When Xiao Nanhui stepped out of Jingbo Tower, she discovered that the sun had already begun its westward descent.

What a strange tower, to make one lose all sense of time passing.

In truth, she had not properly watched a sunset over Quecheng in a very long time. This was the capital — its streets were bustling, its towers and pavilions dense. The setting sun lingered only briefly over this city, and hurried passersby often failed to notice its presence before the last ray of light had already faded away.

Sometimes it took a single perfectly-timed glance to hold on to that fleeting moment of beauty.

Xiao Nanhui stopped where she was and watched for a while. A few steps away, Ding Weixiang’s figure perceptibly slowed, then he turned and looked back at her.

“What is it?”

She came back to herself and shook her head.

“Nothing.”

She was not sure when it had happened, but she too had learned the art of saying three parts out of ten and keeping the rest.

Her unspoken, hesitant expression was not lost on Ding Weixiang, and it took on a different meaning in his eyes.

“The events that occurred in Jiaosong County have already drawn you into this affair, and that is why His Majesty permitted you to participate in the investigation. But this does not mean you may go about things without regard for the rules, as you used to.”

Xiao Nanhui looked at Ding Weixiang’s stern face with its faint undertone of rigid inflexibility, and suddenly felt like laughing, and then suddenly felt a certain understanding.

To be at the side of a person like that — it truly called for someone upright and loyal, yet without any crooked intentions.

She feigned irritation and turned her head away.

“I thought you wanted me here to help. I had not realized you were treating me as a nuisance.”

Sure enough, the other party immediately showed a flicker of anxious misunderstanding.

“Rules are rules. I am not singling you out—”

That much was true.

She nodded and turned to face him, meeting his eyes, then slowly spoke.

“That arrow from atop Tingfeng Tower — it truly was not shot by me.”

Ding Weixiang was startled, as though he had not expected Xiao Nanhui to bring this up at that moment.

A moment of conflict passed over his usually stolid face before it returned to its customary expression.

“I believe you.” He paused, then added with sincerity, “Your archery is not that good.”

The small surge of gratitude that had just risen in Xiao Nanhui’s heart plummeted at once.

“Is there anything else? If not, I’ll be going.”

Ding Weixiang, his expression blank, reached into his clothing and produced a waist tablet, holding it out to her.

“This is the waist tablet of the Black Feather Camp. It must be presented together with the iron ring on your wrist in order to pass. To avoid drawing the attention of unrelated parties, you will for now retain the position of camp guard in the Guangyao Company, but in private, your rank and deployment will follow the protocols of the Black Feather covert operatives, for ease of action. The tablet stays with you, and if it is lost, you will face military punishment.”

Xiao Nanhui accepted the waist tablet, unable to conceal the delight and wonder on her face as she turned it over and examined it from every angle.

This was a Black Feather Camp waist tablet — there were precious few of them in all of Tiancheng.

“In the time before the spring hunt, when the need arises, you will be coming and going from this place frequently. Outside of here, you are not permitted to remove or reveal any documents or case files related to this investigation, nor may you speak of it outside. Any violation will be dealt with by military punishment.”

Military punishment on the left, military punishment on the right — how was anyone supposed to get any work done?

Xiao Nanhui stared at the waist tablet in her hand and suddenly found it a great deal less appealing.

Once, she had pursued the truth of the Xiao Family’s past alone. Even when she went deep into Huozhou to investigate the secret seal, her only trustworthy helper at her side had been Bolao. Yet at the time she had not felt alone, nor had she thought the hope ahead of her was actually quite dim.

And now she had the most capable assistance available under all of heaven — yet she felt the road ahead was arduous, the future submerged in a mist-laden night.

Where was she even to begin?

Lost in thought, the feet that had already started to leave came to a sudden halt.

“Ding Weixiang.”

She rarely called him by his full name. The moment it left her lips she felt the awkwardness of it acutely — yet thinking of what she was about to say made it even more awkward.

Ding Weixiang turned around. Xiao Nanhui raised her hand and touched her ear.

“Well — there is something I would like to ask your help with, right now.”

“What is it?”

“Where is Bai Yun being held? Could I see her—”

She had not dared raise her head as she spoke, afraid that lifting it would bring a refusal straight to the face.

As it happened, even without lifting her head, the refusal came just as swiftly.

“No.” Ding Weixiang’s answer was absolute. “Don’t you know? I take orders from one person alone.”

Though she had known it was likely to be refused, she still had not wanted to see the lackey’s insufferable expression.

Xiao Nanhui clenched her teeth and waved her hand with effort.

“Forget it. Pretend I said nothing.”

“Weixiang.” A voice drifted down from the high tower above, intermittent yet unequivocal. “Miss Xiao is not an outsider. Do not forget what I told you before.”

