Xu Ji stood at the palace gates and waited, willing himself to be calm. The deep breathing wasn’t working very well, but it was the only thing he could think of.

He told himself: you’ve already died. Walk in there as a dead man.

If Yujian managed to intercept those men from Shu before they reached the city — he might buy himself another reprieve. If not, the Emperor would have no reason left to spare him, no matter how willing he might actually have been.

He and the false monk were led by an inner attendant through the palace toward the Eastern Warm Chamber, Xu Ji murmuring last-minute instructions the entire way. The false monk walked with his eyes fixed on the ground, so frightened he seemed to have left part of himself behind.

Into the Eastern Warm Chamber. Li Chi glanced at Xu Ji and then at the monk — and very nearly laughed.

Everything about this man’s bearing said plainly that he had never once moved at ease among the powerful. A man who had spent years navigating the courts, the harems, the nobles, and even the Emperor of Chu himself — that man would not be shaking like this.

“What is the great monk’s name?” Li Chi asked pleasantly.

The false Zangjie crashed to his knees, his voice barely holding together: “Your — Your Majesty. This commoner is called Zangjie.”

Even Li Chi had to laugh at that. *This commoner is called Zangjie.* What an answer.

“Please, rise. No need to kneel.”

The false monk tried. His legs gave out. He didn’t make it up on the first attempt.

An awkward silence. Xu Ji’s face was tighter than his own.

From the floor, the false monk said: “Forgive this commoner, Your Majesty. Faced with your divine presence, my legs have gone to water. Please allow this commoner a moment.”

Xu Ji breathed out slowly and thought: *I spent all that time teaching him. For nothing.*

But what could he do? Things were as they were. One step at a time — and the steps were not going to be good ones.

“I am told,” Li Chi said, “that you tended to many patients in the capital of Daxing City?”

“Yes, yes, yes. This commoner did treat quite a few people there, just to make ends meet…”

Listening to that answer, Li Chi almost looked over to cover his face on Xu Ji’s behalf. He did glance at him, and Xu Ji immediately bowed his head.

“He’s truly frightened, Your Majesty. If he speaks nonsense, I hope Your Majesty will forgive the lapse.”

“He seems genuine enough,” Li Chi said. “We won’t hold that against him. If he can’t stand, let him speak from the floor.”

The false monk let out a breath of such obvious relief that he sat down right there, a full collapse to the floor. Clearly his legs really had given out.

“I understand you gave Xu Ji a formula to help restore his health. He has found it effective. I have some knowledge of medicine myself — would you be willing to explain the formula to me?”

“Willing, willing, of course willing.”

The false monk recited it — stumbling over some words, but getting through it without error. It was the formula the real Zangjie had written out for him. Xu Ji had drilled it into him until he could recite it flawlessly. The memory had held.

Li Chi considered the combination of ingredients. There was, in fact, something to it.

He turned to glance at Shen Rujian, who had been sitting quietly to one side. She gave a small nod: the formula was sound.

Li Chi had specifically asked her here for exactly this. With her medical expertise, she needed only one hearing to judge whether a prescription was genuine. She was certain the formula was real — and equally certain it had not been created by the trembling man on the floor.

“A remarkable formula,” Li Chi said. “How did you come up with it?”

“It just… came to me, I didn’t mean to…”

Li Chi inclined his head. Then, looking down at the floor: “If We wished to keep you here in the palace, would you be willing?”

The false monk startled. He had no idea what to say.

Xu Ji had prepared him for many possible questions — but not this one. Xu Ji had never imagined the Emperor would directly offer to keep someone of uncertain identity in the palace. That made no sense.

Not knowing what to answer, the false monk instinctively looked at Xu Ji. Xu Ji shot him a sharp look — *the Emperor asked you, not me* — and then said, covering: “Your Majesty, this man’s behavior is coarse and he has little education. Keeping him in the palace might cause offense to those of higher station. I would counsel against —”

“We wish to keep him here,” Li Chi cut in, looking at Xu Ji. “He can think for himself. What are you thinking for?”

Xu Ji swallowed his reply.

The false monk genuinely didn’t know what to do. Stay? Stay was a death sentence — his medical knowledge was nowhere near enough to survive scrutiny from the palace physicians.

