Liu Bian at the start, so you're called Dong Zhuo, right?

With his back pressed against the cold wall, Liu Bian felt a surge of absurdity.

Zhou Yi...how could this be?

The image that flashed through his mind was that encounter at Guangcheng Garden:

That man spoke calmly and acted with the composure of a ruler; more importantly—to raise a son like Zhou Yu, the father's vision and integrity could not be lacking.

That's why he was willing to bring Zhou Yi into his team and share that most sensitive lead.

Send Zhou Yi to investigate the porters, temples, pilgrims, and secret codes of the Taiping Road.

But the language, habits, and even the phrase "road and hand" in that secret letter all resembled Zhou Yi's.

Most importantly—he was now standing in the county jail, with crossbow bolts still embedded in the door in front of him.

The dark figure had already fallen from the wall beam, the blade aimed directly at Liu Bian's face, without uttering a single word.

This is not a misunderstanding.

This is more like "luring the enemy into a trap."

The more Liu Bian thought about it, the heavier his heart became, and the excitement he had felt when he came had completely vanished.

If you can't figure it out, then don't think about it for now.

He pressed his right hand on the hilt of the knife, and with a flick of his left hand, he slammed the lamp at his waist to the side.

"Whoosh—"

The lamp oil was poured out, and the flame was swept by the wind, rushing to the corner of the wall and instantly illuminating a patch of light.

The dark figures instinctively glanced to the side, avoiding the firelight.

In that instant, Liu Bian drew his sword.

The knife wasn't long, but its advantage lay in its lightness and agility. With a flash of light, he didn't lunge forward—instead, he fought and retreated, backing to the corner of the short corridor, preventing his opponents from surrounding him at the same time.

He knew that the other side had a small number of people.

It's not because we can't kill him, it's because we don't dare to make a big fuss.

The county prison is a sensitive place, and bloodshed at night is already conspicuous. What's more, the crown prince was killed. Once the commotion alarms the neighborhood, the matter will be labeled an "assassination in the street," and there will be no going back.

He slashed at one man's wrist with his knife, but the man reacted quickly and retreated when his attack failed.

Liu Bian raised his knife again, slashing it past the ribs of another dark figure. He didn't dare to be greedy, and without caring whether he had hit him or not, he withdrew his knife and retreated.

But he was still too young.

Two years of training might prevent him from being taken down in close combat with a single strike, but it wasn't enough for him to fight three opponents alone in this kind of enclosed terrain, trading injury for life.

Before he could deliver his third strike, he was struck on the shoulder.

The knife scraped across like a spark of fire.

The next moment, Liu Bian felt warm liquid flowing down along the seam of his nail.

Liu Bian's jaw clenched, but his mind suddenly cleared.

They weren't in a hurry to kill him with one blow; they were trying to make him panic and force him to reveal his weaknesses.

He forced himself to steady his breathing, backing away, backing away, and backing away again.

At the end of the short corridor is the inner corridor, and beyond that is the gate of the county prison.

As long as they rush out and make a commotion, the searching soldiers will soon discover the commotion.

While he was thinking, his foot suddenly slipped on a protruding paving stone, causing him to fall backward.

Seeing that the opportunity had come, the shadowy figure thrust forward with his sword.

Liu Bian suddenly pushed against the wall, holding the knife horizontally in front of his chest, and took the full force of the "pressing knife" blow.

The tremor made my hand go numb, and I almost dropped the knife.

The opponent's strikes were not heavy, but extremely cunning, specifically designed to strike the "empty space" when you retreat.

Liu Bian's heart sank: These people weren't bandits; they were trained.

Just as he was preparing to force his way out, a sound suddenly came from outside the door.

First came the shouting of the gatekeeper, his voice dry and harsh, like the official tone he was used to:

"This is a restricted area of ​​the county prison! All unauthorized personnel—leave immediately!"

Liu Bian's heart skipped a beat.

Someone's here outside?

Immediately afterward, another voice, laced with suppressed anger, rang out, extremely familiar and harsh, like the back of a knife striking iron:

"We are under the command of the Crown Prince's guards! Where is the Crown Prince now?!"

That voice belongs to Cao Ren!

Liu Bian's eyes lit up, like a drowning person seeing the shore.

He wanted to shout.

But the next moment, the gatekeeper's reply was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head—

"With His Highness the Crown Prince's status, how could he deign to come to the county prison?"

"Perhaps you have come to the wrong place."

Liu Bian felt a chill run down his spine, instantly realizing that the gatekeepers were also their men.

That group of people outside could probably be held back with just a word from him—drag them inside, kill them, then close the door with the excuse that "the Crown Prince didn't come," and turn around and say "someone impersonated the Imperial Guard and broke into the prison."

This was done too cleanly.

He could no longer hesitate, because retreating would mean certain death.

To survive, one must turn "silence" into "sound".

Liu Bian abruptly sheathed his sword and kicked open a wooden door beside him—inside was a storage room filled with torture instruments and straw mats, covered in dry straw.

He grabbed an oil lamp from the wall and smashed it inside.

The oil lamp shattered, spilling oil all over the ground, and the flame suddenly shot up with a "whoosh".

Taking advantage of the instant the fireworks erupted, Liu Bian looked up and let out a sharp shout, the sound almost torn from his throat:

"Cao Ren—!"

"I am here—!"

As soon as the sound fell, the commotion outside the door indeed grew even louder.

