Chapter 6: The Herb That Washes Away Resentment

The street bustled with people coming and going. Mo Zhu sat atop the eaves, drinking wine as he watched the lively throng below. One after another, empty wine jars slipped from his side and crashed onto the street with a sharp bang. A passerby was nearly struck by a falling jar and immediately erupted in curses: “You drunken fool! Are you blind? There are so many people on the street—what if you hit someone? Just look at you! Could you afford to pay if you did?”

Though the man’s tone was brash, his words carried weight, and the bystanders nodded in agreement. Soon, a crowd gathered around the shattered remains of the wine jars to watch the spectacle. Emboldened by the attention, the man puffed up his chest and shouted louder, “You lunatic drunk! Come down here at once, clean up this mess, and apologize to everyone!”

Others joined in, echoing, “Yes, that’s right! Hurry down and clean it up. What if a child got hurt by the shards?”

“Exactly—come down now!”

…

Mo Zhu continued to drink, ignoring the crowd below. The man, infuriated by his indifference, snatched up a shard of the broken jar and hurled it at Mo Zhu. Mo Zhu caught it effortlessly in one hand, squeezing until the fragment crumbled to powder and drifted away on the wind.

A hush fell over the crowd. The man’s face blanched, fear overtaking his earlier bravado. When Mo Zhu emptied his last jar, he leapt down from the eaves. Those closest shrank back, wary of provoking him further. Though Mo Zhu’s face was flushed with drunkenness, his eyes were sharp and lucid.

He strode up to the man, seized him by the throat with one hand, and lifted him off the ground. A mocking smile played on his lips as he asked, “You? Who were you calling a lunatic just now?”

The man, dangling in the air and gasping for breath, turned ashen and trembled violently. Between choking sobs, he pleaded, “I—I’m the lunatic! I’m the lunatic!”

Mo Zhu gave a cold laugh and tossed the man aside. With a single step forward, the crowd immediately parted, eager to avoid his wrath.

Such is human nature: the law of the jungle, where the strong command respect.

A flicker of pain and melancholy flashed in Mo Zhu’s eyes. Who were these people to call him mad? None of them were worthy.

Under cover of darkness, Mo Zhu slipped into the Xiao residence, only to cross paths with Ye Min, who was also sneaking in. Mo Zhu shadowed him quietly and witnessed everything Ye Min did after Xiao Jiu had fallen asleep. Truly the son of that woman—just as eager to demean himself.

Disgust welled up in Mo Zhu, impossible to repress. A cunning idea took shape in his mind. Since he had stumbled upon this scene, how could he not stir up some trouble? It wouldn’t be his style to let such an opportunity pass.

With a sly grin, Mo Zhu melted into the night.

In an unremarkable alley, Mo Zhu donned a human mask and made his way to the end. Feeling along the wall, he pressed a hidden mechanism. The wall slid open, revealing a dazzling, bustling market—the infamous black market.

Everyone knew what the black market was, but its entrance was only known to those with connections or status. There were no rules here; only skill determined your fate. If you were swindled, you had no one to blame but yourself.

The black market was famed for its countless rare treasures. With every turn, you might stumble upon some long-coveted item. In short, the black market was ever popular.

Mo Zhu headed straight for a neglected corner of the market, where an old man in a cloak dozed noisily, his head bobbing with each snore. Before him lay bundles of withered grass, neatly arranged in small bunches.

Mo Zhu picked up a bundle, pulled a small bottle from his robe, and ground the grass into powder to fill the bottle. He then placed several large silver notes in its place and left.

The old man, startled, quickly tucked the silver notes into his chest, pulled out another type of grass, and resumed his nap.

The grass Mo Zhu took was called “Resentment-Cleansing Herb,” an unimaginably rare plant said to have no place in the mortal world. Contrary to its name, it did not wash away resentment; instead, when consumed, it would magnify the darkest corner of one’s heart endlessly.

Mo Zhu’s intentions were clear enough—he pondered whom to have take the herb. Perhaps he would let fate decide; whoever in the Xiao family consumed it, Ye Min would be ill at ease.

Mo Zhu slipped into the Xiao residence once more. Lady Xiao was in the kitchen preparing soup for Xiao Murong, who, burdened with the family’s affairs, surely needed nourishment. Seizing a moment when Lady Xiao’s back was turned, Mo Zhu sprinkled the “Resentment-Cleansing Herb” into the pot. The powder dissolved instantly, leaving no trace. Satisfied, he departed in high spirits, eagerly anticipating the chaos that would ensue.

