Chapter 28 – Treading Upon Lu Ping’an’s Corpse

Ning Zhao sighed inwardly and gently pursed her crimson lips, choosing not to further dissuade Lu Fan. The young master's calm demeanor was a foreboding omen—it meant someone was bound for misfortune. Still, she remained vigilant. Since the incident with Han Lianxiao, she had adjusted her mindset. Unless she perished, she would not allow even a single strand of the young master's hair to be harmed. Though his true strength remained a mystery even to her, as his devoted handmaid and guardian, his life was her heaven.

On the banks of North Luo Lake stood a small dock where a few fishing boats lay moored. These boats, meant for angling, often returned with plump, large spotted bass—prized delicacies among noble households, sometimes fetching as much as two taels of silver apiece if of prime quality. When night fell, ornate pleasure boats adorned with lanterns would drift from the Drunken Dust Pavilion on the lake's central isle, transforming the lakeside into a realm of splendor, filled with light and revelry. During the day, the boats remained moored at the island's edge.

Ning Zhao secured a fishing boat, manned by an old boatman with a straw hat, a foolish grin, and a conspicuous gap where his front tooth once was. Lu Fan, seated in his wheelchair, was carefully carried aboard by Ning Zhao and Nie Changqing. Once all were aboard, the old man thrust his long pole into the lake with a splash. With practiced force, the boat glided forth, ripples trailing behind.

Suddenly, hoofbeats shattered the still air.

As Lu Fan's boat drifted farther into the lake, Chen Beixun, Liu Ye, and Zhu Yishan arrived on horseback. They reined in their steeds at the water's edge and gazed across the lake.

"He really dared to go?" Liu Ye stared at the receding boat, astonished.

"A first-tier master as a maid, and a sixth-tier master as a coachman—that's all the confidence he needs," Chen Beixun said, his refined beard fluttering in the breeze as he cast Liu Ye a sidelong glance. Turning back toward the mist-shrouded lake, he stroked his beard lightly.

"Still, those destitute scholars with a touch of fame but little accomplishment often rely on romantic entanglements from the Drunken Dust Pavilion to build their reputations. To provoke that place is to invite ruin. Even Lu Changkong would think twice before making such a move.

"Lu Fan, too, is a scholar versed in the classics. If he becomes the target of North Luo's united literati scorn, he may lose all will, shatter in spirit, and succumb to despair.

"After that, a simple 'accidental drowning' would suffice. Even if Lu Changkong returns… he'll have no grounds to object." Chen Beixun gripped his horsewhip, the corner of his mouth curving into a knowing smile beneath his whiskers.

Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan's eyes gleamed. As scions of noble families, they were far from mere wine sacks.

"Brother Beixun, that's a ruthless plan indeed."

"This morning, Lu Changkong left the city for the capital. Should Lu Fan fall under mass condemnation, despair is inevitable. But his two master-class followers… won't be easy to handle."

"Yet we Confucians are the embodiment of righteous aura," Zhu Yishan smiled, "Even masters cannot suppress it.

"Moreover, the scholars present all hold titles, many revere the National Preceptor. If Lu Ping'an allows his followers to run rampant, he'll risk offending the Grand Preceptor himself. That would be disastrous."

"Scholars' tongues," Liu Ye added with a smirk, "are the sharpest of blades."

Chen Beixun dismounted, smoothing his beard as he stared out at the misty lake. "His masters are no concern. Our Sword Sect… also has its hidden blades. Lu Changkong believes we dare not make a move—he is wrong. Times have changed. Today, we shall tread upon Lu Ping'an's corpse and let Lu Changkong witness…"

"Our Sword Sect's formal debut."

With that, the three men boarded a small boat, ripples spreading as they set out to pursue Lu Fan. They had no intention of missing this spectacle upon North Luo Lake.

…

The old boatman's pole pierced the water, startling fish below. As the boat drifted forward, a cool breeze carrying hints of moisture brushed past, rustling Lu Fan's sideburns into graceful arcs.

Ni Yu, clutching a chessboard, leaned over the edge, one hand over her chest, sobbing and sniffling—last night's meal threatening to return. She… was seasick.

Nie Changqing and Ning Zhao stood on either side of Lu Fan, hands resting on their weapon hilts. Their gazes swept the hazy lake surface with stern intensity. With their master-level instincts, they could faintly sense danger. The seemingly calm waters… were anything but.

Even the old boatman appeared uneasy, his movements slowing.

"Uncle, keep rowing…"

"I'll double your pay," Lu Fan murmured from his wheelchair, propping his chin with one hand, the other toying with a black chess piece.

A flicker of struggle passed over the old man's wrinkled face, but then he grinned, revealing his missing tooth.

"You're a straightforward lad."

He resumed poling with renewed vigor and even began to sing a local North Luo ballad to steel his nerves. The tune echoed across the lake, quaint and strangely charming.

Lu Fan glanced at the old man belting out his song, his thumb tapping gently on the chess piece nestled between forefinger and middle finger.

The heart of North Luo Lake was not large—roughly ten li in diameter. The island at its center was round and rimmed with blooming peach blossoms. It was the height of spring, and the trees were in full bloom, clustering in vivid pink profusion.

Aside from the Drunken Dust Pavilion, no other structures stood on the island. As the boat rocked and drew closer, Lu Fan and his companions could make out the silhouette of a six-story tower, with vermilion walls, upturned eaves, and glazed tiles. Each floor bore large red lanterns, while crimson gauze danced in the wind, suffusing the building with decadent charm.

Lu Fan narrowed his eyes.

His enhanced physique had sharpened his vision. He could faintly discern the upper floors teeming with painted courtesans—some twirling handkerchiefs, some flaunting exquisite makeup, others hiding behind fans, peering coyly at the approaching fishing boat with soft giggles.

Nie Changqing's expression remained composed.

Ning Zhao, however, frowned and muttered, "Shameless…"

Ni Yu: "Ugh…"—still seasick.

Lu Fan returned the chess piece to its box and folded his hands atop the woolen blanket, his expression turning grave as he gazed forward.

Amidst the mist, boat after boat began emerging.

More than twenty opulent flower boats, each grander than the humble fishing vessel, surged from the haze—nearly every boat of the Drunken Dust Pavilion had been dispatched.

Lu Fan's brow arched slightly.

The old boatman, alarmed, halted the boat with a thrust of his pole.

From the fog emerged finely dressed scholars, each one poised with long robes, jade coronets, and ornamental hairpins. Some wore scowls of righteous fury, others bore cold, unyielding stares, while a few stood expressionless, their gazes locked on Lu Fan's boat.

"Master Lu… Brothers Liu and Zhu claim you seek to claim the Drunken Dust Pavilion for yourself and disperse its women. Is it true?"

"Lu Ping'an, we scholars believe in justice upheld by the people. What crime has the pavilion committed? Is it because your legs cannot partake in carnal pleasures, that you wish to destroy it?"

"There exists in the world a righteous spirit, justice resides in every heart. Even courtesans are people—they represent a profession accepted by the masses. As such, they deserve dignity. To cast them adrift, to ruin their lives, is an act of cruelty!"

"We shall not allow it!"

Upon the flower boats, the scholars stood tall against the breeze, their words ringing loud and clear—resounding like thunder over still waters, startling even the waterfowl.

Dozens of boats. Over a hundred scholars.

All with eyes of scorn.

…

Several li behind Lu Fan's boat, another small vessel bobbed along the ripples.

Onboard stood Chen Beixun, Liu Ye, and Zhu Yishan…