Since the day at Xiuqing Temple—or perhaps even before that—the feigned pleasantries that passed between the two of them had grown increasingly sharp-edged, like drawn swords facing each other.

Ye Tingyan could not read her thoughts. He had originally assumed that she cared for Song Lan and merely wished to use his hands to remove Yu Qiushi. But as things progressed to this point, he suddenly realized with a start that what Luowei wanted might be far more than he had previously imagined.

Luowei could not read his thoughts either. If Ye Tingyan had come to the capital from Youzhou in pursuit of a career, then why had he repeatedly lost his composure before her?

She kept turning over in her mind the eight characters Yan Lang had written—’dangerous to handle, but a waste to kill’—and then remembered many other things besides. A flood of thoughts surged through her heart, giving rise to an extraordinary idea.

But this idea was too extraordinary. She could not bring herself to speak it aloud, did not dare to speak it aloud, and had no one she could say it to. She could only swallow it down herself and search for an opportunity to force him to expose himself.

Ye Tingyan had turned around and stood with his back against the window frame, head tilted back slightly. Luowei had no idea what he was thinking. She followed his gaze to look—and saw a moon half-veiled behind dark clouds.

After a moment of silence, she sighed all at once: “That day when I returned from the palace banquet, I passed through the dense forest and on a sudden impulse climbed the terrace alone—I watched the moon from Gaoyang Terrace. Though it is not as grand as a sunset, the moon is always there. What a pity, though…”

Without waiting for Ye Tingyan to respond, Luowei continued: “I fear you and I will no longer have another opportunity to watch the moon together.”

Ye Tingyan pressed his lips together and said mildly: “What makes Your Highness say that?”

“Why feign confusion when you understand perfectly well?” Luowei rested her chin in her hand and smiled. “I destroyed a man’s spirit; you handled the aftermath. We played this game to a fine conclusion. Come autumn, the Yu family will fall, and the enemy common to us both will be no more. Lord Ye—did you come today to say your farewell to me? I thought you would wait until after Yu Qiushi’s death to come.”

The dark clouds dispersed. After hearing these words, Ye Tingyan did not move to contradict them. Instead he turned sideways, vaulted up to her side, and in passing closed the latticed window beside him, shutting the moon out.

Luowei continued to hold his gaze in the faint moonlight, and even reached out to brush the stray hairs at his temple back behind his ear. Ye Tingyan looked at her without blinking. Without needing a copper mirror, Luowei knew that the expression in both their eyes at this moment must be soft and intimate—like the gaze between two lovers who have laid bare their hearts to each other.

After today, that kind of look would likely no longer exist between them.

She was a scheming Empress with hidden intentions, and he was the emperor’s most trusted close official. Even though their relationship had become this entangled and ambiguous, neither of them could ever fully trust the other—could never lay their cards face-up on the table.

But if they never showed their cards, then this alliance they had formed since spring was approaching the moment of its end.

Ye Tingyan leaned toward her, his lips grazing her cheek gently before finally resting on her lips. This kiss was wholly unlike those that had come before—light, quiet, like the brush of a dragonfly touching water, with not the slightest hint of aggression. It was like an overture of goodwill.

He pressed his hand to the back of her head; his palm was warm, and through the tangled strands of her hair, a trace of warmth was conveyed. Luowei opened her half-closed eyes and saw his dark eyes up close, and with a somewhat untimely distraction of thought, found herself wondering: he was so cool—his lips were cool, his chest was cool—perhaps the heart in his chest was cold as ice as well. Why then were these two hands of his so warm?

She leaned closer and moved to return his kiss. Ye Tingyan stiffened slightly, and seemed not at all overjoyed, which left Luowei baffled once again. From the very first time she had gotten to know him, she had noticed that he was full of these strange contradictions.

He had written a note requesting her as his payment, yet at first he had been greatly alarmed, as though the one who had crossed the line on his own initiative had not been himself at all.

He kissed her, claimed with elaborate invention that he was deeply smitten, and had even repeatedly lost his composure—he had played it so well she had nearly believed him. And yet his manner changed like the wind—shifting between hot and cold for reasons she could never work out—and he frequently acted in ways she could not understand, for reasons she could not comprehend.

He could devise military strategies for battles on the frontier, and at court he could win such complete trust from the emperor while also filling in the gaps and sealing up every flaw in her own schemes without leaving a trace. A person like this…

Luowei thought to herself: ‘dangerous to handle’ and ‘a waste to kill’—those words truly cut to the bone.

