The full moon rose, hanging high in the sky.
Tonight in Yu’an, the rain had cleared to a rare fine sky.
Moonlight flowed and spread through the boundless forest, taking on a hundred forms as though made of substance, before stopping at the horizon and quietly becoming a single straight silver line.
The mountain forest was still and quiet; occasionally a beast cried out, startling flocks of roosting birds — perhaps a predator was in the midst of a fierce chase.
A hundred paces before the Beast-Taming Platform, at the hub of the Yulin Villa, stood a high tower open to the wind on all four sides, with five layers of thick walls. Each level used the platform as its base, with corridor pillars set at every ten paces; between the pillars were a number of small tents with silk ribbons as ceilings and gauze curtains as screens, so that even the slightest breeze that passed through would linger inside, stirring the air gently as it went.
The small tents were for the families and servants of the hunters to rest and spend the night. The tents were connected by wooden walkways, and along the hundred-pace-long railings, sparks of light glimmered — the ever-burning palace lanterns flickering in the night air. From a distance they looked like the embers of a mountain fire, or like a mirage in the wilderness. Weary people rested in their respective tents, and only the night-watch palace attendants still moved along the walkways, holding great silk fans to drive away mosquitoes.
Among the many small tents, only one remained untouched.
Even the moths and small insects seemed to fear something about the smell of that place — not a single one dared come near, hovering only at the tent’s outer edges.
On the wooden plank walkway, a palace official clad in dark robes approached with hurried steps, cradling a small lacquer-sealed booklet in his hands.
He paused briefly before the tent, tapped the floor in a rhythmic pattern of seven beats, then bowed and entered through the gauze curtain.
Behind the pale-green curtain, the Emperor sat cross-legged at the center of the stone couch, seeming to be resting with closed eyes.
“Your Majesty, the Wind Forest Report for the Hour of Ox has arrived. Shall it be opened or not?”
The young Emperor kept his eyes closed.
“Open it.”
Dan Jiangfei took the jade knife from the small table nearby and broke the lacquer seal on the booklet. When unfolded, it had only three folds, but the surface was covered densely with writing.
He turned up the single lamp wick in the tent and, by the firelight, began reading the text in a low voice.
“Yanchi Camp’s southwestern commanding general Gan Xin — Gen position, Third Palace — moving, heading southwest, entering the forest. Subei Camp’s General of Military Affairs Sun Zhuo — Li position, Ninth Palace — moving, heading due east, exiting the stone flats. Yanchi Camp’s General of the Western Garrison Yan Guang — Li position, Fourth Palace — stationary, holding the southeastern high ground, no movement observed. Guangyao Camp’s Guard General Su Yuanxiu — Qian position, Seventh Palace—”
The palace official’s voice moved at a steady, unhurried pace inside the tent. It took roughly the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before the last line on the booklet was read aloud.
The Wind Forest Report was originally a special military intelligence record created by the Black Feather Camp during garrison duties, used to track the positions and movements of enemy forces. It recorded the positions of each camp’s generals in the forest using palace-position notation. Each time a new report was issued, the palace-position diagram would change. It was written with the Black Feather’s special crow-feather ink, the brushwork extremely fine; sealed immediately after completion so the ink would not easily dry, and could be verified upon opening by lightly rubbing a finger across it to confirm whether anyone had opened it midway.
The Emperor pondered for a moment, then finally opened his eyes.
“Is Aide Xiao still not in the hunting grounds?”
“In reply to Your Majesty — he left at the Hour of Wu, and has not yet returned.”
“Very well. Continue watching. If there is any movement, come and report immediately.”
“Yes.”
Dan Jiangfei’s figure paused, his gaze gradually shifting toward the direction of the tent’s curtained entrance nearby.
Ten paces outside the tent, a graceful silhouette stood in the shadow before the corridor pillar. Two palace attendants holding lanterns were leading the way ahead, about to step onto the wooden walkway.
Swish.
A shadow thin as a black thread flashed past — a pitch-black arrow had already been nailed into the floor, half an inch before the palace attendant’s toes. Startled, she cried out and fell to the ground; the lantern in her hand dropped, rolled twice, and went dark.
“Who is making a commotion?”
The figure in the shadows quickly stepped forward a few paces and gave a slight curtsy.
