The late spring, early summer sun was warm and languid, sapping the will to do any work at all.

Xiao Nanhui wandered aimlessly along the main street, bored and unhurried. It was neither a festival nor a holiday, and aside from the usual vendors going about their trade, the street was not particularly crowded.

She looked left and right, picked out a few sweet tangerines and had them wrapped in paper, then set off toward Yanfu Street.

She had never had many friends, let alone close confidantes among women her age.

The year she had just turned ten, the Qinghuai Marquis, unable to withstand the curiosity of the capital’s noble families, had brought her along to the one-month banquet of Duke Xuanyuan’s youngest son. A crowd of delicately made-up little children were imitating the adults — sipping tea, admiring flowers, playing chess — none of which Xiao Nanhui knew anything about, so she could only stand stiffly in the distance. Then, from nowhere, a boy appeared and plucked a flower to “tease” the daughter of the Minister of Rites — what was in truth a spot of playful flirting, Xiao Nanhui mistook for bullying. With a lunge and a punch, she knocked out one of Duke Xuanyuan’s second son’s front teeth.

After that incident, Xiao Zhun rarely brought her to such gatherings again.

Naturally, she had few more opportunities to mingle with the young ladies of noble families.

At first, Xiao Nanhui had felt a little aggrieved. But her spirits recovered quickly, and she gradually came to be glad of it. The martial arts masters who taught her to box were far easier to get along with, and even the stable hands who tended the horses looked more agreeable to her than anyone she had seen in that garden that day.

As time passed, her impression of sons and daughters of noble families remained frozen at that afternoon in Duke Xuanyuan’s back garden. From then on, whenever she encountered a young man in fine robes or a woman in beautiful clothing, a natural wariness would well up from deep within her — a feeling she could not suppress even if she tried.

Practicing sword, spear, riding, and archery, her days were busy and full, her free time scarce — and in truth, easily filled.

In the past few years she had followed Xiao Zhun as he traveled from place to place, and Xiao Nanhui had risen to the rank of squad leader in the army camp. Her ambitions for office were modest, and for a woman who was also a military officer, she was already more than satisfied. Yet once she held a rank, even in peacetime she had to make regular trips to the camp north of Quecheng’s city walls, and the last time she had come to Yanfu Street to see Yaoyi had been three months ago.

Yaoyi was the manager of Wangchen Tower, a renowned establishment on Yanfu Street, famous for its celebrated courtesans and performers who were considered peerless under heaven.

The founder of Wangchen Tower had been a free-spirited soul. From the very first establishment opened in Chizhou, the very first rule had been set in stone: none of the tower’s celebrated beauties or performers were required to sign binding contracts of servitude — everything was done of their own free will. Those with many patrons could receive greater earnings each month; those with fewer paid their own expenses. Over time, only the finest remained. Without anyone being coerced into a false smile, patrons also had a far better time, and so the tower had earned its reputation as a true haven of pleasure and forgetfulness.

For convenience, Xiao Nanhui had dressed in men’s clothing. Her features lacked the soft charm of most women, and she was tall — no great disguise was needed.

It was not yet the liveliest hour on the pleasure street, and the beauties were still dozing behind their bed curtains. The tower was staffed only by sweeping servants, busily clearing away the mess left from the previous night’s revelries.

When Xiao Nanhui strode in with her usual casual swagger, nobody stopped her. Everyone was occupied with their own tasks, too busy to even look up.

She glanced around, searching the bustling crowd for that one particular busy figure.

“Yaoyi!”

Behind a counter not far away, a young man in a long robe turned his head. In his round face sat a pair of resentful little eyes that darted around, eventually settling on the woman standing at the entrance.

Xiao Nanhui waved her arm and flashed a smile of bright white teeth.

In a side room in Wangchen Tower’s rear courtyard, freshly picked flower bundles had been sorted into piles around the room, waiting to serve as adornments for the tower’s beauties. Xiao Nanhui was somewhat sensitive to flower pollen and sneezed several times in a row.

“Can’t we move somewhere else?”

Yaoyi had five or six stacks of account books spread open before him, one hand working an abacus while the other poured himself a cup of cool tea.

