85: Chapter 85 Sending the Immortal-Slaying Scholar Off to Xuanyuan at Night

Just then, the tightly closed vermilion lacquered gate of the Xuanyuan Mansion suddenly creaked and slowly opened.

In the dead of night, where all was silent, that sound was infinitely magnified, sharp as a needle, piercing through the stagnant air and stabbing into the heart of everyone present.

As the door hinges turned, a plain-clothed figure emerged from within.

A moon-white long dress trailed on the ground, spreading across the bluestone threshold like flowing moonlight.

Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, her skin was fairer than snow, and her brows and eyes were veiled with an indelible, gentle weariness—it was none other than the current matriarch of the Xuanyuan Clan, Nangong Yueyao.

She had been awakened by the commotion outside the gate and had come to investigate, following the faint sounds.

When her gaze swept over the two figures embracing in the moonlight, she was stunned for a moment, then quickly stepped forward, reaching out to support Old Fu's tottering body.

Those eyes, which always held a gentle smile, were now filled with genuine, undisguised worry: "Old Fu, what is wrong? Has your old ailment flared up again?"

Her fingertips channeled a gentle power of moonlight, which flowed into Old Fu's body like a silent, gossamer veil.

The feminine power of moonlight and the masculine Yin and Yang Life Qi of Xuanyuan Zhanxian, one Yin and one Yang, miraculously blended together within Old Fu's withered Meridians, like a pair of gentle hands, softly smoothing out the trembling and panic deep within his Soul.

But when she inadvertently looked up and saw that young face clearly under the moonlight—

Her beautiful eyes suddenly widened.

In that instant, her entire body stiffened, and even the light flowing from her fingertips paused slightly.

A look of incredulous shock flashed in her eyes, as if she had seen something that should not exist at this moment.

She spoke subconsciously, her voice carrying an uncontrollable, fragmented tremor: "Xiao... Xiao Zhan?"

Hearing these two words, Xuanyuan Zhanxian was slightly stunned. He then raised his hand to wipe away the remaining moisture from the corner of his eyes. Looking at the aunt who had once secretly stuffed candied fruits into his mouth when he was young, covered for his mischief, and hummed songs to lull him to sleep on countless deep nights, a faint yet sincere smile tugged at the corners of his mouth: "Aunt, long time no see."

The word "Aunt," though light, felt like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples that could not be calmed spreading through Nangong Yueyao's heart.

She was instantly stunned. It was as if she had been hit by a freezing spell, forgetting even how to breathe.

The next second, an expression of incredulous joy suddenly blossomed on her beautiful face.

This joy came too violently, too surgingly, to the point that the worry and fatigue originally hidden deep in her eyes seemed to be dispelled by this call, and even the depths of her eyes lit up with light.

She let go of Old Fu, subconsciously took a step forward, and almost greedily and carefully scrutinized Xuanyuan Zhanxian's brows and eyes. Her voice trembled with excitement, every word carrying an irrepressible sob: "Xiao... Xiao Zhan? Is it really you?"

"You have grown so tall..."

"These brows and eyes are carved from the same mold as your mother when she was young..."

As she spoke, she couldn't help but reach out, wanting to pat his head just like she did when he was young—a gesture she had done countless times: when she chased him in the garden to feed him, when he got into trouble and hid behind her, and in those long, pitch-black nights after his mother passed away, when she would hold him in her arms, stroke his hair over and over, and tell him, "Don't be afraid, Aunt is here."

But when her fingertips were about to touch the top of his head, she stopped abruptly. Her hand, suspended in mid-air, trembled slightly.

The young man before her was no longer the child who used to hide behind her skirt, acting spoiled and needing her protection.

Now he was more than half a head taller than her, and his shoulders were broad enough to shoulder burdens.

The moonlight outlined his distinct contours; the calmness and determination between his brows and eyes were so like his mother's, and also so like...

The "Your Majesty" she had blurted out earlier was because Xuanyuan Zhanxian's temperament was too similar to Emperor Wu Tianba's, and with the hazy moonlight and the interplay of light and shadow, she had mistaken him for a moment.

But this momentary confusion had not yet dissipated—a burst of urgent hoofbeats approached from afar like a thunderclap!

"Da da da da—"

The hooves struck the bluestone slabs, one after another, as dense as a rainstorm beating against the eaves, and like war drums pounding in the chest, instantly tearing through the silence of the night!

