Yu’an old city was founded during the period of the ancient Niexuan kingdom, and was in those days called Huimu — named for the xumu wood harvested during the fuxi ritual.

Fuxi — a divination ritual.

Fu: to support, to bear up. Xi: to divine answers to doubts.

In the ancient practice of fuxi, the diviner had to offer their own body as a vessel for the luan spirit, inviting the desired deity to descend into their body and manifest the workings of Heaven through the flesh.

By the time of Tiancheng, few still understood its true meaning. Ancient texts recorded only fragments, and popular accounts were full of embellishment. It came to be called, broadly: spirit descent.

The xumu wood used was most often peach or mulberry.

Peach drove out evil and expelled malevolent forces. Mulberry guided wandering spirits and attracted the divine. One positive, one contrary. One of yang, one of yin. Neither could be absent.

And in the ancient kingdoms of old, divination and sorcery were revered without exception. And so Huimu — the city of old — was once blanketed in peach groves and laced with connected mulberry orchards. At the height of its prosperity, the Niexuan Imperial family made it an independent commandery. Household registrations within the city were worth their weight in gold, and people said Huimu harbors gold — a name that shone brilliantly for a time.

But roughly a hundred years ago, the celestial pattern shifted. The temperature of the Goleté Plateau in the north dropped sharply. Each year, the warm air that drifted up from the South Sea could no longer cross the mountain ranges north of Yu’an, and instead accumulated within this plain encircled by mountains. The once-warm-and-dry Huimu began to be drenched in endless rain. Water gathered in the soil without dispersal, and the peach trees — most vulnerable to waterlogging — began to rot at the roots and die.

Within only three years, the peach groves that had covered the mountainsides withered and fell, one after another — becoming bare, silent silhouettes that from a distance looked like rows upon rows of mute tombstones. The peach trees died, but the mulberry trees survived. As time passed, a diviner spoke up and declared: the yin forces of Huimu had grown too strong, its yang too weak. The city’s geomantic balance had long since been destroyed. Every mulberry tree must be felled if stability was to be restored.

At the word of the one in power, every mulberry tree in the city was uprooted in a single night and burned to ash.

The geomantic balance of Huimu was restored — but the glory of Huimu harbors gold had become history, and no one ever spoke of it again.

The dead peach groves and the mulberry trees reduced to cinders in the flames became, in the end, a thick black silt — the fertilizer upon which the present Yu’an now rests, nourishing generation after generation of flowers and grasses to flourish and multiply upon it.

Achoo.

Xiao Nanhui let out a tremendous sneeze.

The spring season in Yu’an was truly unkind to her.

The air was thick with the fragrance of countless unknown flowers — impossible to disperse, impossible to escape.

Bolao disliked this smell as well. She only liked the smell of freshly roasted goose from the Xinheng restaurant on Dingyu Street.

Jixiang’s hooves picked across the surface of twisted branches and tangled moss, producing a steady crunching sound — as though the entire ancient city of Yu’an were groaning beneath their feet.

Beneath their feet had once been the grandest central avenue of this city.

And yet today, the whole of Yu’an had been consumed by riotous vegetation. Every trace of civilization had been obliterated by nature.

In the dim night, the abandoned, uninhabited buildings had been pierced through by the trees that had grown up within them. Vines the thickness of a soup bowl emerged from behind window frames and door planks. Flowers competed with one another to bloom in every available crevice, waiting for the new year to scatter their seeds once more and reclaim this untrodden soil.

Xiao Nanhui withdrew her gaze and turned to look at Bolao, who sat behind her on Jixiang’s hindquarters.

“When did you start following me?”

Bolao gave a dismissive sound and shifted her position on the horse’s rump.

“From the moment you left Quecheng.”

Picturing herself going in circles the night before in that maze-like villa, Xiao Nanhui furrowed her brows.

“It’s easier to get out of the Yulin Villa than to get in. How did you slip inside?”

Bolao made another dismissive sound, and a few strands of her neat bun rose up in proud rebellion.