“Xingyao comes uninvited at this late hour — I hope I have not disturbed His Majesty.”
“Ah, it is Cui Shuyuan.” Dan Jiangfei showed a perfectly measured smile, but his body did not move aside, nor did he show any intention of asking the visitor to rise. “His Majesty was reviewing memorials until deep in the night and is now somewhat fatigued.”
Cui Xingyao’s expression briefly became awkward. She was still holding a tray in her hands, upon which rested a gleaming white soup bowl; as it was rather heavy, her arms bent slightly under its weight.
After a moment, the Emperor inside the tent spoke in an unhurried tone.
“Let her in.”
Dan Jiangfei nodded and stepped forward to take the tray from Cui Xingyao’s hands.
“Cui Shuyuan, please come inside.”
The two palace attendants moved to follow, but Dan Jiangfei stopped them.
“The two of you may return. I will have someone escort Cui Shuyuan back.”
The two attendants exchanged a glance, murmured their assent, and retreated into the darkness.
Cui Xingyao looked into the hazy depths of the gauze-lit curtain and bent forward to enter the tent.
Inside, there was only one palace lantern. The palace official picked up a glass shade nearby and set it over the candle flame; the light around them grew even dimmer.
The candlelight was so faint it seemed even darker than the moonlight outside. The Emperor’s face was half-hidden in this wavering half-light, giving him a quality that was elusive and hard to read, as though he might vanish at any moment.
Cui Xingyao lowered her gaze and knelt respectfully on the carpet embroidered with intertwining orchid-branch patterns.
“I heard from Attendant Dan that Your Majesty reviewed memorials through the night — it must have been exhausting. On my own initiative, Xingyao prepared a nourishing broth to calm the mind and replenish the energy, and has brought it to Your Majesty.”
“Reviewed memorials through the night?”
The young Emperor cast a sideways glance at the palace official standing beside him. The smile on the official’s face faltered slightly.
But in the eyes of the young woman, this exchange took on a different meaning entirely.
She sensitively lowered her head; a faint blush rose on her fair face from distress, making anyone who saw it feel a pang of tender sympathy.
“It was Xingyao who was too forward. Your Majesty must not blame Attendant Dan — Xingyao will take her leave now—”
“There is no need. You stay. Jiangfei, go and have someone bring more mosquito-repelling incense.”
Dan Jiangfei’s figure paused, and his gaze swept around the tent.
Inside, to say nothing of mosquitoes and gnats — not even half an insect was to be seen.
“Understood. And the soup—”
Su Wei lightly tapped his fingers.
“Leave the soup as well.”
The palace official retreated obediently, and before leaving let down the ground-length outer curtain of the small tent.
The heavy curtain cut off the inside from the outside; even the circulation of air seemed to halt instantly. The breathing of the two people in the tent became unusually distinct, and the silence that it set off felt unsettling.
Cui Xingyao counted silently to herself for a moment, finally composed the smile on her face, untied the scented sachet at her waist and set it to one side, then lightly rolled back her cuffs to reveal a pale wrist, and gently lifted the soup bowl with both hands, walking slowly to stand before the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, the soup is still warm.”
Her voice was very soft and gentle, with a note of timid shyness woven into its softness, perfectly measured.
After a long pause, the Emperor’s slender fingers reached over and took the bowl.
The weight left her hands, and her heart gave a start. In the very next moment, that hand set the bowl aside.
“It is very warm tonight — it is better to let it cool before drinking.”
She bit down tightly on her lip, and for an instant the expression on her face became complicated. In the end, she still retreated obediently to one side.
The tent fell into another long and suffocating silence.
The reason that nighttime is more difficult to endure than the daytime is precisely because of the night’s stillness. Darkness, quiet, nothing to do — these can stretch the hours to what feels like an infinite distance.
From childhood she had followed her clan’s great household, participating in no small number of ritual ceremonies and ancestral vigils; keeping watch through the night was sometimes unavoidable.
But she had never imagined that even during this two-day, one-night hunt, one would be expected to keep a vigil.
“Cui Shuyuan — are you growing a little weary?”
“By Your Majesty’s kind concern — this concubine is perfectly well.”
“That is good. Otherwise you might miss the fine spectacle that is coming.”
A fine spectacle?
Cui Xingyao’s heart leapt straight into her throat.
