But after her mind went blank for that brief moment, she saw the brocade-robed man’s gaze across from her.

His gaze was always strange—appearing gentle but actually vacant, three parts spring light, three parts mist. His whole person had an ethereal, otherworldly quality, a sense of “non-existence,” as if he held a lofty, weary disdain for this boring life.

But whenever he mentioned those strange words just now, his expression and gaze would change, becoming warm and substantial, with faint interest and joy.

This wasn’t the expression one would have when discussing irrelevant dead people.

Right, this scheming bastard—not one word he said could be trusted.

Jing Hengbo took another deep breath, adjusting her mood. She realized that facing the brocade-robed man as an opponent, she couldn’t afford the slightest carelessness. He could easily manipulate your emotions and lead you by the nose. He could even discover your weaknesses at any time and adjust his strategy to attack you, putting you at a disadvantage. For instance, when he realized she was particularly sensitive to such strange words, he kept saying them to make her lose composure. Otherwise, given his nature, he wouldn’t possibly slip up and say so much.

When facing a powerful enemy, the first priority was staying calm. This was what that person had taught her—she must not forget.

Seeing her expression quickly calm down, the brocade-robed man’s eyes flickered. He clapped his hands and said: “Everyone go prepare.”

Several guards left. The brocade-robed man said to Mr. Mu: “How about you change clothes too? Of course, if you don’t change, that’s fine—you just won’t participate.”

He looked at Mr. Mu with the expression of someone experienced, his eyes saying “Are you willing to give up such an opportunity?”

Mr. Mu smiled: “Naturally, I’ll play along.”

Jing Hengbo snorted, watching Mr. Mu prepare to leap up by pushing off the window frame: “Since you can walk briefly anyway, don’t waste your inner force using lightness skills.”

Mr. Mu’s body paused momentarily, then he laughed in realization: “Right. Force of habit—I almost forgot.” He obediently climbed through the window.

“There are two small rooms next door,” the brocade-robed man said. “You take one room, my guards take another. Each room has identical clothes and masks—help yourselves.”

Mr. Mu entered the left small room.

Simple black clothes and a mask were placed on a chair in the room.

The room was a bit cold—perhaps because there was no brazier.

Mr. Mu reached for the black clothes draped over the chair back when his hand suddenly paused, palm flipping up to catch something.

“Bang.” A sharp, fierce energy struck his palm with a crack, snapping half the chair back.

If he hadn’t turned his palm to block in time, this force would have hit him right in the face, breaking his nose bone at the very least.

Mr. Mu didn’t lower his palm, speaking coldly to the empty air: “Why must you always try to replace me? There are plenty next door, or do you think you can really defeat me in one move? Or are you afraid Jing Hengbo won’t notice and want to make some noise?”

No sound came from the rafters. Cold air drifted through. Mr. Mu snorted coldly, lowered his palm, and changed into the clothes and mask.

Next door, a group of guards were changing clothes. One of them, having put on his clothes and mask, suddenly felt a chill in his abdomen. Cold air twisted through his stomach, causing such pain that he couldn’t help clutching his belly, his face turning pale.

“You can’t go out like this,” Zhongwen said, seeing his condition resembling someone who needed the toilet. “It’ll expose us.”

That was Latin. Latin said quietly: “If I can’t control it later, that would really expose us, and the master would go mad…”

Zhongwen had to let him go quickly and return quickly. Latin had just stepped outside when he let out a muffled grunt.

Those inside heard and laughed, cursing: “That damn kid always has so much shit and piss!”

Latin returned quickly. Originally everyone changed quickly, but since Mr. Mu next door was changing slowly and they needed to go out together for the confusion effect, everyone was waiting.

When Latin returned, everyone was still joking around, saying what if the Queen picked the wrong person and chose one of them? How would they measure those three measurements? Oh my, that would be so embarrassing.

Deutsche said ominously: “Who asked you to really measure? The master clearly wants us to report random numbers. Don’t you know he dislikes us touching women?”

The guards immediately sighed in understanding—their master’s cleanliness obsession was too severe, inhumanly so. He said men who had slept with women had a strange smell and never allowed them to touch women.

