Atop the roof ridges, Xiao Nanhui ran at full speed, scanning the path of the ceremonial procession in the near distance.

The river of leaping flames broke into view at intervals between the spreading eaves and rooftops, and against the backdrop of the night, it seemed as though a true deity had descended upon this ancient city, stepping one footfall at a time toward the offerings awaiting him.

The procession turned the final corner and advanced toward the end of the route.

The outline of the Youyin Altar was already dimly visible in the dark ahead, and there were roughly a hundred steps left before reaching the sacrificial platform.

The young attendant driving the last float had long since soaked his palms through with sweat. Driving the float was hard work, and the ceremonial route was complex — keeping things from going wrong required sustaining full alertness every moment. Now that the finish line was in sight, some of the weight lifted from his chest.

Just as he was thinking this, one side wheel suddenly dipped, and the whole float tilted slightly. The attendant turned in bewilderment, looking back toward the wooden tower behind him — and saw a figure who had appeared on the float at some unknown moment.

The false officiant snapped around. Catching sight of Xiao Nanhui, she did not move for a moment — clearly somewhat startled.

“What’s the matter? Did you think you had gotten rid of me?”

Xiao Nanhui shook a few broken tiles from her feet and wasted no more words, going straight at the other woman.

The false officiant could see that Xiao Nanhui’s skill far surpassed her own. Relying on a woman’s natural flexibility and suppleness, she wove back and forth between the bamboo poles of the float, evading. Xiao Nanhui pressed forward without defending, intent on knocking the woman off the float entirely.

In the torchlight, the top level of the float now held two figures both wearing the same mask. The two wrestled and struck at each other across the barely-navigable surface of the float, each fighting to seize the precious jade placed on the offering stand. It was a remarkably arresting sight.

The onlookers below had no idea what was happening, and assumed this was a special performance added to this year’s Zhuming Festival. The cheering rose even higher, and the atmosphere reached a peak of frenzy.

The nine-story wooden tower on the float was already top-heavy and precarious to begin with, requiring the utmost care under any circumstances. Now with two grown adults leaping and rolling about on top of it, the float rocked and lurched as though on the verge of collapse at any moment. The driver cried out inwardly with exhaustion, drenched in sweat, using all his strength to keep the reins pulled tight so the frightened horses would not bolt.

The ceremonial float staggered and lurched its difficult way forward.

A hundred steps away, inside the Youyin Altar, Zou Sifang had been escorted by three high priests to the final offering platform.

This sacrificial platform within the altar was also of great antiquity, but being built of stone, it remained sturdy to this day — only the bricks at the outer edges showed some wear. The stone slabs were of a format no longer in production, the technique of firing them long since lost, and any damage that occurred could never be replaced. Later generations had cast bronze lamps to fill the gaps as ornaments, and had chiseled a shallow channel along the outer perimeter of the stonework. During ceremonies, this channel was filled with heated lamp oil; once lit, the flowing oil carried the flame in a winding trail that wrapped the entire altar platform in a brilliant circle of fire — a spectacular sight.

Tonight, the oil in the bronze lamps had been filled and was waiting. When the officiant of the float, representing the divine Jima, arrived at the altar to place the offering upon the heavenly platform, the lamp oil would be lit immediately.

The fire from the altar would burn continuously. People would keep adding oil to ensure the flames did not go out. The fire must never be artificially extinguished — it had to wait for rain to fall from the sky before it could be considered that the ceremony was complete.

According to stories, the longest it had ever burned was more than a month before the rain finally came.

This time, how long would it be?

Behind the many expectant figures standing at the altar platform, the great and ancient pagoda rose into the clouds above, blocking half the moon from view.

The Pinxiao Pagoda, which had been full of noise and commotion during the day, was now quiet as a deep well. Only the faint sounds of the crowd outside the tower drifted in.

On the glazed tiles at the fifth story of the pagoda’s outer body, two dark figures stood and sat motionless — one seated, one standing — like a pair of mythical beasts that had always belonged on the ridge tiles. Aside from their clothes stirring in the wind, they did not move at all.

After a long silence, the seated figure spoke at last.

“The moonlight isn’t clear tonight — will you be able to see from here?”

The one standing nodded and answered softly.

