HNYWEF -Chapter 108 Public Murder

The two guards lunged forward and missed their target. They quickly stopped, turned, and locked their eyes on the interior of the workshop.

Two blades—left and right—pointed inward, the tips glinting coldly with a flickering shine.

Zhou Hong said nothing, but his grip on the wooden staff tightened.

Zhou Yi stood slightly behind him, clutching the iron tongs so hard his knuckles turned white.

The envoy sneered and tilted his chin at the two guards.

One of them moved first.

He stepped forward, raising his blade in a low upward slash straight for Zhou Hong’s face.

Zhou Hong retreated, sweeping his staff sideways. With a sharp clang, it struck the blade’s spine, knocking it off course. The sword skimmed past his ear, cutting through the air.

But before he could catch his breath, the other guard had already charged in from the side.

That blade came in horizontally, aimed at Zhou Hong’s waist.

He didn’t have time to pull his staff back—he could only dodge. The blade tore through his clothes and left a pale mark along his side. Luckily, he moved just fast enough to avoid a wound.

“Second Uncle!”

Zhou Yi shouted and rushed forward with the iron tongs.

“Don’t come over!” Zhou Hong roared, forcing the two guards back with a full swing of his staff.

The two guards exchanged a glance and suddenly changed tactics.

The thinner one continued to entangle Zhou Hong, his blade relentlessly targeting vital points. The stockier one slipped aside and circled around him, heading straight for Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi saw the blade coming and instinctively raised the iron tongs to block.

Clang—!

The sword struck the iron tongs, sending sparks flying. The impact numbed his palm. The guard pulled back and struck again—faster and fiercer.

Zhou Yi had barely been in any real fights; he was only relying on years of basic training to evade. The iron tongs were heavy, slowing his movements. After just two exchanges, he was already out of breath.

As the next strike came down—

“Imperial Guard of the Thousand Cavalry! Who dares cause trouble here?!”

A thunderous shout exploded outside, loud enough to shake the ears.

The envoy’s hand froze mid-air, his sneer still half-formed as his entire body stiffened.

The light at the doorway was blocked.

Several armored soldiers rushed in, hands on their sword hilts, scanning the room.

“No one move!”

Zhou Hong panted heavily and lowered his wooden staff, still staring hard at the two men.

Zhou Yi also lowered his iron tongs slightly, though he didn’t let go completely. He stood there, gasping.

The envoy’s expression changed repeatedly before he forced out a smile and cupped his hands toward the soldiers.

“Gentlemen, a misunderstanding. It’s all a misunderstanding—”

Behind him, the stocky guard also sheathed his aggression and stepped back half a pace.

But the thin one did not stop.

Whether he didn’t understand the language or had simply lost control in his killing intent, his blade still swung forward—straight at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi, momentarily relaxed, had no time to react.

The blade swept across his left shoulder—

Riiip.

The sound of fabric tearing.

He only felt a sudden chill, followed by a searing pain.

Looking down, he saw his sleeve torn from shoulder to elbow. Blood quickly seeped through, staining half his arm red.

“How bold!”

“To dare commit violence in front of the Thousand Cavalry Guards—arrest them!”

Several guards immediately rushed forward, tackling the attacker to the ground. His sword was kicked away with a clang, landing in the corner.

The other guard and the envoy were also seized and pinned against the wall.

Zhou Yi stood frozen, his left arm hanging limp as blood dripped from his fingers—drop after drop onto the blue stone floor.

Zhou Hong threw aside his wooden staff and rushed over, grabbing him.

“Nephew!”

Zhou Yi shook his head but said nothing. He looked at the wound, expressionless, though his lips had turned slightly pale.

Footsteps came again from the doorway.

A man strode in wearing the uniform of the Thousand Cavalry Guard, a sword at his waist and a face full of whiskers. The moment he entered, he shouted—

“Zhao Xiong, what the hell is going on in your place—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Niu Jinda stood at the doorway, looking at the scene inside.

Two guards were pinned to the ground. A man who looked like an envoy was pressed against the wall, his face pale. Zhou Hong was supporting Zhou Yi, whose entire sleeve was soaked in blood, with more still dripping down.

Niu Jinda froze there, mouth slightly open, eyes not even blinking.

Zhou Yi stood in place, his left arm hanging limp, blood dripping onto the floor. There was no expression on his face at all.

The tall, thin man was still struggling on the ground, his face pressed against the blue bricks.

“We are people of the envoy delegation! These commoners attacked us without cause! We were acting in self-defense!”

He shouted hoarsely, his Chinese much smoother than before.

The hands of the Qian Niu guards pressing them down only tightened further. Knees drove into their lower backs, forcing out pained gasps.

The Qian Niu guard who had earlier tried to intervene stepped forward and slapped him hard.

“Framing others—adds to your crime!”

Niu Jinda didn’t even glance at them.

He walked a few steps to Zhou Yi and looked down at the wound. The sleeve had already torn open; blood covered the entire arm and was still flowing down.

The wound ran from the shoulder to the elbow. Flesh was turned outward—grim to look at.

“We need to stop the bleeding first.”

He turned and waved at the Qian Niu guards.

“Take them outside. Wait out there. If even one runs, you’re done.”

“Yes!”

The soldiers dragged all three of them out. The envoy was still shouting, “I want to see the Emperor!” until a soldier struck the back of his head, and he finally went quiet.

The room fell silent.

Niu Jinda squatted down and lifted Zhou Yi’s arm to examine it.

Blood kept running down the forearm, dripping onto the ground, already forming a small pool.

He pulled out a piece of cloth from his chest—rough fabric used for leg bindings—tore it into strips, rolled them up, and wrapped them tightly around Zhou Yi’s shoulder near the heart, binding it several times.

The bleeding didn’t stop, but it slowed.

Zhou Yi frowned slightly, clenching his teeth, but made no sound.

As he tied the bandage, Niu Jinda asked, “Where’s your father?”

Zhou Hong said from the side, “He should be at General Cheng’s place. I ran into him on the way back and told him I’d return first.”

Niu Jinda didn’t stop working. He finished tying the cloth and then called toward the door.

“Someone!”

A soldier ran in.

“Go to Cheng Yaojin’s residence and find Zhou Xiong. Tell him his son is injured and to come back immediately!”

“Yes!”

The soldier ran off.

Niu Jinda stood up and looked at Zhou Yi’s arm again. The bleeding had slowed, though it still seeped. He nodded slightly.

“That’ll do for now. Wait until his father returns.”

Zhou Yi could no longer stand and sat down. Half his sleeve was soaked in blood, his face pale, but he still didn’t make a sound.

For a moment, Niu Jinda didn’t know what to say.

He stood there for a while, then muttered darkly, “Damn it.”

Zhou Yi lifted his head and glanced at him.

Niu Jinda met his gaze.

“Does it hurt?”

Zhou Yi thought for a moment.

“Not too bad.”

Niu Jinda paused.

Then he suddenly laughed—softly.

“If your father sees that wound, those people won’t be alive for long.”

Zhou Yi said nothing.

He lowered his head and looked at his arm again.

His sleeve was soaked red, but the blood was no longer dripping.

He lifted his head once more and looked toward the doorway.

His father still hadn’t returned.