She could not simply let him go and leave him to Song Lan. If she did, setting aside for now the matter of the secret and improper connection between the two of them that could not be brought to light, she had absolutely no confidence in whether she could ever outmaneuver him in the future.

If she could make him wholeheartedly work in her service, that would of course be ideal—but he was far too clever. Without any leverage, how could she lay everything bare before him? How could she be certain that he would not use her as a stepping stone for his own rise in rank and station? After all, by current reckoning, with Yu Qiushi already as good as dead, doing her bidding was far less advantageous than serving Song Lan.

And even if she told him the full truth and he chose her side, could she ever truly be at ease that he would not betray her, would not harbor divided loyalties for his own benefit, would not one day turn and drive a blade into her back?

It is said: trust the one you employ, and do not employ the one you distrust. But between the two of them lay a fog too deep to see the bottom of—she could not read Ye Tingyan, could not fathom this person, and did not dare risk even a single step.

These questions had been tangling through her mind in recent days, leaving her thoughts in chaos. In all likelihood, Ye Tingyan was also hovering between her and Song Lan, unable to make up his mind. His evasiveness after the day at Xiuqing Temple, the lotus flower he had not been able to stop himself from leaving at the imperial library, and the sunset and moon they had each watched separately from a great distance—all of these were evidence of his wavering.

She had not even realized she had lost the settled resolve to kill him. Her mind was entirely occupied with the question: what must she do to force him over to her side?

While Luowei was still drifting in thought during his kiss, she suddenly felt a flash of pain at the corner of her lips—Ye Tingyan, dissatisfied with her inattention, had given her a light bite.

“Your Highness, what are you thinking about?”

His hand moved to cup her cheek, and he asked tenderly: “Are you thinking about how to kill me after Yu Qiushi is dead?”

Luowei’s heart gave a jolt, but her face remained perfectly composed as she deflected quickly: “Rather than thinking about how to kill you, shouldn’t I be more concerned about myself?”

“Why would Your Highness worry about herself?” he said, smiling too. “When you made the decision to move against the Grand Preceptor, I thought you were acting rashly—but who would have known that you had long since concealed a masterstroke within you. I underestimated you. In that case, my earlier worry that after the Grand Preceptor died, His Majesty would move against you—that too must have been me overthinking things. Your Highness has a complete plan within you. Whatever I might think of, you have already thought of long before. Since you resolved to remove him, you must have already secured your own retreat long ago. What is there to worry about now?”

Luowei studied his expression, gave a light laugh first, and then could not suppress a burst of genuine laughter: “The one who truly knows me is you, Tingyan.”

Ye Tingyan said slowly and deliberately: “So what Your Highness should be thinking about right now is precisely how to kill this subject, is it not?”

He suddenly drew the short blade from his waist—the one Zhuque officials customarily carried—and holding it with both hands, raised it reverently to the level of her face.

Luowei was startled: “What do you mean by this?”

Ye Tingyan’s expression did not change: “I cannot bear to see Your Highness agonize and toss and turn over this matter. I have thought it over at length—why not let me give Your Highness an opportunity? If you draw the blade and kill me tonight, and leave my body in the garden, everyone in Qionghua Hall can testify that I came forcing my way into the palace in the dead of night and was struck down by guards. Your Highness is so clever—you will certainly find a way to make the story hold. Compared to the danger of allowing me to become a serious threat to you in the future, the risk of killing me today is hardly worth mentioning at all. Is that not so, Your Highness?”

The excessive sincerity with which he said all of this made it utterly impossible for Luowei to tell how much was true and how much was false. On instinct, she reached out and gripped the short blade he was offering her.

Before she could hesitate, Ye Tingyan covered her hand with his and, guiding her, drew the blade from its scabbard. In the darkness, a brief flash of silver gleamed—this blade was not only sharp, it was a keen-edged weapon.

Luowei was startled and moved to pull her hand back, but he held it fast. She swallowed, and said in a low, sharp voice: “Have you lost your mind?”

Ye Tingyan let out a soft, contemptuous laugh—his tone almost coaxing: “If you are not certain, Your Highness may reach out and feel for yourself—beneath my outer robe there is only an inner garment. There is absolutely no hidden armor. If you miss tonight, Your Highness will certainly never again have an opportunity where I offer my neck willingly for the blade.”