The guards were all praying now for their master to quickly settle things with Miss Wen and sleep with her. Once he’d slept with a woman and acquired that smell himself, he wouldn’t mind others’ smell.

But judging by how those two were acting now, their chances of staying bachelors for life were getting bigger and bigger…

“Come line up by height,” Zhongwen called everyone to form a line. The guards were basically all quite tall, only Deutsche and Spanish were short. Zhongwen clapped his hands, and two dwarfs emerged from the corner.

These dwarfs were also under the brocade-robed man’s command, specially trained assassins used for particular missions. They’d been used in Da Yan and had suffered many losses when leaving Da Yan, with only a few remaining.

Because of their short stature and attention-grabbing nature, these dwarfs sometimes stayed directly in the bundles the guards carried.

The dwarfs climbed onto Deutsche and Spanish’s necks, put on masks—the clothes were one-piece, so now everyone was the same height.

The guards walked out, exiting simultaneously with Mr. Mu. A screen blocked the outside, and the guards staggered their positions, sandwiching Mr. Mu in the middle before walking out from behind the screen.

Jing Hengbo saw seven people approaching, all identically dressed with masks covering even their eyes and mouths, even identical in height. She was quite surprised—she clearly remembered the brocade-robed man’s guards were of varying heights.

Tall ones could compress their bones, but how did the short ones stretch themselves taller?

Her dream of distinguishing by height was shattered. Now she placed her hopes on the sentences each person would speak.

But that brocade-robed man, that world’s unparalleled master of schemes, existed specifically to extinguish people’s hopes.

He threw out a cylinder: “Speak into this—the voices will come out similarly.”

Jing Hengbo murmured: “In your past life, you must have been the surface of the moon…”

Voices couldn’t be distinguished either. Now she could only judge from those sentences. No matter what, she had to first identify Mr. Mu before the later three-measurement discussion could proceed.

The first person on the left took that round, megaphone-like device and said: “Your Majesty, do you still remember the red maples of Yuzhao Palace?”

Jing Hengbo’s expression changed, her heart jumping, then she vigorously waved her hand: “Negative points, get lost!”

The red maples belonged to Yuzhao Palace, but in a certain sense, they belonged to Jingting. Though Jingting was within Yuzhao Palace, in everyone’s perception, it existed independently as the political center of Dahuang. People familiar with the situation wouldn’t count Jingting’s things as belonging to Yuzhao Palace.

The brocade-robed man coughed as a reminder.

As outsiders unfamiliar with Dahuang, saying things related to Dahuang wasn’t smart and could easily reveal flaws.

The first was Deutsche. He hung his head in shame for his mistake, knowing he’d have to take responsibility for eating all the master’s unpalatable sweets again.

The first person on the left retreated awkwardly. The second took the homemade microphone, saying in a muffled voice: “I am the right person.”

The third said simply: “Choose me, you won’t be wrong.”

The fourth said: “Choosing him would surely be wrong—I’m the one.”

The fifth said: “Don’t choose the sixth.”

The sixth said: “How can truth and falsehood be distinguished? There will always be a day of exposure.”

The seventh said: “All of the above are wrong.”

Jing Hengbo was dumbfounded.

The brocade-robed man was also stroking his chin. This time the guards understood his meaning, but the difficulty was too great—there were no clues at all. Even he couldn’t be certain.

He could roughly determine which two it might be among, but exactly who—this involved a case where those who didn’t know the truth couldn’t draw conclusions.

Jing Hengbo closed her eyes and thought for a while.

Actually, among these seven people, two spoke differently from the others.

The fifth and sixth.

Though the others were rejecting others and recommending themselves, they either followed others’ speech patterns or rejected everyone. Only the fifth specifically pointed out not to choose the sixth.

Why did he only reject the sixth? Because he was a guard of the brocade-robed man and knew the sixth was Mr. Mu? But such words could possibly point her toward who Mr. Mu was—logically, the brocade-robed man’s guards shouldn’t say such things.

But following this reasoning, the fifth shouldn’t be Mr. Mu, because Mr. Mu should logically reject everyone to possibly be chosen himself. Simply pointing out that a certain guard wasn’t right wouldn’t be enough.