Ding Weixiang’s expression shifted through several phases. Xiao Nanhui had not known this man was capable of such a range of expressions.

“But, my lord—”

“I am weary and heading back. A’Fei is waiting. See that things are dealt with properly before you return.”

With that, before Ding Weixiang had a chance to react, the voice was gone.

Xiao Nanhui looked up, yet saw no figure atop the high tower.

She looked at Ding Weixiang, who was also looking at her.

After a long moment, she gave a light cough and tried to look as casually indifferent as possible.

“Grievances have their source, and debts their owner. Ding Lieutenant, do not take out your resentment on me — just lead the way.”

Xiao Nanhui had not expected to find herself back inside Jingbo Tower.

She walked through the darkness, feet unsteady, and complained to the guard leading the way ahead of her.

“Has His Majesty run out of places to keep prisoners? Why would he choose somewhere this close to the palace? Is he not afraid someone will sweep through and take them all in one go—”

“Miss Xiao, mind your words.” The person ahead did not turn around, voice somewhat muffled. “All intelligence related to Bai Shi is concentrated within this tower. It stands to reason that Bai Shi herself would be no exception.”

“If she is right here, why were you unwilling to bring me earlier?”

“Bai Shi’s identity is currently an incredibly sensitive matter. And you are rushing to see her now, of all times — are you worried the Xiao Family has not become deeply enough entangled in this affair?”

Xiao Nanhui was stopped short, suddenly realizing she had nearly forgotten the dangerous events at the palace hall that day.

Working near the Son of Heaven was no easy thing. Back in the western ridge, she had never been this lax. In only a few short months, she had apparently made herself quite comfortably at ease.

She composed herself and said in a low voice: “I am seeking her out for a genuine reason. If you are not at ease, you may stand by and watch.”

“We’re here.” Ding Weixiang stopped and turned to look at her. “Do not take advantage of His Majesty’s protection and start making a spectacle of yourself. When true matters of life and death and great principle are at stake, His Majesty will not favor you.”

Life and death and great principle? Xiao Nanhui found that somewhat amusing.

If she were to have her way, the person she had in mind probably disdained above all else the very notion of “great principle of life and death.”

She stretched her hand and waved it in front of her face, frowning.

“It is so dark.”

“His Majesty has given orders. No lamps may be lit here.”

Ding Weixiang reached out and rapped his knuckles against the stone wall a few times. The sound of footsteps approached from the other side, accompanied by the glow of a torch.

“Lieutenant Ding, this way please.”

The newcomer verified Ding Weixiang’s waist tablet and used a torch to light the path forward.

It was a stone chamber very similar to the one that had held the corpse, except that a floor-to-ceiling iron cage divided it in two. The torchlight could not reach into the depths of the cage, and the darkness within suggested no one was there.

“May I speak with her alone for a moment?”

The guard made no move, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

“His Majesty has given orders that no one is to be alone with Bai Shi.”

Xiao Nanhui had no choice but to step back.

“I will not go in. I will just ask a few questions through the bars — half an incense stick’s time at most. Is that all right?”

The guard looked toward Ding Weixiang, whose face once again displayed the familiar expression of conflict and reluctance, before he finally said in a subdued voice: “Half an incense stick only. Not a moment more.”

Xiao Nanhui’s expression showed gratitude. “Thank you, Lieutenant Ding.”

The guard said nothing further, left a torch, and disappeared through the doorway together with Ding Weixiang.

Xiao Nanhui waited for a while, listening until the sound of footsteps had receded, then picked up the torch and approached the sole cell within the stone chamber.

“To commit treason and attempt regicide — and still walk to me with all your limbs intact. It seems he truly does like you.”

She had not yet caught sight of the person within, but the voice had already rung out.

From the moment she had stepped into the cell block, Xiao Nanhui had prepared herself mentally. No matter what the other party said to unsettle or attack her, she would respond with composure.

Yet this very first sentence already unsettled her heart.

She was not skilled in such things, and Bai Yun clearly knew this.

“The Emperor would not send you to interrogate me. You came on your own, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She decided to be direct. “I have not come here today to trade words with you. I only have a few questions.”

“And if I choose not to answer?”

“I ask, you answer. Or not.”

A laugh came from within the darkness, followed by the sound of chains dragging across the ground.

A disheveled, blood-stained figure emerged into the light. Her face looked paler than before, as though all vitality had drained from it. Her dim, lightless eyes squeezed shut with effort before opening again.

That was the reaction of someone who had spent a long time in the dark.

“Before I answer your questions, I want you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”

After a rustling, searching sound, the pale and thin hand picked up an oil lamp that had nearly run dry, and passed it through the iron bars toward Xiao Nanhui.

“Light it.”

Xiao Nanhui hesitated for a moment, then brought the torch close and lit the oil lamp.

The lamp flared to a flame no bigger than a bean — so faint it seemed it might go out at any second.

