The Azure Phoenix Blade

Empress's Flight From Capital(III)

Part Six: Lantern on the Old Canal

The stone steps were narrow and slippery, worn by years of neglect, trembling slightly underfoot.

Damien nearly slipped after only a dozen steps. Celeste quickly steadied him. Julian, though small, walked very steadily, staying close to the wall without rushing or wandering.

Fuguan held another small lantern at the back, sweat and rain mixing on his face and dripping down his white eyebrows.

Halfway down, Quentin Mo suddenly raised his hand.

Everyone stopped at once.

Faint sounds of falling stones came from ahead in the darkness, as if someone else was feeling their way toward them.

Quentin Mo listened for a moment and whispered, “Someone came down first. Put out the lights.”

Fuguan quickly pinched out the flame. The passage plunged into darkness, lit only by faint gray light seeping through ventilation holes above.

Eleanor Su held Sylvie tightly with one arm and pulled Damien and Julian close with the other. Celeste instinctively stepped forward, shielding her younger brothers.

The footsteps drew nearer.

Someone whispered, “Search carefully. Master’s order—bring them back alive if possible.”

Before the words finished, Quentin Mo moved.

In the darkness, he lunged forward like a shadow detaching from the stone wall. His iron staff didn’t use wide, sweeping moves. Instead, taking advantage of the narrow passage, he employed “Cold Prison Locking Dragon,” wrapping and twisting around the man’s arm.

A crisp c***k sounded as the wrist bone broke. Before the knife could leave its sheath, the staff tapped the man’s throat, and he collapsed with a muffled groan.

The second man reacted quickly and tried to shout a warning. Quentin Mo drew the Azure Blade with a reverse grip.

The sword flashed coldly in the dark like a broken moon at the bottom of a well.

The man felt a silver gleam before his throat went cold. The rest of his words never left his mouth.

The last man turned to flee. Before he could take more than a step, Quentin Mo’s iron staff came down from above.

The staff held back its full force but carried mountain-like weight—the “Prison Gate Kowtow” variation. Even before it landed, the man felt crushing pressure from above.

His legs buckled, and the next instant the staff slammed into his shoulder well point, pinning him into the muddy wall.

In less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea, the passage returned to silence.

Sylvie, with her ears covered by Eleanor Su, trembled slightly in her mother’s arms. Damien clutched his sister’s clothes tightly, too scared even to cry. Julian stared wide-eyed. He couldn’t see clearly ahead, but he caught a brief, icy flash of light in the darkness before it vanished.

Quentin Mo sheathed his sword and whispered, “Go. We can’t stay.”

At the end of the secret passage was an abandoned well behind the imperial garden.

The well cover had already been shifted aside. When they climbed out, the eastern sky was beginning to pale.

The fine rain continued, soaking their clothes and leaving muddy watermarks on their hems.

In the distance, fires flickered in the imperial city, and the occasional sound of patrol horns drifted in the wind.

Quentin Mo led them through two ruined walls, heading toward the old canal road west of the city.

The area had once been a grain transport channel but was now silted up, overgrown with withered reeds and broken willows. Sure enough, an old black-awning boat waited by the water. A broad-shouldered man wearing a bamboo hat stood at the bow.

When he saw Quentin Mo, he called out quietly, “Master Mo.”

Quentin Mo nodded. “Six Zhou, what’s the situation ahead?”

Six Zhou glanced back at the water gate, his face grim. “Half an hour ago, the city defense camp suddenly sealed the waterway, saying they’re searching for assassins. Torches are everywhere now. We can’t force our way through.”

Everyone followed his gaze.

Firelight blazed at the water gate, with soldiers moving back and forth, completely blocking the exit.

Fuguan’s wrinkles seemed to deepen. He whispered, “They’re trying to cut off every path of survival.”

Silence fell over the group.

Eleanor Su held Sylvie. Celeste held Damien’s hand. Julian stood beside his mother. The children, soaked from a night of rain, looked frighteningly pale. Quentin Mo’s shoulder wound continued bleeding, soaking half his sleeve. If they delayed any longer, he might collapse before the pursuers even arrived.