“Has Your Majesty arranged an exorcism drama? Or perhaps—”
“Do not be impatient. When the time comes, you will know naturally.”
Fifty li outside the Yulin Villa, deep in the dense forest, on the Road of Wuchang, two people and one horse were moving swiftly.
The name “Small Pine Forest” was hardly fit to bear the word “small.”
In all of Chizhou, there was no larger forest than this one.
The pitch-black, straight trunks soared heavenward and blocked out the moon; a traveler on the road through the wilderness could only peer at that night’s heavenly signs through the gaps between the leaves.
Every time she raised her head to look at the moon and stars, Xiao Nanhui felt as though her neck was about to snap.
Traveling in the dark without knowing the terrain, perpetually afraid that one moment of distraction would send her down the wrong path — she had been taxing her mind severely all along this journey, more exhausting than even the rapid forced marches that once covered a hundred li in a single day.
“Are you certain this is the right direction?”
The short, round-faced strategist yawned continuously and waved a dismissive hand.
“It is a bit roundabout, but the general direction is definitely correct.”
Hearing this, Xiao Nanhui grew a little anxious.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a shortcut? Why are we going the long way around?”
Bolao pointed toward the large mountain silhouette in the northwest, silent in the night.
“Unless we abandon the horse and go on foot — if you want to ride a horse through Douchenling Pass, going a bit around is perfectly normal. It is better than tumbling into a mountain ravine. As long as the direction is right, before dawn we should be able to—”
Bolao’s voice stopped abruptly, the whole person’s bearing changed in an instant, eyes going sharp and fierce.
Clip. Clip. Clip.
Slow hoofbeats came from the dense forest ahead, and in a moment they had drawn near; a figure on horseback appeared, with a silver sword sheath and bowstring gleaming cold in the moonlight.
“Aide Xiao, it is late, and the road ahead is narrow and difficult to travel — why not wait until dawn before making a decision.”
The moment she saw Lu Songping, Xiao Nanhui quietly let out a breath of relief.
Good — it was not the group she feared most.
She turned her horse broadside, presenting Jixiang’s sturdy flank toward the newcomer.
“Why does Lieutenant Lu wish to obstruct me?”
“On orders from the Yulin Command, I am here to guard the boundary of the hunting grounds. During the spring hunt, the hunting grounds permit departure but not entry — Aide Xiao should be well acquainted with the official documents.”
Nonsense.
Such a large forest — could it be that every pass has been assigned a guard? That would require not one Black Feather Camp but ten Black Feather Camps to manage, and still not be enough.
Those were the Emperor’s finest soldiers and generals — if every last one was sent to guard this absurdly large forest, who would be left to guard the Emperor?
She had risked her life to race against time, and even Jixiang’s hindquarters were drenched in sweat — and now she was to waste time on this pointless obstruction?
Xiao Nanhui’s expression darkened, and she went straight to the point.
“The Emperor sent you, did he not?”
Whoever knew what she was investigating, and might hold the key to the front gate of the Xiao Family mansion in Yu’an, and could conceal things on Yukun Street without anyone’s knowledge — there were very few such people.
And most importantly, whoever would be willing to go to such lengths to devise this scheme to lure the tiger away from the mountain, and had the authority to deploy Lu Songping personally to intercept her, could only be him.
“Why would Aide Xiao say such a thing? I find myself at something of a loss to understand.”
Xiao Nanhui let out a cold snort.
Keep pretending. Go on pretending.
The two sides were at a standstill; Bolao coughed lightly and lowered her voice.
“Well, I think perhaps we should just let it go—”
Let it go?
Xiao Nanhui whipped out the arm crossbow from her back with a swish and ferociously cocked the bolt.
“There is only this one road. If not this way, which way?”
Murderous intent spilled out — a brutal fight seemed inevitable.
Lu Songping slowly drew the silver flexible sword at his waist, and the calmness of his bearing was actually no less than Ding Weixiang’s.
Xiao Nanhui did not dare act rashly, and quickly calculated how many chances she had of winning.
She still remembered that night at the Prince Kang’s traveling palace, when she had crossed blades with this uncanny figure. At that time she had Pingxian in hand, and against Lu Songping’s flexible sword she still had some advantage. But now—
Lu Songping saw her silence and understood perfectly well why she was silent.