“I can see.”

“Good. Then proceed as we discussed.”

Ding Weixiang turned to look at the other person’s expression, and hesitated: “My lord, I still feel that—”

“It will be fine.” The man’s face wore an expression that was ambiguous and indeterminate, in perfect harmony with the surrounding darkness — his silhouette seemed to dissolve into it, only the scattered sparks of candlelight below reflected in faint flickers in his eyes. “You’ve already put me up here. Even if someone wants to kill me, they’d still have to climb for a quarter-hour to do it. What is there to worry about?”

Ding Weixiang was lost for words. This was not the point at all — the point was that nothing in the world was entirely without its one-in-ten-thousand chance of going wrong, and he could not bear the consequence of that one-in-ten-thousand.

“Since we set out, I have been anxious every single day. What we’re doing tonight is genuinely dangerous — my lord, I—”

Zhong Li Jing shifted to sit with his legs crossed, so that both knees now jutted over the edge of the flying eave, suspended above empty air below. He looked on, unperturbed, as though he were merely sitting on a straw mat in an open field. “You’ve traveled alongside me all this time — have you ever once seen me do anything with nine chances out of ten before acting? If that were the case, you and I would not be here at all right now.”

Ding Weixiang had no answer to give.

There was no arguing with this lord of his, try as he might — and why did he always end up putting himself through this thankless exercise, anyway?

“I understand, my lord. I will give everything I have.”

“Mm.” The man gave only a light hum of acknowledgment, and then added, with unhurried and undramatic neutrality: “You should give everything you have. Look at that outsider — she has the look of someone putting her life on the line for this, and I don’t even know her all that well. Anyone who didn’t know better would think she was my most devoted confidant of many years.”

Ding Weixiang followed the man’s gaze downward. The ceremonial floats were slowly nearing their destination. Atop the grandest float in the procession, two figures could clearly be seen in fierce, entangled combat.

As though moved by some inexplicable impulse, Ding Weixiang opened his mouth almost unconsciously: “Miss Xiao is throwing herself into this so completely — it must be for the General’s sake.”

The words had barely left him before the air around them seemed to shift. He caught himself in that same instant, and instantly regretted it.

A long pause passed before a cold voice came from the darkness beside him.

“And what of it? In the end, it all comes to the same thing.”

??*

The young attendant driving the float pressed down the impulse to look back for the seventh time, and convinced himself that all was well and that he knew nothing.

Of course, not looking back was the wiser choice, by far.

If he had looked back just then, he would have seen the exquisite float that had taken more than a month of effort to construct for the Zhuming Festival — now stripped apart, smashed to pieces, and barely recognizable.

The two engaged in violently disassembling the float were both now somewhat out of breath. Xiao Nanhui was thoroughly tired of fighting in such a frustrating, cramped way. The float had just turned through the main gate of the Youyin Altar, and she took her chance — one decisive flying kick straight at her opponent’s face. The woman ducked aside in a hurry, but Xiao Nanhui grabbed hold of the sash at her waist, and the two of them went down together in a tangled heap, rolling a dozen steps across the ground, and came to rest at the foot of the altar’s stone steps.

The impact of the fall knocked both their masks loose. Xiao Nanhui was first to get up and get a proper look — the woman before her had a face that seemed faintly familiar. After a moment’s thought, she recognized her: wasn’t this the wife of that merchant who had been on the same boat at the Dafeng ferry landing a few days ago?

Only this woman’s face was now set in furious, sharp-edged lines, nothing like the meek and modest appearance she had presented before.

The fallen mask had caught a strand of her hair, pulling what had been a rather lovely cloud-style coiffure into a complete mess. The woman kept her eyes on Xiao Nanhui while struggling furiously to work the mask-hood free.

Xiao Nanhui touched her own head — perfectly smooth and round, her hair neatly intact — and for the first time felt genuine appreciation for having chosen the same hairstyle as Bolao. She gave a cold smile and stepped toward the woman. There was open space around them now, and she sidestepped the attack with no difficulty, then reached out and seized the woman’s long hair.

The woman let out a yelp of pain and glared at Xiao Nanhui with hatred: “You little brat — how dare you pull my hair!”