At the end of the street, torches snaked forward like a red dragon. The orange-red flames shot into the sky, illuminating half the night sky and reflecting the chilling cold light on the cavalry's armor—that light was cold and biting, like the eyes of a wild beast, flickering dimly in the dark night.

A team of about a hundred elite cavalrymen rushed over like the wind. Their hooves thundered on the bluestone, making the ground tremble slightly, and even the air was stirred into restlessness, permeated with a choking scent of iron and blood that made it hard to breathe.

On the flag fluttering at the front of the troop was embroidered a gilded long halberd—that was the symbol of the Great Wu Dynasty Imperial Guard!

This flag would never be easily dispatched under ordinary circumstances. Once it appeared, it must be a major matter concerning the safety of the imperial family!

The cavalry troop arrived in the blink of an eye, professionally surrounding the front of the Xuanyuan Mansion, leaving no way out.

The soldiers held long spears, the tips reflecting the firelight with a chilling gleam. Their formation was as uniform as a rock, and the Evil Qi radiating from their bodies was biting—these people were clearly elite veterans who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood; every one of their eyes was filled with the words "slaughter" and "conquest."

The leading general dismounted with the agility of a tiger pouncing on its prey, his armor clashing with a crisp sound.

He wore bright silver Qilin armor, his face was as resolute as if carved by a knife, his gaze was like lightning, and the aura of iron-blooded slaughter around him was almost solid—his cultivation had clearly reached the Peak of Soul Transformation!

His gaze swept sharply across the scene, passing over Nangong Yueyao and Old Fu for only an instant before locking onto Xuanyuan Zhanxian like a hawk.

He knelt on one knee, cupped his fists, and bowed. His movements were impeccably standard, his voice as loud as a bell, yet carrying unquestionable majesty. Every word seemed to burst from his chest: "This general, Wu An, under the verbal decree of Your Majesty, has come to welcome the First Prince back to the palace!"

"I ask the First Prince to move at once!"

Wu An?! These two words were like two cold blades, piercing deeply into the hearts of Nangong Yueyao and Old Fu.

Nangong Yueyao's face turned deathly pale the moment she heard this name.

Old Fu's body trembled even more violently, his withered fingers almost tearing a hole in Xuanyuan Zhanxian's lapel.

This man was actually the Commander-in-Chief of the Great Wu Imperial Guard, stationed in the inner palace year-round, taking orders only from Your Majesty himself. Usually, even princes rarely got to see him!

Now that he was leading the team in person, and even carrying the verbal decree of the current Emperor... This display was too abnormal, making people feel flustered, always feeling that some invisible storm was silently brewing and gathering in the dark, ready to swallow them all at any time.

The night wind whipped the fallen leaves of the courtyard into a wild dance, like restless banners in the dark night, flapping loudly.

Inside the Xuanyuan Mansion, the clanging sound of armor suddenly rang out—"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

Dozens of figures clad in black iron armor rushed out like arrows from a bowstring. The black iron armor plates reflected the cold moonlight, forming an unbreakable barrier in the night, firmly protecting Nangong Yueyao, Old Fu, and Xuanyuan Zhanxian behind them.

The movements of these private guards were uniform, clearly well-trained. Each of them had their hand on the hilt of their blade, their eyes as sharp as knives, staring fixedly at the Imperial Guard outside the mansion, their bodies suffused with a murderous aura.

Wu An reined in his horse and stood in front of the mansion gate. His warhorse puffed out white mist, its front hooves pawing the ground impatiently.

His eyes were like ice-quenched blades, locked fixedly on Nangong Yueyao, his voice cold enough to freeze the air: "Is Matriarch Nangong intending to defy the imperial decree?"

Nangong Yueyao firmly shielded the hunched Old Fu behind her, her fair fingers already clenched into fists, the knuckles turning pale.

Her ink-colored skirt fluttered loudly in the night wind, yet she still stood with a straight back, like a bamboo standing tall in the cold wind. Her voice was cold and firm: "General Wu An is joking. The Xuanyuan Mansion has eaten the Emperor's salary for generations and served the Emperor; how could we commit an act of defying the imperial decree?"

"It is just that Xian'er has just returned to the mansion. Before we are separated by blood, surely we must be allowed to say a few words of farewell to him?"

As soon as she finished speaking, the armored guards behind her simultaneously pressed their hands onto their waist swords—"Clang!" A crisp sound pierced the silent night sky, exceptionally harsh, like a string pulled to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.