At that moment, Fuguan spoke. “The boat must still go.”

Eleanor Su looked at him.

Fuguan began removing his outer robe. “From a distance, if they see a small boat with women’s and children’s clothes visible under the canopy, the soldiers will likely believe it. We can draw them onto the waterway while you slip away through the willow forest.”

Six Zhou said gravely, “I’ll pole the boat.”

Quentin Mo turned sharply. “Are you mad?”

Zhou Six wiped the rain from his face and smiled, though his teeth were clenched tight. “Master Mo, back then when my sister owed money to the gambling den, you saved her life. If I hide in the back today, how can I still call myself a man?”

Fuguan also smiled, his eyes red. “This old servant’s legs are no longer useful. Following the mountain paths would only slow you down. Better to help the young masters and mistress block this one danger.”

Eleanor Su’s face paled. “No.”

Fuguan knelt before her, kowtowing heavily into the mud.

“Please allow this old servant to go, Madam,” he said, voice trembling but steady. “I have served you for so many years. If I cannot even see you through this final leg, how could I face the late emperor down below?”

Eleanor Su looked at him for a long time without speaking.

Celeste had understood. Her fingers tightened as she instinctively pulled Damien behind her. Though young, Damien sensed something was wrong. Tears welled up, but for once he didn’t cry aloud. Only Sylvie remained drowsily nestled against her mother’s shoulder, not understanding why everyone had gone quiet.

After a long silence, Eleanor Su said softly, “Celeste, take off your outer robe.”

Celeste paused, then understood what her mother intended.

She didn’t cry or ask questions. She silently removed her robe and handed it to Fuguan. When he reached for it, her fingertips trembled, but she eventually let go.

“Grandpa Fu,” she asked quietly, “will you come back?”

Fuguan looked at her and forced a smile. “When the wind calms, this old servant will go to Jiangnan to find you, young miss, and bring you sugar figures.”

Celeste’s nose stung. She finally released the robe.

Seeing his sister remove her clothes, Damien suddenly began tugging at his own little jacket, sniffling, “Mine too.”

Hazel Qiu tried to stop him, but Eleanor Su held her back.

She crouched down and personally untied Damien’s jacket. “Alright.”

Hearing her say “alright,” Damien nearly burst into tears again. He stubbornly turned his face away.

Julian had been watching quietly. He suddenly took out a short red string from his sleeve—the one that had fallen from the protective charm earlier. He walked forward on his small legs and handed it to Fuguan.

Fuguan was startled. “Young… young master, what is this?”

Julian said in his childish voice, “Tie the clothes. The wind is strong. It won’t fall off.”

His innocent tone stunned the adults present for a moment.

Quentin Mo glanced at the red string, said nothing, and turned his face away.

Fuguan quickly took the string and tied the robes securely to the boat canopy. Zhou Six jumped onto the bow, hung up a wind lantern, and deliberately knocked his pole against the side, making a sharp sound.

Sure enough, several torches at the water gate immediately turned their way.

Part Seven: One Boat Departs, A Group Survives

“It’s time,” Six Zhou said in a low voice.

Fuguan kowtowed heavily to Eleanor Su one final time, then boarded the boat.

Eleanor Su looked at him. A thousand words rose to her lips, but in the end, she only said softly, “Take care.”

Fuguan did not turn back. He simply raised his hand in acknowledgment, as if receiving an ordinary order.

Zhou Six pushed off with the pole. The small boat left the shore.

Celeste’s outer robe hung on the canopy, with a corner of Damien’s little jacket deliberately left visible inside. In the morning mist and rain, it truly looked like a boat carrying women and children fleeing for their lives.

Someone at the water gate shouted, “Stop the boat! Halt!”

Six Zhou pretended to panic and poled even faster, sending the boat slanting forward. Fuguan also let out a sharp, desperate cry—the perfect high-pitched tone of an old palace eunuch facing death.

In an instant, torches blazed brightly.

“Fire—!”

A rain of arrows whistled through the air, thudding into the canopy and deck. The wind lantern tilted, casting a blurry yellow glow on the water.