“What is it? Say what you need to say and then clear out — I’m drowning in work.”

Xiao Nanhui had long since grown used to Yaoyi’s insufferable manner. She untied the leather cord and unfolded the paper wrapping to reveal the golden tangerines inside. “Nothing in particular. I had some free time and thought I’d come see you.”

Yaoyi glanced at the tangerines. The abacus continued to clatter away without pause. “Why don’t I believe that? Did those dirt-lickers in the camp make your life difficult again, and now you’ve come running here because you couldn’t out-argue them?”

Yaoyi, though a shrewd businessman, fancied himself a man of letters, and held the soldiers and officers in Xiao Zhun’s camp in great contempt for their hot-headed ways. When Xiao Nanhui was small and followed Xiao Zhun to the camp, she had been bullied quite a bit at first — she had even cried over it. Gradually things had improved, and when she occasionally ran errands for Xiao Zhun at the camp, things generally went smoothly enough.

“I didn’t go to the camp. Today is my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” Yaoyi’s hand on the abacus finally came to a stop. He seemed to have only just remembered this particular detail. He studied Xiao Nanhui, holding his gaze long enough to make her slightly uncomfortable. “If it’s your birthday, why aren’t you spending it with Xiao Zhun? Why come here?”

Xiao Nanhui put on an air of indifference. “Oh, he had business at the palace.”

“Doesn’t he usually take the day off?”

“He’ll probably be done before long — he should be back soon.”

“When did he leave?”

“Just past the third watch of the night.”

Yaoyi let out a cold laugh. Xiao Nanhui bristled. “Maybe something important came up?”

Yaoyi raised an eyebrow. “Yes, of course — something terribly important, no doubt.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she could not help but bring up the real matter. “Speaking of which — have there been any unusual news from the palace recently?”

So that was why she had come.

Yaoyi rolled his eyes and made a show of grumbling. “What do you think this place is? How would I know anything about what goes on in the palace?”

From his tone, it was clear he knew something.

Xiao Nanhui drew a breath and inched her cushion closer to him. “You truly don’t know?”

Yaoyi twisted his head stubbornly away. “Don’t know. Don’t know.”

Xiao Nanhui leaned close and sighed into his ear. “Very well. It’s just a shame about those mushrooms I brought all the way back from Beizhi with such effort. The weather’s only going to get warmer — they won’t keep much longer. I suppose I’ll just have to feed them to Jixiang.”

Jixiang was Xiao Nanhui’s mount — a piebald horse with a patchy coat and an inexplicable love of mushrooms.

Yaoyi practically launched himself upright from where he sat, with an agility that made Xiao Nanhui half expect him to punch a hole through the ceiling.

“Xiao Nanhui! You wasteful fool! I’m a whole living person, and you’d rank me below a four-hooved beast?!”

Sometimes, Xiao Nanhui thought Yaoyi and Jixiang were rather alike. Both ugly, ill-tempered, and picky about what they ate — only the freshest mushrooms would do. But when you truly needed them, they were surprisingly reliable.

Yaoyi was still fuming through his nose. Xiao Nanhui quickly pulled him back down onto the cushion with a grin. “How could you possibly be compared to it? I specifically had someone pack that mushroom in ice to keep it fresh. How about I have it sent over to you this afternoon?”

Yaoyi grabbed one of the tangerines from the table, peeled it, and shoved seven or eight segments into his mouth at once. “This afternoon?”

Xiao Nanhui made her pledge without delay. “Today, today. The moment I get back to the mansion, I’ll have it sent over. So…” After a brief pause, as she could not escape the real topic, “might Brother Yaoyi have anything to share with me?”

Yaoyi had just swallowed the last of his tangerine, took a sip of tea, and then crooked a finger.

Xiao Nanhui took the hint and leaned in closer.

Yaoyi lowered his voice and spoke unhurriedly. “Have you heard of the Qu Clan of Wancheng?”

Xiao Nanhui looked blank. “Qu Clan? Which Qu Clan?”

Yaoyi’s tone turned contemptuous. “Spend any more time in that camp of yours and you’ll turn into a complete fool. Surely you know of Buxu Valley?”

That, at least, jogged her memory.

