Chapter 028: A Duel in the Outhouse

Chapter 028: A Duel at the Outhouse

They were about to land at the furthest edge of the rear courtyard, near the outer wall. The man in the black cloak was wondering if the place she mentioned was beyond the compound when Fang Rulai suddenly called out, “Stop! Right here, this is the place!”

Here? As the black cloak slowed his descent, he glanced around. There was nothing here but an outhouse… Unless, was she just in urgent need?

He turned to look for Fang Rulai, but she had already hunched over and was swiftly making her way toward the outhouse door.

That urgent? The black cloak averted his gaze, a little embarrassed.

When she heard no footsteps following, Fang Rulai turned, eyes puzzled: Aren’t you coming? Why are you just standing there?

The black cloak shook his head resolutely. Surely she didn’t need him to stand guard while she used the outhouse?

Fang Rulai curled her lips helplessly. This fellow had clearly misunderstood.

“Hurry up! If you delay tomorrow’s plans, you’ll have to answer for it!” Her destination was indeed the outhouse.

This was a lavatory for the exclusive use of the temple’s residents. When a person is answering nature’s call, it’s the moment they are least on guard. Any words spoken then are sure to be ones that can’t be revealed in the open, the ones closest to the heart of a secret.

The black cloak finally understood. Indeed, he’d never thought to station anyone here to eavesdrop.

He tightened the cloth over his face and followed Fang Rulai inside. But no matter how tightly he pressed the cloth, nothing could block the stench that assailed him.

This outhouse was much like a public toilet from the early days of reform: upon entering, one was met with a row of squat pits, each topped by a wooden bench for convenience, and behind the wall was the cesspit.

The night wind was strong, carrying the odor unimpeded through the ventilated pits straight into their nostrils.

“Ugh!” The black cloak couldn’t help but retch, turning aside—only to see Fang Rulai covering her mouth and nose with a flat cloth pouch. A faint scent of plum blossoms drifted from it.

She’d come prepared!

He clamped his nose with one hand and reached out with the other, gesturing: Give me one, too.

Fang Rulai shrugged. “There’s only one.”

You! The black cloak shook a fist in protest—so much for gratitude!

Fang Rulai replied with a look of regret. “I did have another, but when you carried me earlier, it fell out of my sleeve.”

The black cloak realized: so she’d been holding a grudge about being carried and was waiting to get back at him here.

Fang Rulai turned her head and smiled quickly—she’d already decided not to suffer in silence, why let him off easy? Let’s see if he dares to carry her again on the way back!

Lost in her momentary triumph, she failed to notice the indulgent, exasperated fondness that flashed in the black cloak’s eyes.

Her gloating done, Fang Rulai turned back, pointing to the wooden bench over the first squat pit. “Quick, fetch that for me. Be gentle—leave no trace it’s been moved.”

The black cloak hesitated.

Fang Rulai smirked to herself—there was more disgust yet to come for him. But her face remained stern. “Hurry! If you delay tomorrow’s plans, you’ll answer for it!”

Whether it was her repeated warning or sudden realization, the black cloak gathered his strength, and with a swift motion, the bench moved instantly to Fang Rulai’s side.

She took a startled half-step back at his speed. He’d rather expend such cultivated skill than get close enough to be disgusted as she’d hoped. Fine, he was formidable!

Fang Rulai, unable to win this round, shot him a resentful glance.

The black cloak folded his arms and looked skyward, as if to say, “Try me, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

Fang Rulai could not be bothered to argue. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on the bench.

“Two Hundred Fifty,” a voice echoed in her mind, “It’s just a small temple… How did our master end up in jail instead of capturing it?”

“Three Hundred Eight, come closer, I’ll tell you. The master planned to take the temple quietly, but who knew the little abbot was so cunning. Not only did he survive multiple assassination attempts, he wiped out all our forces sent after him.”

“What? That little monk is so skilled? Now I’m fired up! Once I’m finished here, let me take the next mission to kill him myself!”

“Save it—and pass me some straw paper. Besides, you’re wrong. The abbot isn’t skilled at all—he has no martial arts.”

“Then how could he…”

“That’s why our master’s so wary. The men who didn’t return are gone without a trace—not even a body. Those who got caught, the authorities couldn’t get a word out of them either.”

“Could the little monk have supernatural help?”

“It’s his backers who might. Looks like the two powers behind the scenes are about to clash directly.”

“Then our master being in jail could be used to our advantage…”

“Hmph, only realizing that now? Come, let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long, hard fight.”

Recording ended. The two conspirators had finished their business and were pulling up their trousers.

While instructing the black cloak to return the bench to its place, Fang Rulai mentally noted the two numbers: Two Hundred Fifty and Three Hundred Eight. How dare they call her a bald donkey? Just wait!

“The next one!” she ordered sharply.

The black cloak started, unclear why she was suddenly angry, but complied, moving the next bench to her.

Fang Rulai touched it, then pulled her hand back after a while. “Next.”

And so it went—bench after bench, until she had touched them all.

“We’re done.” With that, Fang Rulai strode out of the outhouse.

This was what happened when the local authorities were essentially the family business; even prison was just another backyard. Some might stab her in the back, but she was determined not to be the first to die. Fortunately, she had already chosen her side and prepared a counterattack—otherwise, she’d be the first to fall in tomorrow’s purge.

Outside, the night had deepened, dew growing heavier. Fang Rulai pressed a fist to her stomach and hunched her back. “Carry me.”

She’d taken in too much just now, her stomach churning. Not wanting to vomit on the black cloak, who’d been helpful enough, she magnanimously chose to let herself be carried. That way, if she did throw up, it would be easier to handle from above.

But just as she was bracing herself to be hauled aloft, warmth spread across her waist, a large hand wrapped around her, and her feet left the ground. She realized she was being held in a princess carry, soaring into the air.

She instinctively grabbed his collar, a startled cry turning into, “Guan Shiyin!”

No wonder he carried her before—he was afraid she’d recognize him by touch.

Behind his mask, Guan Shiyin grinned wickedly. “My dear wife, I look forward to seeing your performance tomorrow!”

Thanks again to dear Banxia/Ruyan and Manman for the flowers—enjoy the story!

P.S. Can anyone else sense the “mm-ha” effect?

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