The moment Lu Songping spoke, the strange expression shifted to Xiao Nanhui.

She had only known that Xiao Zhun excelled in spearmanship — she had no idea he was also proficient in archery.

She was silent for a moment, then glossed over it with a few careless words.

“Now that you mention it, it comes back to me.” Her gaze moved to that slender Bijiang bow, and she said abruptly: “Could I borrow that bow?”

“What for?”

“I spent some time in a mountain village in Bijiang and still have some impression of the craftsmen’s techniques there — perhaps I could replicate something of it. Given time, I might be able to try out a new bow design.”

This was, of course, a pretext. She drew Guangyao Camp’s salary — what business was it of hers to trouble herself over the Black Feather garrison?

Only — if she could produce a new bow to match the Black Feather Arrow and have it spread through the ranks, she could at least say she had done something remarkable alongside Xiao Zhun.

Lu Songping’s gaze traveled from her neck to her shoulders, then from her shoulders to her waist and abdomen — blatantly and without any concealment.

Xiao Nanhui was instinctively uncomfortable, and nearly thought she was about to be found out.

“Why do you look at me like that?”

Lu Songping considered for a moment, then delivered his verdict.

“Your natural constitution is too slight. Abandoning the spear for the bow will lead you nowhere.”

His casual delivery of this barbed judgment made Xiao Nanhui draw a deep breath and force out a smile.

Who said anything about abandoning the spear for the bow? She had no interest in it whatsoever!

“Whether it works or not can only be known by trying.”

She picked up the bow and was about to use this as an opportunity to slip away, when Lu Songping’s voice rang out unexpectedly again.

“Wait.”

The cold sweat that had just begun to subside broke out again. This person was far too difficult to manage. She had thought that after sitting through that long conversation, this episode would be over.

She stood at the doorway, ready at any moment to bolt.

“What is it, Lieutenant Lu?”

Lu Songping showed a thin smile that reached only his lips, not his eyes: “Did the Right General not come to discuss the assassin?”

Xiao Nanhui stared blankly before remembering he was reviving the thread of conversation she had let be diverted earlier. She could not quite read Lu Songping’s intent.

“Has Lieutenant Lu detected some unusual activity?” Having asked, she worried it was not specific enough and immediately added: “That assassin may well be connected to the Bai Family — I am concerned—”

“The Right General need not worry about the matter of the Bai woman. The lodge where the Bai woman is being held is within the garrison grounds itself. The Black Feather garrison excels above all at placing concealed sentries. When we choose to, not even a fly can get in — as the Right General saw for herself in the ancient road by the Tianmu River.”

This single casually-delivered sentence left Xiao Nanhui standing where she was in stunned silence — so much so that she could not even spare attention for the barbed dig embedded in his tone.

The Black Feather garrison had simply used its own encampment to surround the lodge where Bai Yun was being held?!

No wonder, after such a major incident yesterday, Jiaosong as a whole had shown so little disorder. The pieces had been placed long ago in a settled formation.

As long as Bai Yun, that white chess piece, remained encircled within the black pieces, sooner or later white pieces would come to rescue her. All the black pieces needed to do was hold their position and watch the situation unfold.

Snapping back to herself, Xiao Nanhui felt oddly indignant. If she had known it was as simple as one sentence from him, why had she painstakingly rummaged through that cluttered case for so long?!

Looking at Lu Songping’s face — innocent on the surface with a faint thread of calculation beneath — she suddenly felt certain he had understood her purpose from the moment he entered the tent, yet had deliberately led her in a wide circle to watch her go to all that trouble to justify herself.

She could not let this go, but Lu Songping did not seem inclined to give her a chance to recover any ground, and cut straight to dismissing her: “Is there anything else the Right General requires?”

Xiao Nanhui refused to admit defeat. With a flip of her hand she lifted three Black Feather Arrows from the quiver, and said with all the dignity she could muster: “Borrowing three arrows — do not be stingy, Brother Lu.”

Having said that, she worried he would make another move, so she greased her feet and vanished like a gust of wind.

However, Lu Songping did not call out again, nor did he give chase. He raised his eyes and glanced at the jade hook on the felt curtain that she had set swinging with a clear, crisp sound as she left. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, and he lowered his head again to work on the bowstring.

Finding a lodge within the military encampment was considerably easier than finding a tent.

But even having found the right place, Xiao Nanhui did not dare approach rashly.

Lu Songping’s words were still ringing in her ears. The last time she had tried sneaking about in the Ling’xi camp to find the Emperor, she had taken an arrow to the thigh.

