Liao Zhong lay on the ground unconscious.
A dignified Xundao-realm officer — of all people — had been beaten senseless by six palm strikes, his spirit torn apart.
Chen Ji looked at Madam Lu.
He could hear her heavy breathing; it seemed even those six palms had cost her dearly. “Madam Lu, are you all right?”
Madam Lu answered in a low voice, “I’m fine. Go—leave.”
“All right.” Chen Ji bent and hoisted Liao Zhong by his belt, carrying him like a limp sack out through the courtyard gate.
He had only stepped over the threshold when he immediately threw himself backward.
A sharp whiz.
A crossbow bolt flashed past, grazing the tip of his nose and embedding itself in the wooden doorframe.
The bolt’s shaft quivered and hummed.
The Jiefan Guards were attacking!
Down the alley on both sides, Jiefan Guards wore straw raincloaks, a knife at their hips in the right hand, crossbows in the left hand with triggers cocked.
Bolts stitched through the air.
On the opposite roof, more Jiefan Guards climbed up and fired toward Chen Ji.
He dragged Liao Zhong back into the courtyard and slammed the door shut with his foot.
Clang, clang, clang—dozens of bolts struck, nearly splintering the gate to pieces.
They couldn't get out.
Chen Ji scanned his surroundings.