Volume One: The Overseer and the Candidate Chapter Fifty-Five: Still One Step Too Late (Part One)

At the onset of the turmoil, Huang Ming’s heart skipped a beat, his expression shifting abruptly as he raised his eyes to gaze toward the sprawling shadowy mass of buildings ahead. This was only his second time visiting the Embroidered Uniform Guards’ Commandery, yet his familiarity with its architecture was limited to the few courtyards at the front. All he knew was that, aside from this cluster of offices, the majority of the rear compound belonged to the Imperial Prison.

From his vantage point, it was clear that the disturbance had erupted deep within the prison!

“We should hurry over and take a look…”

Prompted by Huang Ming’s urging, Huang Bingkun finally recovered from his shock. He had served here for more than a decade, but never before had he encountered such upheaval; he was quite bewildered. Hastily, he replied, “Very well, Young Master Huang, stay close to me!” He took the lead, heading inward.

After passing through two more courtyards, the cries ahead grew sharper, and flickering points of fire converged rapidly toward the site of the incident. In the din, Huang Ming caught disjointed words: “Commander Nie,” “assassinated,” “White Lotus cultists”…

They stopped before a wall towering over thirty feet, blocking their path. The only way through was an iron gate, as thick as a city gate. On both sides of the gate and atop the wall stood guards from the Embroidered Uniform Guards, blades drawn, their eyes gleaming with vigilance.

Huang Ming didn’t need to read the stone tablet standing nearby to know where they were; this was the notorious Imperial Prison that sent chills through all under heaven.

As they approached, a warning rang out from above: “This is the Imperial Prison—without a warrant, who dares approach? Trespassers will be executed on the spot!”

With this declaration, the creak of bows echoed overhead as a row of archers emerged, aiming down from their elevated positions. Perhaps on any other day, with Huang Bingkun leading them, the guards would not have been so tense. But now, with disaster unfolding inside, the situation was entirely different.

Huang Ming stopped promptly, raising both hands to show he meant no harm. He spoke to Huang Bingkun, “Ask them what’s happened inside.”

Before Huang Bingkun could utter a word, a hoarse, urgent voice cried from within the gate, “Let us out quickly… Commander Nie has been wounded by cultists, we must fetch a doctor…”

As expected!

Huang Ming felt his heart sink even further.

Events were unfolding toward his worst fears. The White Lotus cult had schemed long and hard, setting this trap—not for him or any captured cultist, but for the pillar of the Embroidered Uniform Guards, Commander Nie Qingyao!

He still didn’t know how, as prisoners, the cultists had managed to succeed in assassinating Commander Nie. Yet the outcome alone revealed just how terrifying these White Lotus cultists truly were.

Huang Ming was stunned, and the other guards were thrown into chaos. Commander Nie was the linchpin of the Embroidered Uniform Guards, revered by all as a near-divine figure. With him present, no difficulty was insurmountable; whether it was cultists or bandits, they were but petty clowns easily subdued.

Now, with Commander Nie grievously wounded and his fate uncertain, every guard was shaken to their core.

The guards blocking the prison entrance were no exception. At the signal, they hurriedly opened the gate, letting out three officers whose uniforms were in disarray.

It was clear the upheaval inside had left them beside themselves, their faces pale and steps faltering. One nearly stumbled upon exiting, only to be steadied by a companion. They pressed forward, coming face-to-face with Huang Ming and his party.

At first, Huang Ming thought nothing of it; his mind was wholly fixed on the uncertain fate of Nie Qingyao, anxious for Huang Bingkun to ask for details.

But suddenly, he noticed that the outline of one man caught by his peripheral vision seemed oddly familiar. He quickly focused on the figure, who was trying to distance himself as much as possible.

The night was dark, with only a few lanterns at the prison gate and the torch in Qi Changfeng’s hand illuminating a small area. Thus, Huang Ming couldn’t clearly see the man's features. Yet the furtive movements and the sense of familiarity stirred his alertness. He fixed his gaze and shouted, “Yinghuo!”

At the sound of his name, the man’s body jolted violently—a reflexive response from someone whose nerves had been strung taut, now exposed and unable to control his reaction.

This confirmed for Huang Ming that the man before him was indeed the inscrutable, cunning, and dangerous figure he feared.

Without hesitation, Huang Ming shouted, “He is a White Lotus cultist! He’s escaped from the prison!”

His cry thundered in everyone’s ears. Both Huang Bingkun and the guards atop the wall were startled, turning swiftly toward him in disbelief.

Of all those present, Yinghuo reacted fastest. Seeing Huang Ming as he exited, he already sensed trouble. Now exposed, his eyes flashed with murderous intent as he lunged at Huang Ming.

His two companions moved in concert, showing practiced coordination. While Yinghuo attacked Huang Ming, the others struck fiercely at Huang Bingkun and Qi Changfeng, preventing them from coming to his aid.

Only as Yinghuo closed in did Huang Ming see clearly: that pallor was not merely shock, but the result of torture and severe blood loss.

Yet, despite his injuries, Yinghuo’s martial skill and strength far outmatched Huang Ming, who was but a frail youth.

Huang Ming managed only a hurried sidestep, avoiding a claw aimed at his neck, but his lapel was caught by a follow-up move.

Danger!

Huang Ming felt as though the word itself hovered above his head. He wanted to retreat, but his body couldn’t react quickly enough.

Just then, a groan and the flash of a blade erupted.

A figure was hurled backward with a pained cry, and the blade that struck him did not pause—slashing again from the side, it landed squarely on Yinghuo’s chest.

His next attack barely began before the blow sent him flying uncontrollably backward.

As Yinghuo tried to drag Huang Ming with him, a second stroke landed, severing his wrist!

Blood sprayed forth!

The hand that had clung so tightly to Huang Ming’s lapel was now separated from his body.