All around was perfectly quiet. Not a single patrolling soldier could be seen, and not the faintest indication of any concealed sentries.

Truly Lu Songping’s handiwork.

Xiao Nanhui crouched in a half-dug pit for a while. Unable to come up with a better plan, and aware that continuing to dither would not help, she made up her mind, stood, and walked out into the open.

She was wearing military dress today, but on her head was the black-plumed military cap proper to a commissioned military officer — specifically so she could move more freely within this encampment.

She walked a few dozen paces. Still not a sound from the surroundings.

The gray courtyard wall of the lodge was right before her. Xiao Nanhui felt uncertain, and while adjusting and testing the bow and arrows in her hands and running through a few practice moves to appear as though she were drilling, she cleared her throat and began working herself up to speak.

“This is quite a spacious spot — truly an ideal place to practice archery.”

No sooner had she spoken than the old crow in the nearby tree opened its beak and let out two loud, jarring cries — startling her half to death.

She waited a moment. The surroundings remained silent.

Xiao Nanhui felt that her performance — so transparently obvious, like someone posting a sign reading “definitely no silver buried here” — was dripping with foolishness. But having already opened the show, and not knowing whether anyone was watching from concealment nearby, she had no choice but to see it through.

She studied the courtyard wall carefully. Her mind was made up.

She pulled the bow to full draw, aimed at a spot of crumbling plaster on the wall, and the next moment released. With a sharp crack, the rotted white plaster on the wall’s edge shattered, and the arrow flew through into the courtyard.

Xiao Nanhui lowered the bow and muttered to herself: “Oh dear — the arrow has passed clean through the wall! What if it hit someone?”

The cold wind sent dead leaves swirling past. The old crow in the tree called out two more times, then flapped its wings and flew away.

The last “audience member” had departed. The surroundings fell completely silent. Xiao Nanhui glanced around, not knowing whether her timing had been well-judged or not. Having made up her mind, she raised her arm, slung the bow across her back, surged forward, and using the gap in the wall as a foothold, vaulted over in one movement and dropped down into the courtyard.

Inside the wall was as quiet as outside. Xiao Nanhui crouched by the base of the wall and listened for a while. Finding no one pursuing her from outside, she straightened up with some uncertainty.

The Black Feather garrison’s security was truly bewildering. Previously she had crept about and still been shot clean through; now she had come marching in openly and nothing had happened.

Had Xiao Zhun come here last night? Had he entered through the front gate on orders, or had he come the same way she had—

Xiao Nanhui did not want to keep guessing. She forced herself to look around — whatever happened, seeing for herself was better than speculation.

What greeted the eye was desolation. The courtyard was bare and empty — no withered branches, no dead grass, nothing. Even by Chizhou standards this was uncommon. It seemed someone had deliberately moved out all the plants and ornamental rocks, to expose the original layout of the building — making it impossible for anyone to find a hiding place within.

Xiao Nanhui followed the nearest covered walkway for a stretch, then came to a sudden stop.

From somewhere behind her, there came a faint, shallow sound of breathing — not very obvious, but impossible to miss for her ears.

The next moment, a small stone went “plop” and struck the back of her leg.

She turned around, and saw a small child wearing only an inner garment peeking at her from behind a walkway pillar not far away.

The moment the child saw Xiao Nanhui turn, it hurriedly ducked back — but the little pointed hair knot on top of its head stuck out from behind the pillar like a sprout of garlic, and was rather amusing to see.

Was this not where the Bai woman was being held? Why was there a small child?

Xiao Nanhui pretended not to notice and turned to leave.

“Plop” — another stone, this one landing squarely on her rear.

She spun around and fixed the culprit with a ferocious glare.

The “garlic sprout head,” realizing it was exposed, turned to bolt — and was caught by Xiao Nanhui in a few long strides, who seized it by one ear.

“You hit someone and then try to run. Whose child are you? Where are your manners?”

The “garlic sprout head” wriggled in her grip like a slippery little fish, and was still stubbornly indignant, stammering out its grievance in broken phrases: “Bad— bad person — bullying little kids—”

This little brat was not very old, but had a truly dreadful temper.

The child kept struggling but could not get free no matter how hard it tried.

Xiao Nanhui smiled wickedly.

This technique of hers had been passed down from Dujuan, the disciple of the “Withered Chan Hand” — how could she possibly let a little brat wriggle free so easily?

“What then — you may throw stones at others, but others may not respond? I am bullying you, so what are you going to do about it?”

The words had barely settled when a sharp grating of metal against stone rang out, accompanied by rapid footsteps.

