Chapter Thirty-Five: Gathering Flowers, Losing the Horse

This small tree before him was hardly enough to hide him. Although Di Ying was crouched like a stone covered by snow, if those men came close, they would notice something amiss in an instant. Peng Liang, on the other hand, was in a much better position. Martial arts were indeed a boon; as soon as he heard a sound, he had leaped onto the roof of the glasshouse and lay low.

He blended into the darkness, lean and agile, far more concealed than Di Ying. As the figures disappeared and the torchlight faded, swallowed by wind and snow, Di Ying rose, stretching his numb legs, hopped over the warm water channel, and pressed himself against the low southern wall of the glasshouse.

“Master, there’s no one inside the glasshouse.”

Peng Liang, sprawled atop the roof, lifted a corner of the felt rug, peered down carefully, then leapt to his master’s side and reported quietly.

Di Ying didn’t reply. He simply rolled up his sleeves and prepared to climb the wall.

Peng Liang was quick; he grabbed his master’s belt and, hoisting him up, landed on the roof, then used his scabbard to lift the side of the felt rug. The two of them slipped into the glasshouse.

“Master, you really are used to working alone, aren’t you?” As soon as they landed, Peng Liang couldn’t help but mutter softly.

He truly felt invisible in his master’s eyes. Back in the Taihang Mountains and even now, after so long, why did his master still overlook his skills?

Di Ying replied, “Experts are best reserved for critical moments.”

He rubbed his nose and stepped away, beginning to survey the glasshouse.

Inside, flowers bloomed in profusion, their fragrance overwhelming. Three rows of pillars stood neatly, each bearing an oil lamp that provided dim illumination.

The lamps were small, their light not especially bright, but sufficient to see by. Clearly, this glasshouse was guarded not only outside but likely patrolled inside at night as well.

Di Ying didn’t know when the patrol would come; time was short, and he needed to find that poisonous plant quickly.

He had barely taken a few steps when he stopped again. He glanced at Peng Liang, at the empty leather satchel slung over his shoulder, then at the vivid flowers all around.

Blinking, he said, “Peng, I’ll look for the herbs. You pick flowers—as many as you can.”

Peng Liang nodded, unslung his satchel, and began picking.

“Don’t worry about their condition; if they're crushed in the satchel, it doesn’t matter. Pack as many as possible,” Di Ying instructed quietly, seeing Peng Liang’s careful approach, then moved off to search elsewhere.

Between the rows of flowers, the paths were clean, almost free of weeds. Di Ying moved swiftly, turning his head to scan the ground.

Inside, it was hot and humid, making it hard to breathe.

Soon, the snow accumulating on his hat, temples, eyebrows, and lashes melted, trickling down his face in the warmth. He tugged at his scarf, wiped his face roughly, and searched for the spot most likely to harbor the poisonous plant.

He found it.

That plant was domineering; wherever it grew, no other vegetation could survive within a meter. Amid the neatly arranged flowerbeds, any missing patch stood out.

Di Ying strode quickly to the bare patch and spotted two tender leaves of the poisonous plant emerging from the ground, attached to a short, nearly ground-hugging stem.

They looked fragile, delicate to the extreme.

Di Ying pursed his lips.

He squatted, reached out, and prepared to dig.

But as his fingers were about to touch the leaves, he pulled back. He thought for a moment, stood up, and carefully retreated, erasing his traces as he went.

Only when he’d cleared a considerable distance did Di Ying turn and run to Peng Liang’s side to help gather flowers.

More precisely, he began grabbing flowers haphazardly—not bothering to break stems, just snatching petals at random.

In an instant, he became a flower-plucking madman.

Peng Liang glanced over in surprise, about to ask, then closed his mouth and mimicked his master’s reckless approach.

He thought they’d fill the satchel, but soon his master whispered, “Retreat!”

(He nearly blurted: ‘Quick, get out…’)

Peng Liang, used to following orders, immediately slung the satchel across his shoulder, grabbed his master, and leapt onto the roof.

They lifted the rug, slipped out.

Just as they were about to descend, Di Ying pressed Peng Liang’s head down, and the two lay flat on the roof.

With their ears pressed to the felt, they heard the squeal of a door opening inside the glasshouse.

And, a few moments later, a shriek.

Di Ying rubbed his ears, then whispered a few words to Peng Liang.

Peng Liang nodded, picked up his master, and sped toward the place where their horses were tethered.

He set Di Ying down and wasted no time, bounding away in another direction.

Di Ying wrapped his arms around the black horse’s neck, warming himself against the animal.

Before long, Peng Liang returned, just about to grab some snow to wipe the flower sap from his hands when his master stopped him.

“Don’t leave any traces, especially scents.”

Peng Liang looked at his hands, wiped them on his clothes, then untied the reins. He and his master mounted up, took a circuitous route, and arrived outside the eastern gate of the capital, not far away.

By then it was almost three in the morning.

Di Ying dismounted, patted the horse’s neck, and said, “You two are free now. Go wherever you wish.”

Peng Liang looked at his master, then at his own horse, dismounted, and raised his hands to remove the saddle and harness.

He guessed: his master was setting the horses free.

If so, surely he should strip off their gear.

But his master said, “Leave it. Let them wander as they please.”

Peng Liang was baffled.

He blinked his starry eyes at his master.

But Di Ying didn’t look at him. He paced back and forth, running and jumping to stay warm.

If he didn’t move, he’d freeze solid.

He had to attend the morning court at five; there was an hour yet, but the city gates wouldn’t open until six. By the time he got in, court would be over.

He had to find a solution.

He couldn’t skip court his first day on the job; the old emperor would surely send him off to some remote mountain as a county magistrate.

Then the case of Qian Xin’er’s ruined face would go uninvestigated.

Thinking, running, rubbing his hands, he glanced at the sky, at his surroundings, and spotted Peng Liang.

He slapped his forehead and asked, “Peng, do you know a way to get into the city now?”

The question made Peng Liang smile.

He smiled, helpless, and replied, “Master, when will you finally acknowledge your subordinate’s abilities? Alas…”