The woman cupped it carefully in her hands, as if even that small flame could bring a measure of warmth.

The heating oil grew scalding hot, but she paid it no mind. The light traced a thin outline of brightness across her face, stripping away something of her earlier fragility and adding a touch of something furtive.

“What do you want to know?”

Xiao Nanhui lowered the torch to let its light better illuminate the woman’s face.

She needed to judge whether the other party was lying.

“Was Xu Rui one of your people?”

Bai Yun sighed, the breath making the flame waver — or perhaps it was a quiet cough.

“Many times, people would sooner believe what they see with their own eyes than accept a truth obtained through much twisting and turning.”

“Answer my question.”

Bai Yun shook her head and said languidly: “I do not know him. He does not know me.”

For some reason, Xiao Nanhui felt there was a ring of truth to this answer.

Taking a deep breath, she asked another question.

“What you said that day at Tingfeng Tower — was it true, or was it merely meant to distract me so the assassination could take place?”

“If I say it was true, will you believe me?”

“I will seek my own proof.”

The disheveled woman combed through her hair with her fingers, and by the lamplight began picking the mud from beneath her fingernails, as though she were entirely alone in the cell.

“Then my answer does not matter. Besides, there are things that even I only know one or two fragments of. If you are not afraid of death, go and investigate.”

Her answer was evasive, yet Xiao Nanhui heard a different signal within it.

She definitely knows something.

“Was the annihilation of the entire Xiao Family all those years ago caused by the secret seal? How much do you actually know about the secret seal? Is Pu Huna also connected to your Bai Family—”

Bai Yun broke into a soft, croaking laugh. The detachment of a moment ago receded, and the extremity in her eyes began to surface.

Beneath that beautiful exterior lived a soul tormented to the point of madness.

“All your questions are so terribly dull — no different from what I am asked every day. They use torture on me, they keep me in this darkness, and I have not broken. I am not even afraid of death, so why would I tell you now?”

“Then you had better tell me everything you know, each detail and every particular.” Xiao Nanhui’s eyes also grew cold. “From what I know of His Majesty, he will not allow you to die before he has obtained an answer that satisfies him.”

The soft laughter turned into a cold sneer.

“Yes, he keeps me alive in hopes that it will draw my father here.”

“He will come eventually.”

“He will not.” Bai Yun’s voice went cold — cold as a frozen river surface in the depths of winter. “Whether for me or for A’Zhi, he will not come! There may not exist a single person in this world who truly cares whether I live or die.”

“You are wrong!”

The volume of Xiao Nanhui’s voice nearly escaped her control.

Bai Yun was wrong. But wrong in what way? She could not say it aloud.

After a moment, the anger that had surged to her chest gradually quieted. Xiao Nanhui found she was able to face this person before her with far more calm than she had imagined.

She fixed her gaze on the woman in the cell and asked, word by deliberate word: “That you say such things — does it mean you have any genuine feeling left for your adoptive father?”

The woman’s voice fell low, as though she were murmuring to herself.

“What does it matter whether I do or not?”

“He went to great lengths to try to save you. Looking at this now, it was not worth the effort.”

Having said that, Xiao Nanhui was already preparing to turn and leave.

“Wait.”

She stopped, then slowly turned back to look at the woman behind the iron cage.

Bai Yun was still seated on the ground, but her expression had changed — a hint of timid vulnerability showing through, which she was trying to cover with a flat, numbed voice.

“They — where have they put A’Zhi? How is he now? Is he eating well, sleeping well? Has he—”

“I don’t know.” Xiao Nanhui answered honestly.

“What has become of the captured people of Bijiang?”

“You are a person of Tiancheng. You should know that Tiancheng has never killed innocent commoners. But if anyone resists, no leniency will be shown.”

The thin shoulders trembled, then sagged.

“Could you ask the Emperor on my behalf—”

“Miss Bai.” Xiao Nanhui cut through her broken voice. “I saved you that day in the main hall because of my adoptive father. I could not bear to see him suffer, or be put in an impossible position. I have never regretted the choice I made. But you are not him, and I have no obligation to accommodate your wishes.”

Sobbing came in broken fragments, enough to make one’s heart crack.

“It is I who am at fault. I could simply die — it would not matter. But A’Zhi is innocent. He knows nothing—”

“Is there truly an innocent person in this world?” For the first time, a measure of compassion entered Xiao Nanhui’s voice. “However freely he lived in Bijiang because of that identity, he must now endure an equal measure of hardship.”

Bai Yun lurched frantically forward, the chains on her body pulled taut, ringing sharply.

“Whether it is A’Zhi, or those soldiers and warriors of Bijiang — they are all people of flesh and blood. They too have family, friends, and loved ones. If you put yourself in their place, how could you bear to see them come to such an end?!”