Xiao Nanhui looked up, and saw a white-clad young woman come hurrying from the other end of the covered walkway, wearing only a single layer of clothing and barefoot.

Her feet were weighed down by heavy chains; the sound from a moment ago was those chains scraping against the ground. The chains made her movement somewhat unsteady, yet even so, her expression bore little trace of dishevelment — as though Xiao Nanhui held not someone important to her, but merely a stalk of garlic.

The “garlic sprout head,” upon seeing rescue arrive, wriggled all the more wildly: “Elder sister, save me! She— she’s bullying me!”

“A’Zhi, stop causing a scene.” The young woman called out quietly. Her voice held no particular severity, yet the child immediately restrained its tantrum, going limp in Xiao Nanhui’s hold like a deflated sack.

Xiao Nanhui had never meant to make things difficult for a small child. She took the opportunity to let go, and the little bean-shaped one walked over with its head down and took hold of the young woman’s hand — while rubbing its reddened ear with the other hand and baring its teeth at Xiao Nanhui on the sly.

But Xiao Nanhui had absolutely no attention to spare for it just then. All of it was on the white-clad young woman.

“Miss Bai — it has been a long time.”

Bai Yun’s hazy eyes swept lightly across her face. There was a flicker of puzzlement.

Xiao Nanhui felt the sharp edge of her wariness suddenly find itself with nowhere to be directed.

Bai Yun had not recognized her.

“In Xiao Zhun’s tent — we met.”

She could not help offering a reminder. The confusion on Bai Yun’s face finally eased somewhat, replaced by a cool, detached expression.

“The guilty girl pays her respects to the Right General.” Though she was apologizing and paying respects, there was not the slightest hint of humility in her bearing. “My younger brother is small — he lost his wet nurse not long ago and has become all the more willful. It was my failure to discipline him. If the Right General wishes to punish someone, punish me.”

Lost the wet nurse and turned into this sort — in the future, if he lost his own father, wouldn’t he become an absolute terror?

Xiao Nanhui felt something uncomfortable stir in her chest. She could not tell if it was because of those words, or simply because she disliked the person before her.

“He was the one being troublesome. Why would I punish you?”

“He is now seven years old, but his mind is still that of a child of two or three. He cannot speak clearly, and there is no reasoning with him. The Right General might as well take pity on him, and overlook this once.”

This was somewhat unexpected to Xiao Nanhui.

Bai He’liu’s remaining sons had all died on the battlefield. The only surviving shoot of that line turned out to be slow in the mind.

If she were to hold a grudge here, she would only appear to have no magnanimity herself.

“I will not pursue this matter.”

Every moment she spent in this woman’s presence, her heart grew a fraction more troubled. Xiao Nanhui resolved to state her purpose directly.

“I have a question for you — has my foster—” She paused and adjusted her phrasing. “Has Qinghuai Marquis Xiao Zhun come to find you?”

Bai Yun visibly paused at this, but in the end remained calm and shook her head.

“He has not.”

The answer made things worse rather than better for Xiao Nanhui. She was even less inclined to believe it.

“Truly has he never come?”

Bai Yun said nothing.

A surge of anger flared suddenly in Xiao Nanhui’s chest. If Bai Yun would only speak plainly and clearly, she might still be able to respect the Bai family for having some backbone. But this manner — as though one had suffered some immense wrong yet would not say a single word about it — was simply maddening to look at.

“If you are unwilling to say, then so be it — I will go ask him myself—”

At this, something finally shifted in Bai Yun’s expression.

“Where are you going?”

Xiao Nanhui crossed her arms. “Since I managed to get in here, I go wherever I please.”

A moment of stillness settled between them. The two women stood facing each other, neither willing to yield.

After a long pause, Bai Yun’s expression recovered its old cool pride.

“Is the General looking for this?” From within her wide sleeve she drew out a familiar-looking arrow. “The General shot an arrow into my courtyard — it was nothing but an excuse to come in through a legitimate means. Now that I return the arrow to the General with both hands, the General has no further reason to remain here.”

Xiao Nanhui felt an inner tremor and could scarcely believe that the purpose she had taken such pains to conceal had been seen through so effortlessly.

Forcing herself to save face, she heard the faint waver of doubt in her own voice: “It’s just an arrow. If I choose not to take it, what can you do about it?”

“The Black Feather Arrow was made by Prince Shuo for the personal guard. Even in official service, losing a single one is difficult to account for — let alone having one turn up in the courtyard of a traitor’s household. If the General is unafraid of bringing trouble to the Marquis’s house, then leave the arrow here.”