Luowei asked in a voice that trembled slightly: “Lord Ye’s meaning, then, is that you have already made your choice? Do you believe that if you choose Song Lan, he will be able to tolerate you in the years ahead?”

Ye Tingyan smiled, his eyes curving: “And if I choose Your Highness—would Your Highness be able to tolerate me?”

Luowei was silent for a moment, then did not answer directly, and only said: “Excessive brilliance tends to bring misfortune. How could Lord Ye not understand this principle? From the very first day you returned here, you should have concealed your abilities.”

Ye Tingyan nodded in wholehearted agreement: “Quite right. Which is why, rather than saying this subject has lost his mind, it would be more accurate to say I have come to beg for a kindness. Since I can already see my own end, what is the point of struggling on? If Your Highness acts tonight, it spares this subject years of heartache and torment ahead.”

When it came to destroying a person’s spirit, she might be no match for him at all—with only these few words, he had rekindled in her a murderous intent she had nearly forgotten. She could not allow him to grow into a grave threat, did not dare open herself up to him, and no matter what, the two of them would eventually come to face each other with drawn weapons. If by that point she had still not steeled her resolve, she could not imagine how great a price she would have to pay to be rid of him.

Even knowing that what lay before her was his test of her, an opportunity this good would certainly never come again.

The blade was right at hand. If she wished it, she could certainly find a way to deliver a single killing blow. Ye Tingyan knew martial arts—but so did she. He had come in a frenzy in the night—could she not do the same?

The hand holding the blade began to tremble violently. As though sensing what was in her mind, Ye Tingyan raised his head and gave her a smile.

Luowei could not say whether that smile was the calm beneath madness, or a grief tinged with something close to despair—but in this one moment, she found herself believing that he was, from the bottom of his heart, seeking death.

If that was so—

In that razor’s edge of a moment, a gentle admonishment sounded clearly in her ear.

“A blade may be drawn to warn, to protect, to guard against—never for the sole purpose of killing.”

Luowei blinked. Everything before her eyes twisted suddenly into an entirely different scene.

Perhaps it was that these days had been too relentlessly busy, perhaps it was that she had poured too much of herself into it and had no room left for other thoughts—but this kind of waking vision, she had not experienced for a very long time.

She looked up in a daze and saw a clear blue sky drifting with flower petals.

Someone was holding her hand, speaking low into her ear: “Yan Lang is a military general—his sword-intent is too full of killing. You are different from him. You do not need to go into battle against enemies. The people you face are not enemies driven by national enmity or personal grudges. However dangerous the situation, it is only a matter of differing standpoints. So when you draw your sword, you must hold a heart that protects—you must hold a spirit of compassion.”

It seemed to be a spring day, willow catkins drifting through the air. She held the sword in her hand and wanted to turn her head to look at the person speaking, but no matter what she did she could not move.

She could sense his presence but could not see him—could only hear the voice.

She was so desperate she nearly wept: “When I draw my sword now, is it not precisely for the sake of guarding against harm?”

But he said nothing more, only led her in slowly practicing the sword forms beneath the blossom trees. For a time, scattered petals fell in a rain of red. Then the hand that held hers suddenly vanished, and she realized with a start that the vivid color carpeting the ground was not petals at all—it was half-dried blood.

Ye Tingyan saw her standing wordless, and was just about to say something more when Luowei suddenly snapped her head up and snatched the unsheathed short blade from his hand.

A pang shot through his heart, but he shut his eyes quickly.

What he heard next was only the sound of a blade clanging to the floor.

Luowei rose to her feet, looking thoroughly shaken, and murmured in disjointed fragments: “No—no—whatever comes after, for the moment it doesn’t matter… even if I am never able to…”

She rambled on in self-admonishment, stepping back again and again. Ye Tingyan picked up the blade from the floor and knelt down before her.

A tingling warmth spread through his chest—he did not know if it was the joy of having survived a close call, or something else entirely. The intricately carved hilt was pressing deep into his palm, yet he felt no pain at all: “If Your Highness spares me now, you will surely regret it one day.”

Luowei looked at his face and suddenly realized he had pushed her into losing her composure—she wondered if this was his revenge for all the times she had done the same to him.

A rush of clogged exasperation surged up inside her. She said sharply and resentfully: “Stop talking nonsense. Get out—go on, get out!”

Ye Tingyan picked up the blade and climbed to his feet, pushed open the latticed window, and as he left, turned to give her a smile: “Once Yu Qiushi has been put to death, I will come to see you again.”