Wancheng was situated in the heart of Jizhou — an ancient city of a thousand years, nestled within a ring of mountains and waters. To its due west lay a secluded valley, accessible only to those who dwelt within it: Buxu Valley.

For a thousand years, Buxu Valley had given rise to remarkable and unusual figures, and legends of the clan still circulated throughout Wancheng to this day. Xiao Nanhui had traveled far and wide with the army, so she naturally knew of it.

She nodded, unwilling to let the label of fool stick to her so easily, and after working her jaw in thought for a moment, said, “You’re saying there’s unrest in the palace now, and it’s connected to this Qu Clan?”

“Who can say?” Yaoyi neither confirmed nor denied it, instead idly flicking one of the white beads on the abacus as he drifted into old tales. “There is only a rumor — that the Qu Clan, who once had the power to raise or ruin a kingdom, came out of Buxu Valley. But since the time of Tiancheng, that surname has not been heard of for many years. For it to appear so suddenly now — that is unlikely to be a good thing.”

Three hundred years ago, a clan called Qu had risen in the lands of Chizhou. At the height of their influence, the Qu Clan numbered no more than a dozen people — yet those few had raised up one dynasty and brought down another.

Legend said that the Qu Clan produced remarkable individuals, and that the members of the family were connected through their bloodline — when one advanced, all the others did too. At the time, the realm still bore the name of the Qiu Dynasty, and the emperor had favored the Qu Clan to manage the imperial family’s secret affairs. Though they held no official title, they wielded power equivalent to a second emperor — a custom that continued until the dynasty’s eventual ruin.

The Qiu Dynasty’s realm had been won by the Qu Clan, and lost by them as well. The histories recorded: The Qu Clan of the southwest, who came from within the valley — in one age they were the gods who saved the world, in another age the demons who destroyed it. Such is the way of all things.

Such an existence had always been both cherished and feared by rulers throughout the ages.

Yaoyi was clearly gifted as a storyteller, yet today he was plainly not inclined to say much more. He leaned close and said quietly, “Half a month ago, someone in Mu Er He of Huozhou put out a generous price seeking descendants of the Qu Clan to authenticate a piece of jade. Half a month has now passed — whether anyone responded, I do not know.”

With that, Yaoyi lowered his head and returned to his accounts. Xiao Nanhui knew he would not say more, so she turned the matter over in her own mind.

Mu Er He of Huozhou. Jade. Descendants of the Qu Clan.

What hidden connection bound these three together — enough to unsettle even the exalted emperor, to the point of summoning his most trusted officials to court in urgent audience? Could it possibly be that…

A vague thought flashed through Xiao Nanhui’s mind, and she herself found it almost too far-fetched to entertain.

Among the affairs the Qu Clan had once managed on behalf of the imperial family, one was the safeguarding of the imperial seal. After the fall of the Niexuan Dynasty, one of three imperial seals had vanished without a trace — and its last known location had been somewhere near Mu Er He in northern Huozhou.

In recent years, rumors about this seal had never ceased, though most amounted to nothing more than speculation. Xiao Nanhui was not by nature one who liked to gather intelligence, but this one matter she had always kept a close eye on — because the seal was bound up with a chapter of Xiao Zhun’s family history.

Across the room, Yaoyi had not even looked up, yet somehow seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Stop whatever notion is brewing in your head,” he said bluntly. “There are some things not one person alone can investigate and resolve.”

Xiao Nanhui was not ready to let it go, and murmured, “But—”

Xiao Nanhui was a fine person in every regard, except for a certain stubborn single-mindedness. Yaoyi could feel his temper straining at its limits.

“The Xiao Family — seventy-nine lives, every single one lost. Only Xiao Zhun survived. Tell me — why did those who did it spare him?”

Xiao Nanhui had not expected Yaoyi to bring up such a forbidden subject so casually. She went still for a moment, then spoke after a long pause. “Perhaps because he knew nothing.”

“That’s right — because he knew nothing. Now tell me: if he were to know now, would those people let him live?”

Xiao Nanhui fell silent.

Yaoyi let out a quiet sigh and said no more.

For a time, the side room was filled only with the clatter of the abacus, rattling on and on.