The small boat crashed into a wooden pile at the gate, shaking violently and sending up a spray of water.

Celeste only glanced once before Quentin Mo’s sharp command stopped her. “Go!”

He turned and disappeared into the willow forest beside the shore.

Eleanor Su made an immediate decision. She took Julian’s hand. Celeste grabbed Damien. Hazel Qiu carried Sylvie.

They ran through the muddy water along the edge of the willow forest. Wet grass slapped coldly against their legs, like countless cold hands trying to drag them back.

Damien ran with tears streaming down his face but bit his lip hard to stay silent. Celeste pulled him along, her palm aching from his tight grip, and whispered, “Stay with me. Don’t stop.”

Julian’s steps were short, but he stayed right beside Eleanor Su without a sound. Hazel Qiu wanted to help carry him, but he shook his head and even reached out to support the dangling sleeve of Sylvie’s clothes, afraid it would catch on branches.

Behind them, shouts and splashing sounds could still be heard faintly from the water gate.

At some point, the wind lantern finally went out.

Celeste couldn’t help looking back. The water surface was dark and indistinct. She could no longer tell where the boat ended and the waves began. Her heart twisted painfully, but she didn’t dare slow down for even a moment.

Eleanor Su noticed her glance but didn’t scold her. She only said softly, “Remember this one look. Don’t let their deaths be in vain.”

Celeste trembled violently.

She clenched her teeth and nodded hard.

Part Eight: The Old Temple on South Mountain

At the end of the willow forest, the terrain gradually rose.

The muddy path turned into a gravel slope dotted with sparse dry grass that glistened dully under the rain. The group continued until they were certain no pursuers could be heard behind them. Only then did Quentin Mo raise his hand to signal a stop.

The sky had brightened somewhat. Morning light seeped through gaps in the clouds, casting a grayish glow that made everyone’s faces look exhausted after a night of desperate flight.

As soon as they stopped, Damien bent over, gasping for air, his small chest heaving. Yet he still tried to sound tough. “I… I can still walk.”

Celeste stood beside him and patted his back gently. She didn’t laugh at him or expose his bluff. She simply said softly, “I know.”

At those words, Damien quieted down and lowered his head sullenly.

Sylvie had fallen asleep again after the bumpy journey, her small face pressed against Hazel Qiu’s shoulder, long lashes wet. She knew nothing.

Julian stood beside Eleanor Su. His little boots were soaked through. Eleanor Su bent down and tucked the tops higher so they wouldn’t rub his feet.

Julian watched his mother’s hands, then reached out with both of his small hands and clumsily touched her sleeve, as if trying to comfort her.

Eleanor Su’s hands paused. She looked at him.

The child said nothing. He simply gazed at her quietly.

In that moment, the grief Eleanor Su had held back all night nearly overwhelmed her. But she only pulled Julian into a brief, gentle embrace before letting go.

She turned to Quentin Mo. “How much farther can we go?”

Quentin Mo’s lips were pale. Fresh blood had cracked open the scab on his shoulder, yet he stood straight. “There’s an abandoned temple at the foot of South Mountain ahead.

It’s an old ruined shrine I knew from years ago in the capital. Incense has been cut off for many years and few people go there. We can rest there first, change the children’s clothes, and treat our wounds.”

Eleanor Su nodded. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t look back toward the imperial city even once.

The group set off again.

The outline of South Mountain gradually emerged through the morning mist—deep green and tranquil, like a gate temporarily shielding them from the blood and fire behind.

At the mountain’s foot, wild grass swayed, and the faint corner of a broken, dilapidated eave could be seen peeking through the trees. It was the old temple.

Quentin Mo led the way, iron staff tapping the ground with steady steps.

Eleanor Su followed with the children. Celeste held Damien’s hand. Hazel Qiu carried Sylvie. Julian stayed right beside his mother without falling behind.

The morning wind blew, stirring their soaked clothes and scattering the last wisps of smoke from the imperial city.

From this step onward, they were no longer the people of the palace.

And that night of blood had only just begun, following the muddy traces they left behind, inch by inch, catching up.