“You underestimate me. I am, however modestly, a blade fighter of some renown in the rivers-and-lakes world. If I couldn’t even manage that much, what business would I have calling myself a member of the rivers and lakes?”

Xiao Nanhui glanced sideways at her, unhurried.

“If you’d planned to come all along, why not set out together? Why go to all this extra trouble?”

That question hit closer to the mark.

Bolao scratched her head, her expression somewhat uneasy.

“There was someone in your group I didn’t want to see.”

Xiao Nanhui considered this, and formed a fairly confident inkling.

“You mean Master Zong?”

Bolao’s expression stiffened, then she quickly assumed an air of forced composure.

“He’s one of the Andao Institute people. You know I hate that place — I’ve been avoiding even Old Man Xie for the last several years.”

That answer, on the surface, seemed reasonable enough.

But even someone as unobservant as Xiao Nanhui only had to recall this big-headed girl’s expression that day in the rear courtyard of the Xuanyuan Prince’s Mansion to feel that the matter was not so simple.

“When I was hiding from Xie Li, you never abandoned me on the spot and ran for your life.”

The history of that previous cowardly retreat was dragged into the light. Bolao flushed with indignant embarrassment.

“Who ran for their life?! That was a tactical maneuver!” She knew she was in the wrong, so she hurried to add: “It won’t happen again! Will it do if I say it won’t happen again?!”

Xiao Nanhui suppressed a smile, not wishing to press her to the point of embarrassment — so she shifted the subject to something else.

“Who gave you that key?”

She asked this because she had assumed by default that the key had been procured by some unconventional means by someone in the rivers-and-lakes world. After all, she had turned the Xiao residence upside down and left no corner unexplored.

At that question, a gleam of pride appeared on Bolao’s face — barely concealed.

“After you left, I went back to Yukun Street.”

Xiao Nanhui was surprised, and immediately skeptical. “I went to Yukun Street no fewer than ten times myself. I even overturned the grinding stone in the kitchen. And yet you found a key there?”

“One side room in the old residence. Maybe you were afraid of being caught doing something wrong, and weren’t as calm and careful as I was. Of those fourteen copper keys — did you really try every single one?”

Xiao Nanhui was somewhat bewildered. Had she truly overlooked it? She still remembered herself buried in a sea of letters and dust, sifting through them one by one — perhaps she had been too absorbed in the letter from Black Wood Commandery and had overlooked this key.

And yet she still had one point of confusion.

“How did you know at the time that this was the key to the Xiao family’s secondary residence in Yu’an?”

Bolao gave her an odd look.

“Naturally because the box it was kept in had it written on the outside.”

Xiao Nanhui was still about to press further when Bolao had already jumped down from the horse.

“We’re here.”

Xiao Nanhui drew the reins and looked forward. A black gate, eroded by wind and rain, stood directly facing the mouth of the street.

A gate that opens directly onto the main street — that’s poor feng shui.

She tied Jixiang up and followed Bolao toward that gate. The cast-iron lock, thick with verdigris, had all but fused with the door nails. Given a few more years it was likely the keyhole itself would rust solid. The enormous strips of the official seal had grown somewhat crumbled, yet still clung tenaciously to the black wood.

Whether or not Bolao’s key would prove reliable depended entirely on whether this string of keys could open this lock.

However—

She turned and looked at the perimeter wall of the Xiao family’s secondary residence.

“This wall isn’t very high. Why not simply climb over?”

Bolao did not turn around. She was blowing the dust out of the bronze lock’s keyhole.

“Do you see those tiles along the top of the wall?”

Xiao Nanhui looked where Bolao indicated. There was indeed a layer of tiles shaped like gabled rooftop tiles along the top of this wall — so long untouched by daylight that they had gone a dull, ashen grey. The surface of these tiles was smooth. If they were set at a slight angle as well, then an ordinary thief would likely find it impossible to gain a foothold.

For a martial artist with a decent level of lightness skill, however, they presented no insurmountable obstacle.

“I see them. So what?”