Therefore, Mr. Mu should be the sixth (who spoke rather specially, deliberately distinguishing himself) or the seventh (who rejected everyone).

The sixth was more likely. That phrase “How can truth and falsehood be distinguished” seemed to allude to some lingering doubt in her heart.

But then again, if her doubt was real and there really were two Mr. Mus, both were hiding from her and shouldn’t want her to see through them, so they shouldn’t hint at “there will always be a day of exposure.”

Jing Hengbo felt her brain, already tangled like hemp, was now even more confused.

The brocade-robed man suddenly said: “Time’s up—adding another question.”

Helplessly, Jing Hengbo slowly raised her hand, pointing toward the sixth.

Analysis and intuition told her the sixth was most likely Mr. Mu.

Her finger was already raised when she suddenly sensed breathing with a slightly abnormal frequency. This breathing made her heart jump. Her gaze shot to the fifth person, who was looking down at the ground. Following her gaze, Jing Hengbo saw the boot tip barely visible under his long robe hem, with a tiny bit of mud on the boot tip.

Her finger immediately slid past the sixth and pointed at the fifth.

“Choose him!”

The brocade-robed man narrowed his eyes and smiled: “No regrets?”

“No regrets.” Jing Hengbo stared at that mud, gritting her teeth.

“Really no regrets?” The devil’s voice was always very tempting.

Jing Hengbo extremely disliked this kind of questioning. Those with slightly weak willpower would be tempted to overturn their own decisions ninety-nine percent of the time.

“No regrets!”

“Really…”

“Are you ever going to stop?” Jing Hengbo cut off that neurotic person. “Go do whatever you’re supposed to do!”

“Then you go do whatever you’re supposed to do.” The brocade-robed man leaned back with waning interest. “There’s a room in back for you to study materials. A quarter hour should be enough, right?” He looked up at the sky, apparently speaking to no one in particular: “See, you’ve harmed me repeatedly, yet I still give you such an opportunity. I’m quite considerate, aren’t I?”

“Give me a measuring tape,” Jing Hengbo held out her hand to him.

“Don’t have one,” the brocade-robed man replied hatefully. “Measure by hand yourself.”

“I was wrong,” Jing Hengbo said with heartfelt pain. “I shouldn’t have cursed you to have sons without assholes.”

The brocade-robed man looked at her sideways—tsk tsk, here comes another trick, with the same behavior as little Cake Girl. Where did these women come from? Not one of them normal!

“…Your sons will definitely be born with two assholes!” she smiled.

The brocade-robed man nodded and said sincerely: “I’ll help convey this beautiful blessing to my wife.”

Jing Hengbo chuckled, suddenly feeling something was off.

“Please, please.” The brocade-robed man ushered her into the room, looking at that sixth black-clothed masked person, suddenly smiling mysteriously: “How about it? Very disappointed?”

The sixth person removed his mask, revealing Mr. Mu’s face, his expression still calm.

“You need proper training,” he said kindly.

“As long as you can manage it, you’re most welcome,” came the arrogant reply.

…

Next door was another dark room.

The brocade-robed man seemed to love extreme things—his own room was brightly lit while other rooms had no lamplight at all.

Upon entering the room, Jing Hengbo immediately stared at the person she’d chosen, feeling a bit nervous.

If it wasn’t Mr. Mu, she’d have to knock the person unconscious and measure by herself.

The black-clothed person removed his mask and turned around. In the darkness, she could vaguely see that slightly pale but still clear and beautiful face.

Jing Hengbo breathed a sigh of relief.

“I almost chose wrong,” she said gratefully. “I thought the sixth was Mr. Mu.”

Mr. Mu smiled slightly, saying softly: “You know your own… measurements, right?”

Jing Hengbo coughed awkwardly: “Actually, I don’t really know… especially the precise ones. You…” she asked hopefully, “If you look, you should be able to tell, right?”

Her undergarments were all quite form-fitting. If Mr. Mu could determine with a glance, she’d just sacrifice a little for the hostages. Fortunately, though her undergarments were form-fitting, they were modest and wouldn’t be indecent.

