Nanyi had already traveled with the Yucheng Army to camp in the deep forests on the mountain’s northern face.

She temporarily remained in the military camp, learning some protective skills and strengthening her body. Once the storm passed and the people in Li Du Mansion completely forgot her, she would enter the city to help Song Muchuan accomplish their goals.

Ying Huai dutifully became Nanyi’s martial arts instructor. Initially, he was very cautious, unclear about what level this madam wanted to reach, so he carefully taught some flowery moves, afraid of letting her get hurt or bruised—that would be offensive.

Soon, he discovered Nanyi was serious. Every morning, she would strap on sandbags and run in the mountains for an hour, then return to repeatedly practice the moves he had taught against wooden posts. The weather had warmed somewhat, but the cold wind remained biting. Since it wasn’t wartime, many soldiers would slack off, yet only she persisted through wind and rain.

He had always respected people with perseverance, so he began teaching more earnestly, not looking down on her because she was a woman. He treated her as equals, tempering her like a true warrior. She never called for breaks, gritting her teeth time and again, falling in mud pits and getting back up, new calluses forming over old ones on her hands, growing harder day by day.

But Nanyi knew this was still far from enough. She would never forget how fragile and vulnerable she had been under Xie Queshan’s overwhelming killing power. Men and women were naturally different in strength, but not everyone would show sympathy or respect because women were inherently weak.

The weak would always be trampled. She wanted to become strong quickly.

Days passed quietly with each punch and kick. Branches sensed spring first—twigs that had been barren for a season began sprouting buds inadvertently.

However, in corners no one noticed, an inconspicuous soldier left the camp during a hunting expedition.

A day later, he appeared in Dajue Temple in Li Du Mansion. Dajue Temple had closed its doors for seven days, refusing all worshippers to conduct a grand Buddhist ceremony.

The soldier looked urgent with important matters to report, but was stopped by Luo Ci outside the Great Buddha Hall, who indicated he couldn’t disturb the master at this time.

Before Buddha, the bronze bell rang several times, three offerings were made, eight auspicious symbols displayed. Zhang Yuehui knelt upright on a prayer cushion, eyes closed, palms together.

It was laughable—he did treacherous, faithless things yet was exceptionally devoted to gods and Buddhas, spending flowing silver to support temple incense. Every year on his family’s death anniversaries, he would invite high monks to conduct ceremonies, chanting sutras and blessings for his deceased family members.

The ceremony didn’t end until dusk. Only after Zhang Yuehui emerged was the soldier brought forward by Luo Ci. The group talked while heading to the meditation rooms in the rear courtyard.

“That woman claimed to be the Xie family’s eldest daughter-in-law… Later, a man surnamed Song came. He only spoke a few words with our Captain Ying—we don’t know who he was—but Captain Ying believed him and had us withdraw to our original camp. We hadn’t gone far when that tunnel exploded.”

Zhang Yuehui had planted informants in armies everywhere—naturally the Yucheng Army had spies too.

Though he had long known where the Yucheng Army was hiding, when Qi people came asking, he only claimed to have no leads.

First, the Yucheng Army’s threat was neither small nor large. This intelligence wouldn’t sell for much, and with over a hundred lives involved, he wasn’t so conscienceless as to sacrifice so many young men for nothing—too damaging to virtue.

Moreover, Zhang Yuehui didn’t sell every piece of information. He liked to let news ferment to its highest value before striking.

Like now.

The Qi people’s battle report claimed the Yucheng Army was completely annihilated overnight, yet he received entirely different information. This matter involved the Xie family widow and the seemingly harmless Song Muchuan… even the mastermind was very likely the behind-the-scenes Xie Queshan.

This intelligence had finally become valuable.

After pondering briefly, Zhang Yuehui decided to target the most crucial yet weakest link. After watching for so long, it was time to close the net.

He ordered: “Bring that woman here.”

Whoosh—an arrow shot from the bowstring, hitting the bullseye dead center, startling birds from the tree. After a few seconds of silence, a girl’s jubilant voice rang out.

Nanyi wore men’s clothing with her hair bound up. At first glance, you might mistake her for a malnourished new recruit, half the size of others. Her face was speckled with mud, unkempt, but she didn’t look disheveled at all—her body radiated vigorous, healthy vitality.

After days of archery practice, this was her first bullseye.

Unconsciously infected by her mood, Ying Huai’s face also showed a trace of smile as he praised: “Madam has great talent in archery.”

Nanyi smiled: “I like archery.”

“Why?” Ying Huai was somewhat curious.

She once had a small sleeve arrow—the first weapon that belonged to her. Even when sleeping, she kept it tightly bound to her wrist like a talisman, helping her turn misfortune to fortune several times.

Each moment an arrow flew was a small gamble. You could only decide the moment of release, but couldn’t control what the arrow would encounter en route or where it would finally land. Anxious, expectant, every sense opened, focused on that tiny arrowhead. She liked this feeling.

She had to admit that deep down, she wasn’t someone who followed rules. She was passionate about taking risks, and that person had indeed given her a weapon that suited her perfectly.

But why did she always think of him? Perhaps because what he left her could be called a brand, haunting her every action like a lingering spirit.

Very annoying. She wanted to forget it all.

Nanyi didn’t answer Ying Huai’s question. She put down the bow and suddenly lost interest.

“Just saying… I don’t really like it that much,” Nanyi said, her eyes dodging slightly. “I’ll get some food. I’m hungry.”

With that, Nanyi hurried away. Near the camp tents, she heard soldiers discussing something.

“He’s actually going to die?”

“Yes, they say he’s critically injured beyond treatment. I heard when I went to collect grain.”