After a long hesitation, the false monk shook his head. “Your Majesty, forgive this commoner’s presumption, but this commoner truly dares not impose himself. If Your Majesty has use of this commoner in future, a summons to the palace for a conversation would suffice. There is no need to keep this commoner here. The Chancellor is correct — this commoner has no manners, no learning, and it would be better if…”

“All right, all right,” Li Chi said. “There’s nothing criminal about not wanting to stay. As long as We can find you again when needed.”

That last remark — *as long as We can find you again when needed* — made the false monk flinch so hard he nearly knocked himself over.

Li Chi moved to stand over him. “It seems Xu Ji spent considerable time teaching you how to speak. And yet you appear to have retained very little.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the false monk said, head still bowed. “Your Majesty is correct. The Chancellor did teach this commoner a great deal.”

“Such as?” Li Chi asked pleasantly.

The false monk opened his mouth — and the small eunuch Ding Qing’an slipped in from outside and knelt before Li Chi. “Your Majesty, the Deputy Chief Justice Zhang Tang requests an audience.”

“Send him in.”

Ding Qing’an withdrew.

Li Chi looked back at the false monk. “You were about to say something. Ah, yes — and you flinched just now when you heard Zhang Tang’s name. Why is that?”

“This commoner… this commoner…”

He had only gotten those two words out when he lifted his head and looked at Li Chi, and his left hand came up — powder burst from his sleeve in a cloud.

At such close range, with so much powder, there was no avoiding it.

But in that instant, Li Chi had already stepped back two paces. His wide sleeve billowed outward.

No one had noticed — not until this moment — when the Emperor had learned Ye Zhanzhu’s signature technique, the Flowing Cloud Sleeve.

The two great sleeves swept forward, and the room erupted as though a storm had passed through. In the swirling haze, the false monk was no longer the cowering figure of before: retreating at speed, his other hand snapped forward and a torrent of needles exploded from his sleeve.

In that moment, a rainbow swept in from the side — dazzling and brilliant, catching the eye completely.

It was not a rainbow. It was Shen Rujian’s shawl.

It came in a horizontal arc, a shimmering wall that appeared between Li Chi and the oncoming needles. Every single needle buried itself in the fabric.

The next breath, the false monk burst through the window, fast as the wind.

Ye Xiaoqian, captain of the Inner Palace Guard, moved in the same instant — her longsword drove toward the monk’s back like a bolt of lightning.

In midair, the monk wrenched himself sideways. Both palms clapped together, and with a sharp crack he caught Ye Xiaoqian’s blade between them. He twisted his hands; Ye Xiaoqian couldn’t hold the grip and the sword slipped from her fingers — but in the same heartbeat, another hand produced an iron spike and drove it at the monk’s eyes.

The monk couldn’t ignore that. He deflected it with the captured sword, then hurled the blade at Ye Xiaoqian. Having escaped two blows, he kicked off the ground, flashed across the low buildings on the southeastern side of the courtyard, and launched himself outward.

The Weiyang Palace walls were high — even a first-rate martial artist could not simply fly up to the top of them. Not him, not even a matchless master like Master Chu.

But he seemed to know this place intimately — the layout, the guard positions. He went straight for the row of low administrative buildings used by senior officials for daily work. With the roof ridges underfoot, he threw out a long, thin, flexible cord. It caught the battlements. He ran up the wall.

That speed was something to witness.

At the top, he dodged several crossbow bolts, dropped three or four Imperial Guards, and leaped off the outside face of the wall.

Every movement was seamless — not a moment of hesitation — as though he had memorized every inch of this palace long ago.

Li Chi, watching, was not angry at the escape. If anything, he looked faintly impressed. He made sure Xu Ji didn’t see the expression.

—

The monk landed outside the walls and threaded through a narrow lane — a route he had already scouted.

He was not the false one. He was the real Zangjie.

The night he had appeared to leave Xu Ji’s estate, he had turned back halfway, slipped into the rear courtyard under cover of darkness, and killed the man hired to impersonate him. Then he had used disguise arts to assume the false monk’s appearance.

That was why, during the visit with Xu Ji, he had kept his head down the entire time and refused to meet Xu Ji’s eyes.

The day he had entered the Weiyang Palace disguised as one of Xu Ji’s attendants, he had surveyed the terrain. The extra wandering on the way out had not been about losing any tail — it was preparation for today’s escape.

—