Mr. Mu was noncommittal, saying after a long while: “Perhaps we could try?”

She was also helpless. Without a ruler, she couldn’t provide precise data, which would affect human lives. In the face of human life, everything could give way—just consider it like wearing a bikini on the beach.

“Turn around,” she coughed again, her throat feeling itchy and strange.

He obediently turned away, which somewhat calmed her.

The room was very dark. She rustled as she removed her outer garments behind him while he looked at the wall.

The wall had a faint light—light reflected from outside, hitting the wall dimly and hazily. Not enough to see a person’s figure clearly, but enough to see general movements: the woman’s raised arms were slender, the woman’s stretched body line was graceful, the side profile was a precisely undulating arc. Her everything was the most beautiful silhouette in the world, reflected on the wall and on the tablet of his heart.

He slightly closed his eyes, imagining her current movements—untying her sash, slender fingers working the sash, forcefully pulling… pulling… Her mind was very agile, but her handiwork wasn’t very skillful. Yet such clumsiness appeared adorable to him.

Suddenly he remembered that moment before the palace coup, when she had pulled him down onto the couch, asking softly and gently: “Do you want me…”

That question was both hoped for and not hoped for by him, an indescribable feeling. He only remembered that moment when her eyes were like wine and lips like flowers—one glance would intoxicate you to the heart, making you want to dive into the flower’s center.

In that instant, his fingers had already touched her sash. He believed that with just a hook and flick, he could remove any barrier between them. But sometimes, fate’s obstacles are the distance between heaven’s edge and sea’s corner…

Suddenly her voice interrupted his thoughts, sounding somewhat embarrassed: “Ready.”

He turned around. She stood before him with hands on her hips, wearing form-fitting black clothes and pants. The hands-on-hips pose made her waist appear startlingly slender, and the pants were seven-eighths length, making the exposed section of her calves appear snow-white.

She was the type who was already charming fully clothed and even more stunning with slight exposure. Regardless of men’s preferences, few could maintain composure before such a figure.

His breathing became slightly rapid, but he felt grateful that he hadn’t gone far out of concern. Otherwise, some random cat or dog would be looking at her now…

Jing Hengbo appeared composed, chin raised in a classic runway model pose, but her darting eyes betrayed her nervousness.

She was naturally bold and outgoing, seeing nothing wrong with displaying bodily beauty. When she’d first transmigrated, this mindset was still strong, so she’d danced pole dancing quite passionately. But the longer she stayed in this other world, the more she was influenced by ancient people, gradually realizing that while she might not mind, others might not have pure intentions. Ancient people weren’t as accepting as modern people—she shouldn’t let people fantasize about her. Thus she’d gradually become more restrained.

However, standing before Mr. Mu at this moment felt different somehow. Deep in her heart were several parts unease, several parts small joy, several parts small anticipation, and several parts shyness… Those complex emotions surprised her… Was it because in her heart, he was different?

Thinking this, she couldn’t help being startled, forgetting her embarrassment and urging him: “How about it? Can you roughly tell?”

“Oh.” He seemed to suddenly realize, saying indifferently: “But I still feel that just looking makes it difficult to report accurate numbers.”

Jing Hengbo made an “uh” sound, unable to help glaring at him—if he couldn’t tell by looking, why didn’t he say so earlier! She’d shown herself to him for nothing!

“I measured before coming—it was 92, 64, 93,” she said sourly. “But I don’t know if there have been changes now.”

“How about I measure again?” he mused.

“Pervert!” she scolded in embarrassed anger.

Without a ruler, how would he measure if he volunteered? With his hands?

He looked at her very innocently, reaching to take a soft measuring tape from a nearby table: “Measuring with a ruler—what’s wrong with that?”

Jing Hengbo made another “uh” sound—damn, if there was a ruler, why didn’t he say so!

With a soft tape, another problem arose—she couldn’t measure herself.

She could only say helplessly: “You do it.” Then warned: “Don’t look randomly.”

He nodded obediently as if he understood, seriously taking the ruler and walking over. Jing Hengbo closed her eyes to wait. After a long time with no movement, she opened her eyes to see him silently watching her.