“Even back when your weapon was still with you, you were not necessarily a match for me. What do you have to compete with me now?”
Faced with the other party’s near-arrogant provocation, Xiao Nanhui said nothing, but turned to the person who had been cowering behind the horse’s haunches all along and spoke in a low, firm voice.
“It is your turn.”
Bolao’s eyes went wide, and her short, thick eyebrows bounced on her forehead.
“Why does it have to be my turn?! It is not me who wants to go back!”
“Whose person are you? I tell you to go, you go!”
The two of them were pushing and shoving each other atop the horse, apparently having already traded several techniques, and from a distance the whole scene looked like a deeply affectionate “master and servant.”
Lu Songping narrowed his eyes in the darkness. After a pause, he finally recognized that large, round face, round as a full moon, now reddened with exasperation.
“Are you the one who ate my grapes?”
Bolao shook her head firmly.
“No, you have the wrong person.”
Xiao Nanhui, without any concern, pulled the rug out from under her.
“How many bunches of his grapes did you eat? And how many bunches of mine have you eaten?”
Bolao pursed her mouth, and bowed her head in humiliation.
Lu Songping glanced at that large head and said languidly:
“The Andao Institute has always worked for the righteous path of the imperial family. There is no need for the two of us to be enemies. Would you not agree?”
Before the other party’s words even finished falling, Xiao Nanhui’s eyes had already turned on the person beside her like blades.
“It is said that those within the Andao Institute give their lifelong loyalty to one person alone. Would you not agree?”
Bolao hugged her own large head and swayed in agony.
“All this over a few bunches of grapes? Why not just hand me over to Xie Li and be done with it—” Bolao’s voice suddenly stopped. “What is that sound?”
Xiao Nanhui rolled her eyes.
“Do not think that changing the subject will—”
But in the very next instant, Lu Songping also changed his expression.
Then she heard it too.
A faint sound came from far away and drew steadily nearer — chaotic and uneven, like the sound of hundreds of sharp claws scraping against something.
She turned sharply to look southwest into the dense forest.
In the clear night sky, a small patch of eerie black was approaching rapidly from a distance.
“It’s—”
“It is night bats.”
Lu Songping’s voice sank to a low rumble. Even as he spoke, he had already pulled a Tread-Cloud Arrow from behind him and quickly nocked it to the bowstring.
The bat swarm closed in fast, yet the surrounding trees blotted out the sky, and the line of sight and shooting angle were far less favorable than they had been that day on the open wasteland of Bijiang. What’s more, it was impossible to distinguish which among them was the “bat king” carrying the secret message.
Even so, they could not let it pass.
Lu Songping gathered his energy and calmed his spirit, preparing to loose the Tread-Cloud Arrow the moment the bat swarm passed directly overhead.
But almost in the blink of an eye, the bat swarm suddenly split into several groups and headed off in three different directions.
All three of them were stunned for a moment.
Bolao’s eyes went wide. “Can these creatures actually count?”
“They have learned to be clever.” Lu Songping had already swiftly stowed his bow and tightened the reins. “There is no time — we split into three and pursue them. We must determine the enemy’s intentions.”
Xiao Nanhui did not move, her eyes fixed unblinking on the road leading to the Yulin Villa.
Lu Songping noticed her gaze; his tone was light, but the words he spoke carried the weight of a thousand pounds.
“If you insist on forcing your way through, I will have no choice but to follow orders and stop you. But I hope you will remember your duty as a soldier of Tiancheng.”
Xiao Nanhui tightened her fist.
That time when the night bats appeared — had Lu Songping not intercepted the intelligence report, there was no knowing what variables might have arisen in the battle at Bijiang. Now that the night bats had appeared again, a greater conspiracy was certainly lurking behind it.
But what about Xiao Zhun? What was to become of Xiao Zhun?
Her instincts would not fail her. Whatever was about to happen tonight was surely connected to the Xiao Family.
What would the Emperor do?
Should she trust only herself — or should she trust that he was not such a ruthless and cold-blooded person?
The memories of the past surged and swirled in her mind. The sounds of the bat swarm were growing distant. The expression on Xiao Nanhui’s face was more grave than she had ever shown before.
After a moment, she finally unclenched her fist.
