After a pause, Feng Siniang bent down, stared at A Ming's face, and continued,
"When did this happen?"
For the past six months, everyone had been earnestly and wholeheartedly trying to live like ordinary people. Who would have thought that suddenly, there would be a traitor among us?
"Yesterday."
"Why?"
A Ming, with some effort, turned his head towards Zheng Fan, who was still standing there with a sword in his hand,
"My lord... has awakened."
Siniang's intense gaze made Zheng Fan somewhat uncomfortable. A Ming was in bad shape, but it looked like he would be alright. Zheng Fan immediately threw the sword to the ground and ran to the other side. He helped up Liang Cheng, who had been stabbed and kicked away.
This was the first time Zheng Fan had touched Liang Cheng's body. It was a little heavy, and most notably, his skin was very cold.
Liang Cheng's jacket had a large tear, and there was a wound on his chest. It didn't seem very deep, and he hadn't lost much blood. However, the blood was black and had an oily texture, which was troubling.
"Are you okay?" Zheng Fan asked with concern.
Liang Cheng shook his head. "I'm fine."
If an ordinary person had taken that sword blow, they would likely have been cut in half. But Liang Cheng, after all, was a professional performer at the inn, known for his act of breaking large stones on his chest. It was no exaggeration to say he was tough as nails.
"Clean up and get these people out of here," Feng Siniang ordered.
The guards were dead, and the young master had been captured alive. The priority now wasn't to urgently interrogate him for "world view" information, but to handle the aftermath.
"My lord, I'm sorry to trouble you, but please come with me," Siniang said. She then looked at Liang Cheng, who was clutching his wound, and gestured towards A Ming, still on the ground. "You, help clean him up."
Although Liang Cheng seemed weak, he nodded. He reached out, tore a strip of colored decorative ribbon from the room, and hastily bandaged his chest wound. Then, he began to tend to A Ming, who lay in a messy heap on the floor.
Zheng Fan, meanwhile, was led by Siniang into the inner room. There, the young master, stockings still wrapped around his neck, lay unconscious and motionless beside the bed.
"Does My lord like stockings too?" Siniang asked as she guided Zheng Fan to sit before the vanity table.
"What man doesn't, right?"
"If My lord likes them, next time I'll wear them just for you," Siniang said.
As she spoke, she took several items from the vanity drawer. She scooped something from a small jar, rubbed it vigorously between her hands, and then began to apply it to Zheng Fan's face.
The smell was somewhat pungent, and his skin felt a burning pain. Zheng Fan wasn't sure what she was doing, but he didn't dare to speak or ask, so he remained seated.
"My lord, you can close your eyes now."
"Alright."
Zheng Fan closed his eyes and felt Siniang's hands swiftly working on his face.
Is she putting makeup on me?
Or perhaps... a disguise?
After about ten minutes, Siniang massaged Zheng Fan's shoulders a few times and said,
"My lord, you can open your eyes now."
Zheng Fan opened his eyes and looked into the bronze mirror. His appearance had changed dramatically; he now bore a seventy percent resemblance to the dead guard.
"My lord, you'll need to strip that man's clothes off and put them on. I still need to get myself ready over here," Siniang said.
Wearing a dead man's clothes was taboo, but since they had already killed people, such concerns were irrelevant now.
Zheng Fan nodded obediently. He pushed the door open and saw that Liang Cheng had already wiped the floor clean. Beside it stood a wooden bucket containing what had just gushed from A Ming's stomach. If it were washed thoroughly, it could make a hot pot.
A Ming himself had been placed in another wooden tub, with only his head exposed.
Liang Cheng pointed to a corner where the guard's clothes were piled. "There are some bloodstains on them, My lord. Find some silk strips to tie on and cover them up."
"Oh, alright."
Casting aside any modesty, Zheng Fan began to change his clothes right there.
Just as he finished changing, Siniang emerged from the inner room. Even though Zheng Fan had mentally prepared himself, he was still taken aback.
The person who walked out wasn't Siniang at all; it was clearly the young master.
This disguise technique is truly masterful, Zheng Fan thought. There might be slight flaws when she uses it on others, like me, but when applied to herself, it's absolutely perfect.
Siniang approached Zheng Fan, holding some white powder and a silk cloth. She began to arrange his hair, simultaneously using the cloth to conceal the bloodstains on his clothes.
At this moment, Zheng Fan couldn't help but exclaim in admiration,
"It's uncanny!"
Siniang laughed, saying proudly, "My lord, my disguise technique was once renowned as the second of the great 'Evil Arts of the East'."
"Then what's considered the first?"
"Photoshop."
"..." Zheng Fan was speechless.
"Alright, all set." Siniang picked up the sword, sheathed it, and placed it in Zheng Fan's hands. "My lord, let's head downstairs."
This was all part of the plan. Since these "people" had come to the inn, they also had to be seen leaving it, thereby clearing the inn of any involvement.
Zheng Fan mimicked the previous guard's posture, cradling the longsword to his chest, and followed Siniang down the stairs.
At this hour, the inn wasn't as bustling as during peak hours, but four or five tables of patrons were still drinking.