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“This…” he gestured with the ruler, “how do I measure?”

Only then did Jing Hengbo realize that a pampered young master wasn’t a tailor by trade—how would he know how to take measurements?

She had to personally instruct him: “Reach your hand over… through my armpit… around in a circle… at… at…” She stopped.

She seemed unable to say “measure at the highest point.”

She raised her arms, and his soft tape passed under her armpit—exactly an embracing posture. His faint, clear fragrance drifted over, his black silky hair lightly brushing her chin. She felt ticklish around her neck, sensing his breath hitting the skin of her chest, moist and warm, the frequency seeming a bit fast. For a moment, she seemed to have an illusion that the next instant, he would hold her tightly.

But he didn’t. His body slowly withdrew, drawing toward her chest. Before she could react, his fingers had reached her chest. Whether intentional or not, that gentle touch and ripple made her tremble like being electrified, her face immediately reddening.

He seemed to know she was embarrassed and quickly read the measurement before withdrawing the tape. She feared he might not have seen clearly in his nervousness and hastily called “ah,” but after the words left her mouth, she felt even more unable to speak—what could she say? Tell him he didn’t seem to see clearly and measure again? He’d think her a loose woman.

Before she could think clearly, he had already learned without teaching, wrapping the soft tape around her waist.

The tape swayed around her waist in its extremely short length. He bent slightly at the waist, facing her flat abdomen. The form-fitting undergarment bunched slightly upward here, revealing a thin strip of waist skin. Against the black satin, it was dazzlingly white and smooth as satin. Being so close, he could feel the rich fragrance emanating from within the woman’s body. The fragrance here felt different from usual—warmer and more mysterious, reminiscent of this place being near where women would bear offspring, a most crucial location.

He wondered—this woman’s body was heaven’s gift, most pure and beautiful. In the distant future, for whom would she bear life?

The soft tape gently moved down, pausing briefly at another full area of the woman. This time he faced her long legs—straight, with no gap when pressed together. Even through her pants, he could feel the skin’s firmness and elasticity. After two years in Dahuang with constant training, her body’s flexibility and muscle elasticity had greatly improved.

That tightly pressed posture instead made one think of more acceptance and opening…

He didn’t linger, quickly recording the measurement and saying “finished,” his forehead somehow already beaded with slight sweat.

Jing Hengbo also released a long breath. She’d felt his held breath; she herself had similarly held her breath, inexplicably nervous. Actually, he was the same as usual—quite the gentleman, not deliberately delaying or deliberately touching. But whenever he came close and his hot, slightly quickened breath hit her skin, she had to resist trembling. She was very grateful there was still a layer of clothing blocking his view of the skin’s slight trembling and reddening beneath…

“Are the measurements accurate…” she coughed and asked.

“Should be fine,” he said.

Jing Hengbo immediately started to dress, but the brocade-robed man’s voice drifted from outside: “There’s another set of numbers I need, please.”

A paper flew in. Jing Hengbo tried to catch it, but he grabbed it first, and after just one glance, his expression deepened.

Jing Hengbo immediately had a bad premonition, forcing a smile as she asked: “What measurements do they want from you? Also three measurements?”

She thought this was also quite underhanded, but normal too—that guy outside was a pervert after all, and obviously sexually frustrated, so he deliberately tormented others in this area, completely without limits. But measuring a man’s three measurements… cough cough, that was still okay.

Outside, the brocade-robed man tapped the couch edge, thinking the temporarily added requirement was quite good—they could compare their masculine prowess. Of course, he’d definitely be the strongest.

“What measurements?” Jing Hengbo already had the soft tape in hand, eager to try. She was always enthusiastic about anything that could even the score.

He coughed, somewhat unnaturally saying: “First, the same as you.”

She automatically ignored the word “first,” taking the soft tape and saying: “Take off your outer garment and raise your hands.”

He obediently removed his outer robe, wearing white underneath. He quickly removed the white garment too. Jing Hengbo said: “Hey, you’re not going to strip completely, are you…” Fortunately, he stopped at his undergarment and raised his hands.