“The three of us, but only two horses. I go southwest; you go southeast; Bolao has the best qinggong — she takes the northwest Douchenling Pass.”
“Agreed.”
Lu Songping’s reply was concise. Only Bolao was still silently protesting.
Xiao Nanhui pulled her over with one hand and quickly, precisely, and decisively made her arrangement.
“I have spoken to Mo Chunhua. Come autumn this year, all the grapes from her place are yours.”
A large face that had been rather deflated an instant before immediately recovered its liveliness. Even though the mouth was still pouting, the feet were already moving briskly.
“Since you are so sincere, I will deign to let you deploy me one more time.”
Xiao Nanhui gripped the reins tight; Jixiang neighed and rose high on its front hooves.
“After tonight — may all be well.”
The hooves struck the ground hard; three figures had already shot forward like arrows, chasing the three clusters of shadows moving rapidly through the air above, heading off in three different directions.
Inside the tall tower with its thick walls, in the dim small tent where there was no sound of voices and no chirping of insects, Cui Xingyao still maintained the posture she had held half an hour earlier.
On the stone couch, the young Emperor lay on his side, seemingly exhausted and fallen into sleep.
An indeterminate amount of time passed. The man’s steady breathing had still not changed.
“Your Majesty?”
For a long while there was no answer.
The silhouette of the woman who had been quietly kneeling on the soft carpet finally moved.
Today she had worn the softest gauze weave, with only a silver hairpin on her head; she had removed the tassel pendants from her ears, leaving only a single smooth round jewel. Her movements were very light — as she moved, not a sound of jade and gems striking together, nor of clothing and hairpins brushing, could be heard. Before every step, she would lightly test the floorboard with the tip of her foot, confirming that it would not creak before she gently set her foot down.
From childhood she had studied bell-ring dance; in terms of sheer force and speed, she could not match assassins and martial artists, but in terms of lightness and steadiness, no one could surpass her.
She went first to the central shrine, carefully examining the ritual vessels and offerings behind the shrine rack, and knocked lightly with her knuckle on every wooden board to check for hidden compartments.
After a short while, she restored everything to its place and cautiously stepped back.
Scanning the furnishings of the entire small tent, her gaze settled on the area beside the stone couch where the man lay resting.
There was a tall side table there, upon which neatly stacked memorials and documents from recent days had been placed, along with a finely crafted bronze-cornered wooden box. The box was locked.
Cui Xingyao slowly approached the box, lifted the lock with her slender fingers, and studied it carefully for a moment. Then she drew out the silver hairpin from her hair and inserted it into the keyhole, gently manipulating it.
After a long while, the lock finally gave a faint click.
The hair at her temples, which had been dry and smooth, was now damp with sweat. She untied her handkerchief and lightly wiped it away, then held her breath and slowly opened the box.
Inside the box was completely empty, with only a half-burned piece of letter paper placed at the center. On the paper a few elegant small characters were faintly visible, so familiar they made her heart lurch.
“Have you found what you were looking for?”
Cui Xingyao’s heart lurched; the tips of her fingers suddenly went slack, and the lid of the box snapped shut with a sharp sound.
But her reflexes were quick — she had almost immediately gripped the hairpin in her hand and hidden it beneath her sleeve, then bowed forward in obeisance.
“This concubine deserves ten thousand deaths — I have disturbed Your Majesty—”
The man’s voice came from the stone couch, calm beyond any possibility of reading.
“What crime have you committed?”
The silver hairpin was gripped tightly in her hand. A tremor crept into Cui Xingyao’s voice.
“This concubine’s maternal uncle, emboldened by Your Majesty’s favor toward this concubine, petitioned for a title and increased stipend. This concubine did not want Your Majesty’s regard to cool because of this, and so intended to privately take away the memorial—”
The Emperor’s silhouette wavered against the gauze screen, and he gave a slow, quiet shake of his head.
“The coded secret letter you wrote with your own hand is inside that box. The regard you speak of is not worth a single copper coin.”
Cui Xingyao’s head was bowed so deeply that her expression could not be made out, but her trembling shoulders gave something away.
The man’s robe hem swept across the floor in front of her; after a moment, a slender hand picked up the sachet she had set on the ground earlier, gave it a light shake, and let it settle.
“You are very clever, and you know how to seize opportunities. It is only a pity — what you are looking for is not on me now.”