First came Cao Ren's angry shout, followed by the clanging of armor plates and the thud of boots hitting the ground—like a group of people being suddenly pulled in by something.

"Open the door!"

"Smash it open—!"

The wooden door was pounded on loudly, and the faint sound of the latch rattling could be heard even in the corridor.

But the three dark figures inside did not retreat.

Their eyes flashed in the firelight, like wolves cornered, and in the next moment they all lunged forward—

No more probing, no more forcing back.

That's deadly.

The first man rolled on the ground, his blade tip flicking up from under Liu Bian's knees, forcing him to take a step; the second man took advantage of his step, slashing horizontally with his blade, aiming to strike him when he shifted his weight; the third man was the most cunning, always positioned behind him, waiting for him to turn his blade around before stabbing him from a blind spot.

Three cuts are as good as one.

Liu Bian was so forced that even his breathing felt like he was in debt.

The flames crackled in the storage room, and smoke billowed up, making his throat dry and his eyes sting.

Time seemed to move incredibly slowly at this moment.

So slow that he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, hear the soft whistling of the blade cutting through the air, hear the blood dripping from the seams of his shoulder armor onto the stone slab with a "tap," a "tap."

As he stepped back, his back foot slipped on the wet lamp oil.

His body swayed slightly.

In that instant, the third dark figure, which had been waiting all along, thrust forward with the tip of its blade, almost grazing his ribs.

Liu Bian twisted his waist sharply, causing the scabbard to slam against the wall, which made his wrist go numb.

He barely managed to block two blows, but the third blow pressed down on the back of his blade like a tidal wave, pushing him backward.

"Click—"

The back of the knife hit the corner of the wall, reducing the force by half.

Liu Bian's arm went limp instantly, as if struck by a hammer.

At that moment, he knew he was exhausted.

That's exactly what the other side was looking for.

The first knife entangled his blade, preventing him from returning.

The second knife swung out in a cold arc from the firelight, heading straight for his face—

The blade was as cold as moonlight.

Liu Bian even saw the flickering flames on the blade, like a fiery snake flying close to the iron.

There was no time to block.

There was no time to retreat.

He had only one instinct left: to tilt his head.

Even turning one's head couldn't dodge the force of this strike.

Death almost brushed against my nose.

At that very moment—

A picture suddenly exploded in Liu Bian's mind.

The fog in the training ground, the thin gaps cut by the wooden spear, Huangfu Song's hands pressing on his wrists, pushing him back again and again.

Huangfu Song's scolding was mild at the time, but it was deeply etched in his memory:

"You're always thinking about 'blocking' things."

"I won't teach you how to block a gun."

"I'll teach you how to borrow a gun."

"Use his strength, use his momentum, use his fierce attack—give him an opening."

Liu Bian practiced that move countless times.

Always a beat too slow.

Each time, Huangfu Song would dismiss him with the words, "Your heart isn't in the sword."

He just couldn't learn it.

That move wasn't about strength, it was about courage.

When the knife is about to fall on your face, you need to put yourself in a "closer" distance.

Only when the knife is near enough can a person live.

At that moment, he suddenly understood.

It wasn't something I came up with; it was something I was forced to do.

Liu Bian's eyes darkened, and his shoulders slumped abruptly—not to dodge, but to shirk responsibility.

He leaned his entire upper body forward, as if offering himself up to the knife.

The blade grazed his ear, the chill making his earlobe tingle.

At the same time, he loosened his grip on the hilt of the knife by half an inch, allowing the opponent's "pressure" to slide down the back of the blade—

If you don't force the knife, you won't be able to pin him down.

The next instant, he twisted his right foot, and his whole body spun around on the ground, like a shadow sliding out of the fog.

This turn caused the black figure wielding the knife to "miss its target".

The dark figure missed its target with a single strike, its center of gravity shifting forward.

But Liu Bian's knife returned at that moment.

It wasn't a chop.

It is a "dot".

The knife tip, moving upwards and using the opponent's forward lean as leverage, suddenly struck the inside of their wrist—

"puff".

The bloodline shot up.

The man dropped the knife instantly and staggered, crashing into the wall.

The other two figures in black changed their expressions, clearly not expecting the young man to pull off such a feat in a desperate situation.

But they didn't have time to finish them off.

Because outside the door—

"boom!!"

A loud bang.

The bolt on the county jail door was finally broken.

In the firelight, a troop of armored soldiers surged in, their swords clashing against their armor and their footsteps echoing across the narrow corridor like a tide pouring in.

The leader's armor was not fully fastened, and his cloak was not buttoned, clearly indicating that he had run all the way here.

He spotted Liu Bian in the firelight at a glance, his pupils constricted sharply, and his voice almost roared:

"Your Highness—!"

Cao Ren.

The moment he rushed in, his sword was already drawn, standing like a wall in front of Liu Bian.

"Take it down!"

"Don't let a single one escape!"

The shadowy figure tried to retreat, but Cao Ren refused to listen.

His strike wasn't a technique, but a killing intent; it slashed down like an iron gate slamming shut, forcing the man back into the firelight.

Liu Bian leaned against the wall, his chest heaving violently, his palms covered in blood and sweat, the hilt of his knife so slippery he could barely hold it.

But he didn't relax.

He stared at the two struggling figures as if they were mouths.

Because he had realized that this was not a simple assassination attempt.

This is to sever the connection between "Zhou Yi" and him, the crown prince.

And now, the door is open.

The fire started.

It was their turn to panic.