Bai Yun’s words were always seven parts falsehood to three parts truth. Even when she gazed at one through tear-filled eyes, the eyes behind those tears were as merciless as a certain someone’s.

Yet in this moment, things were entirely reversed. The Bai Yun before her now radiated an unusual sincerity.

And what Xiao Nanhui found most difficult to accept was precisely that genuine feeling.

She could not understand how a person could feel such real emotion for her own enemies.

“I have heard that you not only taught them to read and write, but also taught them methods for forging iron. The chieftains of the various Bijiang clans revere you as a divine woman and call you in private Yi He Ban Zhe Li.”

Yi He Ban Zhe Li — words from the Southern Qiang tongue. Translated into the language of Tiancheng, it meant: The Princess of Thorns.

A princess who walks upon thorns — born into nobility yet destined to suffer and endure affliction.

Just like the life of the woman before her.

A layer of tears welled in Bai Yun’s dazed eyes, and the expression on her face was one of fragility on the verge of collapse.

“That land has always been bathed in war. But they are a people who yearn for peace and freedom. They had no wish to use bows and blades. They viewed iron weapons as a plague that spread war. But they did not understand — war has always been spread by people. If they did not learn to protect themselves, they would only ever be trampled.”

“But you are a person of Tiancheng.” Xiao Nanhui’s voice was cold. “You taught your enemies how to take up blades and cut down the brothers and sisters of Tiancheng. Every Bijiang soldier you saved meant a Tiancheng soldier who would die.”

“When they hunted down and exterminated my entire Bai Family, I had already ceased to be a person of Tiancheng.” Tears fell from Bai Yun’s eyes, and the oil lamp in her hands swayed with them. “And you? Are you a person of Tiancheng? You were born in the barren western ridge, and yet you have planted your emotions deep within this land. While my family was deeply betrayed by the very imperial house they had served loyally — you should know, I was once able to live just as you do.”

“You need not keep performing, Miss Bai.”

Xiao Nanhui spoke suddenly, cutting off Bai Yun’s passion-laden words.

The beauty looked mildly startled, lashes wet with tears, trembling lightly as if dew weighing down dry grass.

Even in such a disheveled and wretched state, she still managed to look pitiable.

“I know nothing at all about how you live.” Xiao Nanhui lowered her head, not looking at the woman behind the cage. “I do not really understand the things you speak of. You have a father and mother, brothers and an elder sister, the honor and glory of the Bai Family’s name, and ties of loyalty, righteousness, and love that cannot be severed. Everything you speak of — none of it applies to me, and I cannot feel what you feel.”

Bai Yun’s face went a shade paler. Xiao Nanhui’s voice dropped lower. “I have only my adoptive father. But his heart holds only you. He has waited for you for many years. If someday you are able to meet again, take him with you.”

With that, Xiao Nanhui turned away. She was afraid that another second would bring regret.

She did not see that in the instant she turned away, a hairline crack appeared in the fragile, mournful mask on the face of the woman in the cage.

The corner of her mouth curved upward with bitter mockery, then was dragged back down by sorrow.

In this lightless, sunless prison cell, on this stone floor soaked in the blood of the guilty, before this oil lamp that might gutter out at any moment — she found herself thinking of a time many years ago, of how the young son of that general’s household had looked when she first laid eyes on him.

Snow blanketing every bough, plum blossoms just beginning to exhale their fragrance, heaven and earth so very still. He stood holding an umbrella beside a black horse, and hearing the sound of her silk shoes on the ground, he slowly turned around.

Those eyes — full of hope, sincerity, and an abundance of love — she would never see them again in this lifetime.

Her eyes had long since run dry, but the heart that should have died long ago seeped tears.

“Heimu Commandery.”

The feet of Xiao Nanhui, who had been about to leave, stopped dead.

“What?”

Bai Yun’s somewhat hoarse voice came low and quiet.

“If you want to investigate the case from the Xiao Family all those years ago, look into the letter that was sent out of Heimu Commandery at that time.” She spoke lightly and quickly, as though if she slowed even slightly, she might regret having opened her mouth. “At that time, my father was on a diplomatic mission to Huozhou, and it was he who personally brought the letter back and delivered it to Prince Shuo. My father never knew what was written in the letter, but he understood that it was the reason why our entire Bai Family was hunted down to the last.”

Half an incense stick of time had nearly elapsed. The sound of the guards’ footsteps was already audible outside the door. Xiao Nanhui stepped urgently forward by several paces.

“What letter? Explain clearly — why would the contents of that letter cost people their lives?”

“I have said all I will say. The next time you and I meet will not be like this.” The voice paused, then uttered a final sentence: “If there is a next time.”

In the next instant, the approaching footsteps halted at the doorway, and Ding Weixiang’s figure appeared at the entrance alongside the guard.

“Miss Xiao, the time is up.”