These were private guards who had guarded the Xuanyuan Mansion with Nangong Yueyao for many years, each of them battle-hardened, having braved life and death in the midst of flashing blades and swords. At this moment, their eyes were like torches, staring fixedly at the Imperial Guard outside the mansion. It was clear that as long as Nangong Yueyao gave the order, they would charge forward without hesitation—even if it meant throwing an egg against a rock, even if it meant being smashed to pieces, they would not retreat in the slightest.

Seeing this, Wu An curled his lips into a sneer, his tone carrying undisguised contempt: "Does the Matriarch think that with these people, she can stop the Imperial Guard personally dispatched by Your Majesty?"

He raised his hand and waved it violently—the cavalry behind him drew their long swords in unison!

"Clang—" The uniform sound of drawing swords exploded in the night sky like a dull thunderclap. The bright sword light reflected the cold moonlight, instantly dyeing the surrounding air with Killing Intent, and even the night wind passing by the ears seemed to carry a bone-chilling coldness.

The air froze. Swords were drawn and bows were bent; it was on the verge of breaking out.

Nangong Yueyao's gaze swept over the gleaming sword blades, a trace of almost imperceptible pain flashing in her eyes. But she took a deep breath, her tone softened slightly, yet she did not retreat a single step, the determination in her eyes as unfathomable as a cold pool: "General, why must you be so aggressive?"

"Xian'er is Your Majesty's child, but he is also the child raised by my Xuanyuan Mansion for five years."

Her voice trembled slightly, yet every word was as clear as if carved in stone: "He has lived in the mansion for five years and eaten the osmanthus cakes I made by hand for five years. Now that he is going to the Imperial City, I have the kitchen steam a cage for him to take along to pad his stomach on the road—this surely cannot be considered defying the holy will, right?"

Old Fu poked his head out from behind Nangong Yueyao, his withered hand still trembling slightly, yet he still forced himself to straighten his neck. His cloudy eyes welled with tears, his voice carried a hint of pleading, yet hid a trace of hard-to-detect stubbornness: "It... it was this old servant's idea, wanting to bring the little Your Highness some of the candied fruits he loves... General, please be accommodating..."

Wu An's gaze lingered on Nangong Yueyao's face for a moment, like two knives trying to gouge into her eyes to find a flaw. But he found none.

What he saw was only a pair of eyes without a trace of fear—within them were the determination to protect her young, an unyielding stubbornness, and the resolve of a loved one willing to give everything for a child.

His gaze swept again to those private guards—although far fewer in number than the Imperial Guard, each of them had a steady aura, backs held straight, and not a trace of retreat in their eyes; they were clearly battle-hardened elites who had experienced life and death.

Silence. A long, suffocating silence. The night wind whistled between the two, whipping up Nangong Yueyao's skirt and long hair.

Finally—Wu An retracted his gesture and said coldly: "One quarter of an hour."

Three simple words, but they fell like a boulder, shaking people's hearts.

Nangong Yueyao's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed a bit. She quickly turned back and said urgently to the maid behind her: "Quick! Go to the kitchen, box up the freshly steamed osmanthus cakes, and get two jars of the sweetest candied fruits—hurry!"

The maid responded and hurried away, her skirt sweeping across the bluestone, making a rapid "rustling" sound that was exceptionally clear in the silent night.

In just a moment, she came running back holding a gold-inlaid food box. A faint, sweet scent of osmanthus wafted from the gap in the lid, appearing exceptionally gentle in this night filled with Killing Intent.

Nangong Yueyao personally took the food box, held it with both hands, and carefully stuffed it into Xuanyuan Zhanxian's hands. Then, she reached out to straighten the wrinkles on his lapel—her fingertips carried a trace of imperceptible trembling, a trembling that traveled from her fingertips to his lapel, and then to his heart.

She lowered her head, her voice pressed very, very low, so low that only he could hear it, yet every word was as clear as if carved into his bones: "Be careful on the road."

"When you get to the palace... keep your guard up in everything, and don't trust people easily."

Her fingers lingered on his lapel for a moment, as if wanting to grasp something, or perhaps wanting to give something. Finally, she let go. She stepped back.

Under the moonlight, her eye sockets were slightly red, but she never let the tears fall. The corners of her lips even curved, pulling out an extremely faint, faint smile. In this smile, there was reluctance, worry, the exhortations of a thousand words that could not be spoken, and the last thing a mother could do for her child.