9. The Confrontation

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The door opened to reveal a familiar face that gave Fu Lin the shivers at night and was the cause of all his nightmares. Within the room with minimal lighting, there stood a man with his back to Fu Lin, his black, flimsy robe fluttering in the morning wind. His expression was not very clear as he waved one of his hands, and two men in more black robes jumped down from the ceiling, bowing before him. With a nod of General Haoran's head, they both got up.

What just happened? Fu Lin felt his head spinning with questions. Did his second brother get caught up in this fiasco? Where was his second brother? How did his second brother turn out to be General Haoran? Was his second brother in danger?

Another gust of wind blew from the room, and General Haoran, from the shadows, turned his face sideways to give him a once-over. Fu Lin couldn't guess what the general was thinking as his dead-set, lock-like eyes peered expressionlessly into his own. There was an ominous aura about him that couldn't be repressed, and Fu Lin felt imminent danger for his life.

The air around me stilled for a few seconds, and even the bellow of a man chopping meat in the street resounded through the room.

Fu Lin felt his breath hitch.

General's face was that of a sea that had an inner quake in its seabed—calm on the surface but boiling beneath. Fu Lin wanted to run; he really, really wanted to! But he didn't know where his brother was or how he was doing, and he couldn't abandon his brother under these conditions.

The other man in a black robe grinned as he made his way to the door haughtily and said, "It's been a long time since I saw you all that smiley. It's a fresh change from your everyday routine. Why don't you try smiling a bit more instead of looking like somebody stole your golden peaches all the damn time?" he laughed out loud. "It was quite a sight though—you, the mighty man who doesn't give anybody a flying frog, trying to suck face with someone going all smiley". It was Lieutenant Bing Ze.

"Please shut your damn trap." The secretary behind Fu Lin walked over as he removed his clay mask to reveal lieutenant Jiang's face and threw it at Bing Ze, who avoided the hit just in time, saying, "My face is hurting enough as it is with all the foreign expressions my face has to bear".

Lieutenant Shen Yue said pacifyingly, "Now, now, let's not make things hard for the general. "I don't want the both of you to get injured".

Fu Lin watched these goings-on with horror-stricken eyes, not understanding why his brother's secretary was so familiar with the general's people.

It was when the so-called Secretary of the Militia—now Lieutenant Jiang—walked up to the General to bow before him that Fu Lin understood—he had been tricked.

His brother was probably not here in the first place! Which means he'd been fooled and deceived by the general and his subordinates.

Now, not having any more valid reason to not escape for his life, Fu Lin first checked whether the General was beholding any form of weaponry. He didn't seem to have anything dangerous, and neither did his subordinates, which meant the worst that could happen if he were to get caught would be that he'd be physically restrained. There was no harm in running.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind as he got over his shock and turned to leave, a crisp voice rang through the hallway.

"Is running away your past time?"

It was as controlled as ever, his voice, and yet Fu Lin had yet to listen to something so frightening in his entire life. A glaring sense of frost and cold beneath those words penetrated his ears- a cold form of anger.

Without keen survival perception to pick up on the slightest changes in mood between people, somebody might think that the general was actually making a harmless flat joke.

But Fu Lin knew better. Therefore, before the heavy footsteps could reach the place where he stood, he made a run down the stairs to save his measly life at what he thought was the fastest speed he could muster.

Behind him, the general's cool voice resonated once again.

"There's no point in trying to escape."

In the running blur, he turned to see whether the general and his three henchmen were after him with their incomparable martial speed. He breathed heavily and almost stopped himself from making a run for it when he saw that none of them were moving.

Why... weren't they moving?

No matter; if they wouldn't move, all the better for him. He didn't slow down and picked up his pace, forcing his non-athletic body to stop dangling and take steady steps. Even after giving his maximum, he could still hear steady footsteps behind him.

Damn the mountains! He was this close to finishing the staircase.

Startled, he whipped his head behind him and saw that the general was still considerably behind—at least a good 20 feet. That distance was not something he couldn't overcome if he ran like his life depended on it. The staircase he bolted down was built out of sleek wood that was polished and coated to such an extent that it was no different from a smooth tile. Between Fu Lin's imminent attempt to not fall and keeping a considerable gap between him and the general, his eyes were solely focused on the back.

"I told you there was no point in trying to escape."

Instinctively, Fu Lin knew that that sentence was not the result of baseless confidence. This man was a general, and he knew that generals on a chase do not speak meaningless rubbish; if they considered something pointless, then that was definitely pointless, like his escape attempt right now. He abruptly stopped and slowly turned to look at what actually lay in front of him with bulging eyes, like a frog throttled by its neck.

From all the corners of the roof of the Dragon's Lair main hall were men in black martial robes—undoubtedly the General's men—who balanced themselves on the edges of the roof, candle holders, and statues with bows stretched imperceptibly and arrows pointed directly at Fu Lin's throat. Fu Lin gulped. The arrow heads and the eyes of the men who held them gleamed with venomous intent, as if they wouldn't even flinch in the event of his head rolling down the floor.

Heavy steps no different from a military march came from behind, and the General's now very familiar voice breathed in Fu Lin's ear.

"Shall we go home now, dear husband?"

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