People naturally love gossip, especially about life and death—instinctively pricking up their ears.

“That night on Lantern Festival, he was stabbed through the heart. Even the best doctors can’t work miracles.”

Then that name leaped unexpectedly into her mind.

“A traitor like Xie Queshan—dying like this is still too easy for him. He should be torn apart by five horses to satisfy our hatred!”

Nanyi’s steps froze in place.

How could that be possible? Such a cunning person—she even suspected he could outsmart the King of Hell himself. How could he possibly die?

Critically injured beyond treatment? Was it from the knife wound she gave him? Could she have killed him? She couldn’t possibly have such ability.

She even let out a scornful laugh to show her disdain for this news.

He had wanted to kill her—whether he lived or died, what did it matter to her?

Nanyi walked forward numbly for a few steps, but a strange feeling welled up. She felt as if someone had grabbed her sleeve, unable to resist looking back. Her mind was in chaos, surrounding sounds became distant buzzing, colors before her eyes turned into strange, dizzying patterns.

She didn’t know what was wrong, didn’t know why news of his death had such power to make her so sad.

But her eyes were dry—she clearly didn’t want to cry, yet all her strength had been drained away.

Someone supported her: “Madam, what’s wrong?”

A clear voice called her back. She relied on Ying Huai’s strength to stand again, her face already pale.

Ying Huai looked at her with concern and confusion.

Nanyi forcibly steadied her breathing: “I want to go to Li Du Mansion.”

Ying Huai was somewhat surprised: “Leaving already?”

“I’ll go for one day and return.”

“Then I’ll send people with you.”

“No need!”

Nanyi’s decisive refusal startled even Ying Huai—it was just sending protection, why was she so resistant?

Realizing her tone was strange, Nanyi quickly explained: “I’m afraid if military people accompany me to the ferry, Qi people might notice something unusual and expose the Yucheng Army’s location instead. As a woman, no one will pay attention to me. I’ll go for one day and return.”

Nanyi didn’t want anyone to know she was going to see Xie Queshan.

This was an extremely absurd thing. She knew it wasn’t necessary, even dangerous, but she couldn’t suppress her steps toward him.

She always thought of him—with hatred, yet also with inexplicable pain. She didn’t know how to resolve her emotions. Those obscure secrets unacceptable to the world churned in her chest day and night, unspeakable to anyone.

She attributed all his lingering influence on her to hatred. She just hated him extremely, so even in death, she had to see him die with her own eyes. She wanted to see how that inescapable prison collapsed, wanted to verify whether that iron-hearted person truly had the same birth, aging, sickness, and death as mortals.

She wanted to see that ending. Only then could her hatred return dust to dust, earth to earth.

Ying Huai felt Nanyi was somewhat strange at this moment, but he wasn’t her superior after all and couldn’t interfere with her decisions. Seeing her determination, he sent two men to follow Nanyi from afar, escorting her to the ferry.

He thought crossing the river would reach Li Du Mansion, where Bingzhu Division would look after her—there shouldn’t be any problems.

Nanyi immediately set off, traveling non-stop to the ferry and boarding a boat.

The boatman was dressed ordinarily, wearing a large bamboo hat that obscured his face.

The small boat headed toward Li Du Mansion.

Their last meeting had been in bone-chilling snow; now the wind carried traces of warmth, making one feel as if lifetimes had passed. Nanyi daydreamed absent-mindedly, not noticing that halfway across, only this single boat remained on the busy river.

Suddenly the boatman said: “Oh no, miss, the boat is leaking.”

Nanyi startled and got up to look. As she approached the boatman, she saw what seemed like silver light flash in his hand. Nanyi instinctively dodged but it was too late.

The man moved quickly, swiftly driving a silver needle into Nanyi’s neck. She tried to struggle, but the drug took effect instantly throughout her limbs. She closed her eyes weakly and fainted.

Under the bamboo hat, Luo Ci raised his eyes.

He had been wondering how to kidnap someone from the Yucheng Army when the master said human hearts aren’t monolithic—one test would reveal all.

So they manipulated things, spreading false news of Xie Queshan’s impending death to her ears. Sure enough, soon after, she left the camp alone wanting to enter Li Du Mansion.

He didn’t know how the master could tell the Xie family widow had close ties with Xie Queshan—just from them both disappearing on Lantern Festival?

Luo Ci looked at the unconscious woman on the boat, inexplicably finding her somewhat familiar—though this was his first time seeing Nanyi. She was after all a secluded noble lady who rarely appeared publicly. Previously he hadn’t inquired about her appearance in detail; tracking agents only said she was a rather delicate young woman.

Luo Ci frowned and studied her for a moment. Only then did he remember she resembled the woman in that portrait somewhat.

But the woman in the portrait was more fragile and pitiable, as if a breeze could blow her away, while the woman before him could camp with the Yucheng Army in deep mountains—she was a Bingzhu Division operative. These two couldn’t be more different; only their features bore some resemblance. He quickly dismissed the thought. How could the old friend the master sought possibly be the Xie family widow?

The master was conducting a full seven-day ceremony in the temple, leaving outside matters to Luo Ci’s shoulders.

However, the master had given clear instructions on what to do—he need only follow the plan.

The master said if news of Xie Queshan’s death could draw this woman out, then the direction was correct. She must know many secrets, the most crucial being Xie Queshan’s true allegiance. Whatever methods necessary, they must extract this from her mouth.

Then they could capture Song Muchuan, Xie Queshan, and Bingzhu Division in one net—this was lucrative business.

Of course, the master had also mentioned that she was a woman after all—don’t make it too bloody.

That was just talk; torture would still be necessary.