Xiao Nanhui sighed. “I know perfectly well that hair-grabbing is a brawling tactic of the lowest kind. But given our current circumstances, if we had to put a label on what we’re doing — it wouldn’t be entirely unfair.”

The short blade in the woman’s hand was nearly trembling with the force of her grip, but she couldn’t bring herself to cut her own hair off. Every time she tried to strike back she was forced into a disadvantage.

And so Xiao Nanhui simply dragged the woman by her hair in one long haul back to the float, then gave an extra hoist and wound the ends of her hair twice around the wheel hub, and stepped back with her hands free.

With her scalp pinned in place, the woman couldn’t even stand up — she could only sit on the ground and watch Xiao Nanhui stroll away with magnificent calm.

Once all that was done, Xiao Nanhui walked to where her own mask had fallen, picked it up carefully, fitted it back on her head, gave a casual wave to the stunned onlookers on either side, and step by step made her way toward the altar.

The Youyin Altar had ninety-nine stone steps leading up to it, but each step was unusually high, making the actual climb considerably more demanding than a typical staircase. Xiao Nanhui had been through an ordeal that day, and at this moment she felt as though her very bones had come loose. Even her body, hardened by years of military campaigning, was struggling, and by the time she climbed the final step, her two legs were as heavy as if filled with lead.

Zou Sifang had not yet fully recovered. He was seated in a grand armchair specially prepared for him, leaning against one side, and he still clutched a box in his arms — that must be the long-awaited precious jade.

Xiao Nanhui could not help but feel a surge of excitement. She took two steps at once and rushed forward.

Before she could even get close to Zou Sifang, two large steel tridents crossed in front of her. One of the elder priests looked at her with an unfriendly expression: “Were the ceremonial protocols not explained to you before the start?”

Protocols? What protocols? She had been barely paying attention the whole time.

Xiao Nanhui smiled pleasantly, saying one thing and meaning another: “They were explained.”

The elder priest nodded and gestured to a young attendant who stepped forward. The attendant held a tray covered in red cloth, and the moment Xiao Nanhui saw it, she felt a premonition of doom.

The elder priest made a sweeping gesture. The red cloth fell away. Xiao Nanhui silently looked to the sky in resigned despair.

On the tray sat an exquisitely crafted small bronze tripod and an ornately carved dagger.

After a full day of nothing but being beaten and battered, she was now also expected to bleed — no wonder Ding Weixiang, the cunning little wretch, had refused to come and do this himself. If she had known it would come to this, she wouldn’t have been willing either.

The young attendant nearby had already lit the bronze lamps with a torch. The winding oil channel carried the flame like a serpent, spreading it until the entire altar platform was encircled in fire.

Under the urging glances of the elder priest, Xiao Nanhui looked at the dagger with a sense of grievance, steeled herself, picked it up, and drew it across her palm. She squeezed the blood into the small bronze tripod.

At the same moment she moved, several elder priests began chanting in low voices — in some language Xiao Nanhui could not understand at all, not a single syllable of it.

After roughly half a stick of incense had burned, she felt the blood on her palm beginning to dry. The elder priest’s withered hand dipped in her blood and drew several strokes on her forehead. Xiao Nanhui couldn’t see it herself, only feeling the warm and damp sensation soaking into her skin.

Supported by two young attendants, Zou Sifang at last rose to his feet. He made his way toward Xiao Nanhui with unsteady steps.

Xiao Nanhui could feel her heart pounding faster.

She was about to touch it.

That ancient jade passed down through hundreds of years, bearing untold legends and secrets within it.

The heavy box settled into her outstretched hands, cool to the touch through the casket walls. Xiao Nanhui curled her fingers around it, carrying the jade case toward the highest point of the altar platform. There stood a stone table serving as the sacrificial surface — encrusted from years of ceremonies with a thick layer of rendered animal fat. Freshly slaughtered carcasses of cattle and sheep had been arranged upon it, the ox head placed separately at the center with a sheet of red paper pasted on its forehead.

At the center of the heaped offerings, a space had been deliberately left clear, with a raised white jade pedestal — that was where she was to place the box. Every pair of eyes in the space was fixed on that pedestal.

Zhong Li Jing had said before that as long as she got the item into position, they had a way to retrieve it. What way?