Bolao had finished blowing the lock clean. She crouched and casually picked up a pebble the size of a thumbnail from the ground, and weighed it in her hand.

“Watch.”

She gave it a light toss. The stone flew out in a straight line and struck one of the tiles on the wall.

In the next instant, a burst of flame erupted from the point of impact. With a sharp crack, the tile that had been hit shattered and scattered in all directions.

Xiao Nanhui dodged hastily, and when she turned back she found that the “perpetrator” who had thrown the stone had already retreated to one side to watch the spectacle.

She was somewhat annoyed, and brushed broken tile fragments from her head.

“If there’s something suspicious, you could just say so directly. Making such a commotion — be careful not to alert the garrison troops.”

“I already made several circuits around the outer edge of the hunting ground before I found you. From the moment the Spring Hunt begins, every garrison soldier’s attention will be focused on the area near the Shangling Villa. No one will be concerned with the old city quarter being short a few roof tiles.” Bolao’s voice was light and quick — the sharp-witted energy of her early years running rivers and lakes suddenly reasserted itself, and she grew more talkative. “These are Yu’an’s explosive glass warning tiles, used to protect against snakes and thieves. Something light — like a bird — won’t trigger them. But something heavier will ignite the fire oil buried within them, attacking the intruder while alerting the master of the house—”

Click.

While Bolao was still mid-sentence, the bronze lock snapped open in her hand.

She turned to look at Xiao Nanhui. Xiao Nanhui was staring at the gap that had appeared in the black gate.

Black wood opened onto deeper blackness beyond — an unknown interior. After a long moment, Xiao Nanhui drew a slow breath.

“Let’s go in.”

Before the Spring Hunt began, the Villa Commander responsible for supplies and equipment had prepared certain necessary provisions for every participant. Among these were two torches for overnight use.

Soaked in the finest pine oil, the torches burned with quiet steadiness — vivid and bright, tearing a great gap in the endless night.

The firelight swept across the shadowy, phantom-like wild grass on all sides. On a placard that had fallen to the ground and was half-buried in undergrowth, four large characters were still faintly legible: Syi Kang Le — “All Four Comforts, Peace and Ease.”

None of the four comforts, no peace, no ease.

The secondary residence of the Xiao family — this estate’s former name — now shared the fate of the buildings swallowed by vegetation: unvisited, unknown.

Xiao Nanhui reached out and gently laid her hand on the vine-covered courtyard wall. In the flickering light, the grey bricks of the wall still bore faint, short, deep cuts — gouges left by blades. In the gaps of some of those marks were embedded a few small fragments of fine white material.

Human bone.

Blades had pierced through flesh, cut through sinew and bone, and at last been driven hard into the wall.

What remained in these walls was a part of the Xiao family.

The night wind passed, and Xiao Nanhui suddenly felt that it was not flower fragrance in that wind — but the dim, faint smell of blood.

That blood-tinged wind had never dispersed in all the years since. It lingered over this land, telling the story of what had happened here — a history stained red — to every living creature that passed through.

She held her breath instinctively, withdrew her hand, and looked out into the depths of the courtyard.

“I wonder if that well is still there.”

That well — the well where Xiao Dai had been found.

Judging by the blade marks on the wall, those who had come to kill were more than one person, and each of them was a practitioner deeply versed in the arts of ending lives.

The Emperor had once told her that Zong Hao had been the master of the Moving Yao Sword.

And she happened to have seen the Moving Yao Sword once before.

Every divine weapon in this world — its master was without exception a person of remarkable ability. The traces left by the weapon in their hands always bore a certain distinctive pattern. Those who sought vengeance could use that pattern to identify the killer. Only those who could fend off the endless stream of avengers — one after another — could lay claim to a so-called divine weapon.

She had a feeling: beside that well, there might be evidence of whether Zong Hao was truly the murderer.

Lost in thought, the two of them had already walked to a side courtyard.

Because the original surface of the side courtyard was not paved with large blue stone bricks like the main hall, the wild grass here grew particularly thick. Xiao Nanhui spent a considerable effort before locating the position of that well.

