardly be sure it was he who spoke.

Nan Luo had yet to grasp the meaning of his words when Cang Feng suddenly looked back, then swiftly turned away again, panic flooding his face. He crouched down quickly, his short iron spade working furiously at the earth.

While shoveling, he lowered his voice in urgent warning, “Go, quickly—the Black Chamberlain is coming.”

But Nan Luo didn’t leave. He looked up and saw a man in black, his waist bound with a golden sash, walking toward them. Flanking him were two attendants, one of whom carried a black cane whip.

The man in black was clearly the Black Chamberlain Cang Feng had mentioned. His gaze was cold and devoid of emotion, which instantly reminded Nan Luo of Ying Jiu and the third prince of the Eagle King at Cang Mang Cliff—the same lofty, disdainful eyes. From that look, Nan Luo was certain this was a demon cultivator who had gained enlightenment.

Since his arrival, those who had been chatting and working nearby had all lowered their heads; not one dared look up. An oppressive silence filled the air. The Black Chamberlain, hands clasped behind his back, strode toward Nan Luo, his chest thrust out. His eyes lingered briefly on the peacock embroidered on Nan Luo’s chest before shifting to the crouched, industriously working Cang Feng.

In Phoenix Palace, clothing marked one’s status. The peacock on Nan Luo’s blue robe identified him as a boy attendant from the Peacock Hall—only those from the main halls were entitled to wear garments bearing the hall’s insignia. Cang Feng and the others, though also in blue, had no such markings.

Nan Luo watched quietly.

The Black Chamberlain ignored Nan Luo, showing no intention of speaking to him. His eyes remained utterly indifferent as he stood behind Cang Feng and watched in silence. Yet Nan Luo noticed beads of sweat beginning to form on Cang Feng’s brow.

After a moment, the Black Chamberlain slowly turned halfway, extending a hand, palm upward, to the man behind him, who immediately handed over the black cane whip.

Nan Luo frowned, wondering if he truly meant to strike.

A sharp crack split the air.

Before Nan Luo could react, the Black Chamberlain brought the whip down savagely on Cang Feng’s back. With a cry of agony, Cang Feng collapsed, blood trickling from his mouth, his limbs trembling as he struggled, then lay still.

The Black Chamberlain moved to strike again, but rage erupted in Nan Luo’s heart. Murderous intent flashed in his eyes. In an instant, he leaped between Cang Feng and the Black Chamberlain, his gaze icy.

“On what authority do you strike him?” Nan Luo asked in a low, narrowed voice.

The Black Chamberlain regarded him coldly, without the slightest change of expression, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. He said nothing, apparently disdaining to reply, but the man behind him raised his voice: “Neglecting one’s duties and idling about merits punishment. Such is the rule of the Inner Palace, set by the Palace Master. None may disobey.”

“We only spoke for a moment. Does that count as neglect?” Nan Luo retorted icily.

Handing the whip back to his subordinate, the Black Chamberlain glanced at Nan Luo and said, “The affairs of the Inner Palace aren’t the concern of the Peacock Hall, much less a mere hall boy like you. Mind your station. Seize him—”

His voice was cold and sinister, like a chill wind spreading from him.

With a ringing sound, the longsword at Nan Luo’s waist flashed from its scabbard, a snow-bright arc slicing the air. Its tip pointed at the man with the cane whip, who was attempting to circle around him to strike Cang Feng again. Nan Luo said nothing, only held the sword steady, murderous intent spreading through the air.

“Do you realize what you’re doing, drawing your sword on an Inner Palace attendant? Take him down!” The Black Chamberlain’s eyes glinted with murderous light. At his command, the two attendants behind him lunged at Nan Luo.

The one with the cane whip flicked his wrist, and a black radiance enveloped the weapon. He tossed it into the air, and it instantly transformed into a colossal black serpent, its maw belching black smoke, exuding an aura of death as it darted toward Nan Luo’s throat like a bolt of black lightning.

Nan Luo’s eyes narrowed as he understood why Cang Feng had been so incapacitated by a single blow—the black cane whip was in fact a magical artifact.

Channeling his power into the sword, Nan Luo struck. The blade flashed, piercing the serpent’s maw. With a twist of his wrist, the serpent was instantly sliced into several pieces, the segments falling to the ground as mere black cane wood.

The other attendant, seeing this, halted in his tracks, daunted by Nan Luo’s display.

“Abuse of a magical sword—no one, not even Prince Kong Xuan, can shield you now,” the Black Chamberlain said, his gaze lofty as ever, eyes fixed on Nan Luo.

Suddenly, he produced a small bell from within his long black sleeve. With a gentle shake, a wave of sound rippled out. Nan Luo readied himself, but the bell’s sound caused him no discomfort.

Puzzled, Nan Luo was about to question this when, from all directions, he heard the approach of hurried footsteps. He looked up to see a dozen or so guards in scarlet armor hurrying over.

The leader of the guards saluted. “Zheng Feng greets the Black Chamberlain. You summoned us—what are your orders?”

“This one has used forbidden magic in the palace, destroyed a form whip, and unsanctioned the use of a ceremonial sword. Seize him at once.” The Black Chamberlain stood a few paces from Nan Luo, hands clasped behind his back, his tone severe.

Zheng Feng, the leader, responded with a start upon recognizing Nan Luo. He recalled the day when Nan Luo had recited a thousand crimes of Crown Prince Qianshou in the sky, then lopped off his head with a single swing of his sword—an event witnessed by most in the Undying Palace, especially the guards.

The Black Chamberlain seemed to sense Zheng Feng’s hesitation and coldly intoned, “What, Captain Zheng Feng, are you afraid? Do you not understand your duty? The Palace Master despises those who fail to grasp their place. He broke the rules—what do you fear? Even if Prince Kong Xuan intervenes, the law is the law.” His voice was measured and emotionless, his gaze chilling. Nan Luo suddenly found him more terrifying, not for his strength but for his cunning and ruthlessness.

“This man cannot be allowed to live. Otherwise, disaster will follow. I am not afraid for myself, but Cang Feng will surely die at his hands.” Nan Luo thought to himself. “If I am taken, Prince Kong Xuan will save me, but Cang Feng’s fate will be sealed. I cannot remain here forever. This Black Chamberlain is so vicious—Cang Feng might die without ever knowing how.” The urge to kill the Black Chamberlain then and there surged ever stronger in Nan Luo’s heart. If he killed him, he would bear the blame alone, and no one would trouble Cang Feng anymore.

At the Black Chamberlain’s command, Zheng Feng’s face darkened. He waved his hand and shouted, “Seize him!”

The dozen guards drew their weapons in unison. Zheng Feng himself slapped his waist, and a silver-glowing cord appeared in his hand.