Surely he hadn’t been bluffing her—

Xiao Nanhui stared at the darkly gleaming pool surrounding the pedestal, brow furrowed, and slowly placed the box in her hands on top of it. The copper lock had already been opened. She only had to lift the lid to see the legendary jade for herself.

Her fingers trembled slightly with nervous anticipation. She wiped them on her clothes and reached slowly toward the jade case.

Then, all at once, Xiao Nanhui felt the world around her go dark.

In the same instant, puzzled cries rose from the crowd.

She looked up and saw with astonishment that the blazing river of fire, which had been burning brilliantly moments before, was dying out with visible speed.

She only had time to press both hands firmly down over the box holding the precious jade. In the next instant, utter darkness engulfed everything around her.

The human eye requires time to adjust to both light and darkness alike.

Having been directly beneath bright, fierce firelight only a second before, Xiao Nanhui could now see nothing at all. She fell into a momentary state of blindness, the world around her as dense and boundless as ink, without edge or outline.

The crowd outside the Youyin Altar also descended into panic. No one knew what had happened. People were knocked over in the press, and cries and screams broke out in all directions. By the time Xiao Nanhui registered the unusual sounds moving through the wind, they were already very close to her.

Left. Right. Ahead. Behind.

Invisible figures poured in from all four sides through the darkness, like an unseen tide crashing toward the center of the altar platform.

More of them? Still more?!

Xiao Nanhui felt as though she were about to spit blood. She had not so much as an iron bar on her right now. Was she really supposed to fight people off with the ox head?

Or — was this what that man had called his plan?

The thought flashed through her mind and was gone almost before she could grasp it. The next second, as though in answer, a sharp cutting sound closed in on her from directly above, urgent and fast.

Who was it? Should she strike back?

But where? She couldn’t even see her own fingers.

At the last possible moment, Xiao Nanhui threw herself flat over the altar, pressing her body down over the box of jade.

She felt that fast-moving object brush past her back and land several steps behind her. Almost simultaneously, the figures surging in from all directions reached the center.

The air around her churned. Slaughter hung on the edge of eruption.

Xiao Nanhui held her breath and listened intently. But after a few disorderly footsteps, the only sounds remaining in the air were the dull, brief sounds of flesh and bone yielding to a blade, and the sound of bodies falling — not the faintest ring of sword on sword.

How — how could a blade be this fast?

Xiao Nanhui’s heart hammered wildly.

What kind of person could draw a blade so quickly that opponents had no time even to raise a defense, and could only be cut down where they stood? Whoever this was, their martial skill surpassed her own — very possibly on a level with Xiao Zhun.

Most critically of all, this person could see in the darkness as clearly as in daylight, while she could only make out swaying shapes. On that basis alone, she stood no chance at all.

Blood splattered onto her mask. Xiao Nanhui’s hands still pressed down hard over the box beneath her body. Even now, at the very last moment, she refused to let go.

But — would she die?

Oh no, she had never told Xiao Zhun how she felt about him. Dying like this — wouldn’t that be too much of a regret?

Bolao would tell him the whole story, right? Though telling him everything in exact detail would be rather embarrassing. She had sworn to die on the battlefield—

“It’s me.”

A voice sounded in her ear, and Xiao Nanhui’s eyes flew wide open.

The person sensed her instant release of all defenses, and reached around to take hold of her waist.

Xiao Nanhui felt her whole body go weightless. She rose into the air, and the Youyin Altar shrank rapidly away beneath her feet.

Almost in the very second after she left, the young attendant who had gone to find a new light source came running back, breathless, and lit the backup torches one by one.

The Youyin Altar, restored to light, was in ruins. The chief officiant’s mask lay on the ground, smeared with blood. The bodies of black-clad assassins were scattered throughout the altar platform, with severed limbs among them — one severed hand had rolled from the platform and come to rest at the edge of the watching crowd, driving the onlookers, who had barely managed to calm themselves, back into the throes of fresh terror.

Then, the next second, an even more panicked voice rang out from high on the altar platform.

One of the young attendants, who had climbed up to inspect the altar, was holding a torch and searching every corner with care. But no matter how thoroughly he looked in every direction, that square-shaped form was nowhere to be found.

“The precious jade — the precious jade is gone!”