Jing Hengbo laughed: “Surrender and you won’t be killed.” She approached, wrapping the soft tape around his chest.

Fearing mistakes, she measured very carefully. With poor lighting, she had to lean close to see clearly, not noticing that his hands had lowered, loosely embracing her back.

He gazed at the wall, where their embracing silhouettes were reflected.

She tightened the soft tape, frowning slightly: “You’re thinner than I imagined…”

With only one layer of clothing between them, she could feel the chest beneath her fingers, the slightly protruding ribs. She suddenly felt somewhat heavy-hearted.

When measuring his waist, she exclaimed again: “Your waist is almost as thin as mine…”

Sometimes she felt uncomfortable while he remained composed, which made her more natural. She quickly measured, her fingers afraid to touch certain areas, so she simply crossed in front, remembering the crossing point’s measurement.

She avoided touching that area but forgot this required getting closer, creating a rather ambiguous posture. Her warm breath wafted over, his fingers lightly touching her head, trembling slightly.

Jing Hengbo recorded the measurements, about to say “finished,” when she heard him say: “They also require measuring arm, leg, and shoulder lengths.”

Having measured the three measurements, what was there to fear about arms and legs? She worked happily, saying as she did: “With your long arms and legs, making clothes will use a lot of fabric, haha.”

“Mm.” He actually joined in the banter: “My future wife will lose money supporting me. Sewing clothes will take so long.”

She chuckled, finding this quite cute, suddenly remembering that long ago, on a certain day under red maples, she seemed to have promised to sew underwear for someone.

Though only a year had passed, it seemed like a previous life. Even the maple leaves in memory had taken on a weathered redness. That underwear promise still fluttered in the wind, but in this lifetime, it would be difficult to pick up that heavy needle again.

She restrained her smile, suddenly losing interest in joking.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. She was on tiptoe, measuring his shoulder width, her hair somewhat disheveled, messily draped over his shoulder. With one turn of his head, he could kiss her face.

But he didn’t dare.

Others’ kiss might be a confession; his kiss might be a startling away.

Her skin’s fragrance penetrated his body. He didn’t dare hope for too much, only seeking to bathe in that faint, quiet fragrance, watching her busily attending to him.

Perhaps he could use this to imagine, fantasizing that she was his gentle, capable little wife, taking his measurements to tailor clothes.

Because it was too beautiful and rare, he preferred to just silently immerse himself, unwilling to make any rash moves that might shatter this moment.

In this instant, he suddenly began to thank the brocade-robed man. Regardless of what mischievous purpose the brocade-robed man had, this experience was invaluable to him.

Jing Hengbo silently finished her work, thinking these measurements would be perfect for making someone a fine robe. But what use was measuring? This was just a test question, and the person she’d once wanted to make a robe for might not need it.

Just as she was about to tell the outside they were finished, he suddenly held her back: “There’s one more measurement…”

“What?” She was surprised—everything that should be measured had been measured.

“This…”

His rare hesitation made her curious. Anxious to solve the problem, she couldn’t help repeatedly urging. When pressed, he finally said: “Come closer to my ear.”

“It’s just the two of us—why be so secretive…” She smiled but still leaned over. After hearing just a few words, her face flushed completely red.

Red to a vivid degree this thick-skinned person had never achieved…

She stared for a long time, then unleashed a torrent of curses: “Perverted! Shameless! Disgraceful! Vulgar! Despicable…” An endless stream of greetings that covered the brocade-robed man’s ancestors back eight generations. Finally, she threw down the soft tape in anger: “I won’t measure! Do it yourself!”

“Do it myself…” he smiled bitterly, “but it also needs to… be ready before it can work…”

Actually, the brocade-robed man hadn’t specified what state the measurement should be taken in, but any man wouldn’t want to lose face on this measurement issue.

Jing Hengbo was about to explode: “What does this have to do with me!”

“Hey, are you finished?” the brocade-robed man was still shouting from the other side. “If you delay, I’ll start chopping hostages’ hands and feet! I’ll count to three hundred, and you report the measurements to me. One delay, I chop one person’s finger. One… two…”

Jing Hengbo suddenly gritted her teeth and lunged at him.