Each word fell light as willow-down, yet in Xiao Nanhui’s ears each one struck like a thunderclap.

The Black Feather Arrow was forged by the Xiao family, father and son — and even she, a person of the Xiao household, had not known this. Yet the woman before her knew.

How? She had already betrayed Xiao Zhun, betrayed Tiancheng — what right did she have to stand here worrying for the Marquis’s house, to concern herself with Xiao Zhun?

Xiao Nanhui’s fury surged to her face in nearly an instant, and she could no longer be bothered to keep up any pretense of civility. The words all but burst from her: “What does the Black Feather Arrow have to do with you? What does the Xiao family have to do with you?! Have you not harmed him once already — do you mean to harm him a second time?!”

She was someone who had spent years on the battlefield, and without intending to, these few sentences carried the weight of killing intent.

The garlic-sprout-haired child beside Bai Yun had been gnawing at its fingers with its head down all this while, and was now frightened into a sudden wail.

Bai Yun showed no sign of going to soothe it — as though long accustomed to such scenes. She only crouched down and used the hem of her own sleeve to wipe the tears from the child’s face, murmuring as she did so, in a voice that seemed addressed to no one at all: “How could I— how could I ever harm him—”

Xiao Nanhui stood to one side, watching coldly, and believed not a word of what that woman said.

“Give me back my arrow. I have no wish to linger here.”

Yet Bai Yun seemed to have changed her mind. She rose to her feet and looked steadily at Xiao Nanhui.

“Does the General perhaps know why this is?” She drew the arrow from her sleeve. “The General drew the bow to full strength — all ten parts of force — and yet when I look at where it entered the wooden railing, it penetrated only three parts deep.”

Xiao Nanhui had not intended to engage, but something about it brought to mind her old wager with Xiao Zhun. Without thinking, she replied: “The arrow passed through the stone wall and lost some of its force along the way — naturally some power would be spent.”

“Not so. The Black Feather Arrow was originally designed with a lengthened shaft to stabilize the force with which it cut through the wind — but this made its accuracy insufficient, and it requires a fine bow as a match.” She spoke as she extended a hand toward Xiao Nanhui. “The General has shot me with an arrow — I will return a bow to the General. Would the General care to borrow it for a moment?”

The arrow shot from that watchtower on the battlefield was still vivid in her mind. Xiao Nanhui knew perfectly well this woman was a master of archery, not nearly as fragile and harmless as she appeared.

Every rational instinct told Xiao Nanhui she should not follow this woman’s lead and hand over a weapon so readily. Yet in this moment, she felt a stubborn, almost defiant impulse.

Xiao Nanhui handed her bow to Bai Yun.

The woman’s delicate fingers closed lightly around the bow’s grip, and she turned toward Xiao Nanhui a smile that held no warmth.

“General, look clearly — the difference between you and me.”

Xiao Nanhui stood where she was, watching fixedly as the white-clad woman nocked the arrow, drew the bow, aimed, and released in one seamless, flowing motion, the speed stunning.

This was the first time she had seen Bai Yun shoot at close range. It was an exceptionally rare reversed-hand, small-draw stance — identical to the way Xiao Zhun drew a bow.

The black arrow flew from the silver-white bowstring, grazed past Xiao Nanhui’s ear like a darting snake, threaded through the latticed opening in the covered walkway a hundred paces away, and drove into the tree trunk on the other side — its force entirely undiminished at the moment of impact.

That bow had a draw weight of only one stone. To produce such force from it meant only one thing: the arrow had passed through the lattice without the faintest friction or loss — a single, clean passage, nothing more.

“This is the White-Horned Bow. It was made by my own hand. That you cannot use it well — that is only natural.”

With every sentence the woman spoke, Xiao Nanhui felt something inside her — some chamber of a palace in her heart — crumble away at one corner.

She stared at that White-Horned Bow, its grip worn smooth with use, and suddenly felt a chill spread through her entire body.

From somewhere deep in her memory, she had once seen a bow like this.

The same slender, graceful arc. The same clean and precise design.

The only difference was perhaps that she had never paid attention to the details of that bow when she was small.

The bow hung on the innermost wall of Xiao Zhun’s room — the one no one was permitted to touch. The one that had been staked as a wager. The one that in the end had never belonged to her.

It hung on the deepest wall of his room, dimmed over years until it had lost much of its luster. But if one could take a soft cloth with fine polish and clean it carefully, she ought to have been able to see that the bow face was like a crescent of clear moonlight — made of water-buffalo horn, white at its core.

Black Feather Arrow. White-Horned Bow.

They had always been a pair.