The soup needed to simmer for an hour. When only a small bowl remained, Lady Xiao ladled it out and brought it to Xiao Murong’s study.

Xiao Murong’s eyes brightened at the sight of the soup. He took a sip and praised, “You’re the best! This soup is delicious!”

Lady Xiao covered her mouth and laughed. “Drink up! Once you’re done, finish your work and get some rest.”

Xiao Murong raised the bowl, drinking as he spoke. “Yes, yes, as you command, my dear.”

The Xiao family naturally kept a number of retainers—some useful for counsel in times of crisis, others for handling daily affairs. Among them, Hao Zhuang was a master of slander. He particularly targeted those younger or in higher positions than himself, with Ye Min being his favorite subject. Many in the household despised Hao Zhuang, but his intellect was not to be dismissed; many of the family’s decisions bore his stamp, so no one dared to cross him directly.

Xiao Murong had always disliked Hao Zhuang, especially when he came to the study to offer “advice.” It gave him a headache.

Hao Zhuang entered just as Xiao Murong finished his soup. Lady Xiao, disliking such gossipy types, took the empty bowl and left without even acknowledging Hao Zhuang’s greeting.

Hao Zhuang muttered to himself, “Truly, women and petty men are the hardest to deal with.” But when he looked up, his face broke into a wide smile. “Master, may I speak?”

Xiao Murong longed to strike him with a book but restrained himself—it would not do for the head of the family. He sighed, “What is it?”

Given permission, Hao Zhuang launched into his tirade. “Master, Ye Min is not to be trusted! In such a short time, he’s won over everyone in the household—even the old master never stops singing his praises. The old master once said that if Ye Min were head of the family, he would be at ease. Such blatant efforts to curry favor—why do you keep him around? And that’s not all!”

“Secondly, Ye Min harbors ill intentions toward young master Xiao! I once caught him—”

Before Hao Zhuang could finish, Xiao Murong felt his mind whirl in chaos and shouted, “Get out!”

Hao Zhuang stood stunned. The master had never spoken to him so harshly—what had come over him? His face flushed, then paled, and he slunk away.

Xiao Murong’s head throbbed as he recalled Hao Zhuang’s words. When he calmed, his gaze was deep and cold.

His father had indeed praised Ye Min before, even suggesting that Xiao Murong should hand over the family to him. But only his father, Ye Min, and he himself had been present. How did Hao Zhuang know? And as for Ye Min secretly protecting Xiao Jiu, Xiao Murong was aware of it. With Ye Min’s martial skill, how could Hao Zhuang have “accidentally” seen him? This sowing of discord suggested Hao Zhuang was a spy from another assassin clan. Such a man could not be allowed to remain!

Hao Zhuang, oblivious that his words had sealed his fate, had not lied—he had overheard the old master’s praise while waiting outside the study. Unable to find a chance to enter as the three conversed happily, he had left. As for seeing Ye Min, it was a coincidence—he had spotted Ye Min leaving Xiao Jiu’s courtyard and, after some deduction, drawn his conclusions.

But his fatal mistake was mentioning it to Xiao Murong, who had, under the influence of the “Resentment-Cleansing Herb,” already marked him for death. A life of leisure had made Hao Zhuang forget the true nature of the Xiao family business.

He was but a minor retainer; his disappearance would matter to no one.

When Xiao Murong finished his work, night had fallen. As he paced the corridor, he overheard soft voices. As master of the Xiao family and a skilled martial artist, no whispered words escaped him.

“Ever since Ye Min took over the secret guards, life’s been so much better.”

“Isn’t that right? He’s so capable—I have no complaints about him as our leader!”

“Why do you think the old master doesn’t let Ye Min inherit the family? The old master seems very satisfied with him.”

“Are you stupid? Isn’t it obvious? It’s because our leader’s surname is Ye, not Xiao! The head of the Xiao family must have the Xiao name. How could they let an outsider claim that position?”

“Oh, you’re right! You’re so smart.”

…

Hearing this, Xiao Murong stopped in his tracks, a cold, ironic smile on his lips. Perhaps that retainer’s words had some merit after all. Why should I, Xiao Murong, be any less than Ye Min? I am the rightful heir of the Xiao family!

As long as I remain the master of this house, no one surnamed Ye will ever overturn the rule of the Xiao name!