It could hardly be called a well anymore. A banyan tree had grown up through the opening, and its spreading root system had all but broken apart the rim of the well.

The two exchanged a look. Xiao Nanhui spoke first.

“Did you bring tools?”

Bolao shook her head.

Xiao Nanhui’s gaze dropped to Bolao’s waist.

“Your short blades?”

Bolao’s face filled with fury, her cheeks quivering.

“Those are my weapons! You want to use my precious blades to hack at this worthless rotted wood?! Xiao Nanhui — have you no conscience?!”

The conscience-lacking individual was already rolling up her sleeves, planting her hands on her hips, looking down from above.

“Are you doing it yourself, or do you want me to start?”

In the past, Bolao would never have capitulated. Even when Pingxian had still been with Xiao Nanhui, she hadn’t been able to beat Bolao in a fight. But now — who in the world didn’t know how much the adopted daughter of the Xiao family had sacrificed to arrive at this moment?

Bolao walked to the side of the well with her head lowered.

“I’ll do it myself.”

Both short blades left their sheaths, and she began working on the overgrown vines and dead tree with both hands at once.

Xiao Nanhui watched that stocky back, then swept her gaze across the surrounding environment, and went back over in her mind the details she had observed since entering the residence — analyzing and piecing it together one by one.

The intruders had been more than one person.

If the perpetrator had been Zong Hao alone, then seeking the lost Celestial Cord was perhaps his objective.

But if the perpetrators had been a group — what would their objective have been?

Suddenly, something flashed through her mind.

She paused, and asked:

“You said — before we entered just now — do you think someone has come here to do repairs at some point?”

Bolao didn’t turn around. She was crouched at the side of the well, hacking away energetically with her two blades.

“Does it look to you like anyone has done repairs here?”

It truly didn’t. But—

Xiao Nanhui recalled the bronze lock and door bolt when they had entered.

That lacquered door bolt showed neither the cuts of a blade nor the cracks of impact from external force.

The explosive glass warning tiles on the perimeter wall had not been destroyed, and the door bolt was intact. There was only one conclusion this could lead to.

On that night when the perpetrators came to the Xiao residence to act — they had not forced their way in. They had walked through the main gate without restraint.

Which meant: the Xiao family had recognized the perpetrators who came that night. They had even opened the gate on their own initiative for that group of visitors who arrived under cover of darkness.

Xiao Zhun had very likely noticed these same traces at the time. The Bai family and the Xiao family had been close for generations. That year at the Spring Hunt they had traveled together, kept close company — all of which aligned perfectly with the historical records, which stated that the Bai family had stolen the military tally, massacred the leaders of the garrison forces stationed in Shuibei, and plotted rebellion.

And yet — something still seemed off.

Xiao Nanhui herself had come up through the military. From experience, she knew that the sound of ten mounted horses or more passing through the street was distinct from ordinary civilian traffic — a subtle difference that others might not discern, but anyone who had served in the military would sense instinctively and would not be entirely without wariness.

If the Bai family had already stolen the tally and launched their rebellion by the time they came to the Xiao residence, then even if only one-thousandth of Marshal Yuze’s forces of over a hundred thousand had entered Yu’an city, the Xiao family would not have been completely without notice.

If the Bai family had at that point not yet stolen the tally — and had instead come first to persuade the Xiao family to join their rebellion — and then, upon failing, had turned to killing — the Xiao family were descendants of a military household. Bai He Liu had been a civil official by background. Even if he kept private soldiers, how could he have gotten the better of them so easily? How could the Xiao family have been cut down with no chance to fight back whatsoever?

Turning it this way and that, neither scenario seemed to fully hold together.

But what if — there was a third possibility?

That group of people — every one of them a shadow guard capable of fighting one against a hundred — led by the most formidable martial artist in Tiancheng at the time, and carrying something in their hands — something that compelled the Xiao family to obey and open their gate.

Thinking of Zong Hao’s past identity, and of that cord soaked in Xiao Dai’s blood, Xiao Nanhui’s heart grew cold, degree by degree.

Who was lying?

Bai Yun? Or—

The object in the pouch at her waist suddenly seemed to grow very heavy.

She felt like a traitor — one standing atop the bones of her kin and friends, a blade in hand.

Yaoyi’s words surfaced in her mind.

It’s been more than ten years since the Spring Hunt was held. Why would they choose to revive it now?

Was the battle of Bijiang, to the Imperial household, truly as simple as suppressing a rebel force?

Or — was all of this nothing more than a world-shaking lie, devised to put a final full stop on that long-buried affair?

Xiao Nanhui gave a start and came back to herself. Her thoughts felt simultaneously chaotic — and suddenly, sharply clear.

She took a few quick steps forward and seized Bolao by the shoulder.

The short blade-fighter cried out in alarm and drove both blades hard into the half-hewn tree trunk.

“She borrows my blades for firewood, she orders me about at will — what more do you want from me?”

Xiao Nanhui had no time to register the other’s expression. She asked urgently:

“You said you went to Yukun Street — why did you suddenly think of going to Yukun Street?”

Bolao rubbed her shoulder and looked at her with barely-concealed impatience.

“Wasn’t it you who left that copper key and asked me to go there and investigate further?”

Xiao Nanhui’s heart sank. She pressed on:

“When did I ever leave a key for you? Is there a letter? Was there a letter with it?”

Bolao muttered and rummaged through her clothes, fishing out from her sleeve a crumpled half-sheet of paper, and handed it over.

Xiao Nanhui took it and immediately knew she had been led by someone else’s design.

The characters on that paper were not her handwriting. She had never written such a note.

The fear from earlier was all but ready to materialize, bloody and raw, before her eyes — the hellish, brutal scene from that day layering itself over her vision, and for a moment she could barely keep herself standing.

Was he going to kill Xiao Zhun?

Would he kill Xiao Zhun?

The night was still. Insects chirped.

Warm late spring. Life burgeoning on every side.

In the end she kept herself upright. Cold sweat ran down her back. But in her eyes — a steadiness and clarity unlike anything before.

“We need to get back now.”

“Back?!” Bolao’s voice shot up several registers. “I went to enormous trouble to get this key, I traveled a whole day to get here, I offered you my precious blades to chop down trees — and the tree is only half cut — and now you’re telling me we’re going back?!”

Xiao Nanhui slapped the half-sheet of paper hard against that loudly protesting forehead.

“Think carefully — in all the years we’ve been master and servant, when have I ever sent you a message?”

Bolao stopped, propped her chin in one hand, and thought for a moment — then something seemed to come to her.

“Actually, come to think of it — you haven’t.”

“Someone used you to draw me away from the hunting ground. Something big is about to happen at the Yulin Villa.” Xiao Nanhui moistened her dry lips, her mind racing through her next steps. “How long would it take us to get back at full speed from here?”

“The official road outside Yu’an has been abandoned for years. You saw what it was like when we came — in the dark it’ll be worse. If we go back the same way, it’ll take longer, not less.”

She had left the Shangling Villa at noon, and it was close to midnight before they had arrived at Yu’an old city. Even pushing to her absolute limit, she could not make it back to the hunting ground before dawn.

“What if we don’t go back the same way?”

Bolao paused, and held up two fingers.

“Not going the same way, there are two possibilities. One: we navigate by the stars, heading due east through the small pine forest, cutting through the Doucheng Ridge to the west of Quecheng — we might arrive at the hunting ground just before dawn. The other possibility—”

She stopped mid-sentence. Xiao Nanhui was desperate with anxiety and was nearly out of patience.

“Speak.”

Bolao gave her large head a shake, and pointed up at the sky.

“The other possibility is that tonight our luck runs bad, and in the second half of the night the clouds cover the moon and obscure the stars. With no stars to navigate by in the small pine forest, we’d go round and round and round and round in circles—”

“All right — enough.” Xiao Nanhui cut her off. Her voice was low and steady. “We take the small pine forest. We cut through Doucheng Ridge.”