This is what that northern Di tribesman had said when he presented that small box of red ointment.
Crimson Blood Raven: insoluble in water but soluble in fat, it produces a remarkable fragrance when burned. It can loosen a person’s sinews and bones, and set their blood coursing wildly. Taken by mouth and ingested in liquid, its effects are mild. Burned as incense, the effect is instead violent.
Though Crimson Blood Raven is not exclusive to Chizhou, it is by no means an extraordinarily rare substance either. Many wealthy and noble households in the city keep some, using it to add a little excitement to their bedchamber affairs — it causes no lasting harm.
But few know that Crimson Blood Raven must not be taken together with pungent substances in wine. The wine accelerates the flow of the pulse, while pungent substances, unable to disperse outward through the surface, concentrate their scorching heat in the lower abdomen — causing the original effects of the Crimson Blood Raven to become terrifyingly amplified. In milder cases: night sweats, loss of speech, ringing in the ears, and heart palpitations. In severe cases: clouded consciousness and loss of control of bodily functions.
Madam Bo set down the empty wine cup, her fingertips still trembling.
The lamp oil laced with Crimson Blood Raven ointment had been applied by her own hand. The yellow wine flavored with epimedium and cnidium had been prepared by her personally. No one knew better than she what fate awaited someone who had inhaled that fragrance and then swallowed that wine.
And so she held that mouthful of wine between her lips and tongue, refusing with every fiber of her being to swallow.
If only he would let her go after this — she would be able to—
And yet, the man before her clearly had no intention of letting her go so easily.
“Madam Bo, how is the wine?”
The Emperor regarded her with unhurried ease, as if genuinely waiting for a critique.
Madam Bo stood frozen, the acrid sting of the wine swirling in her mouth and driving straight up into the crown of her skull.
At every step she took, he already knew where her piece would land. He pressed relentlessly, closing off every avenue — and now, even if she wished to concede defeat and leave the board, she could not.
She lifted the base of her tongue. In the end, she swallowed that bitter cup of wine.
“Splendid. This consort thanks Your Majesty for the gift of wine—”
“Madam has a fine capacity for drink. On such a beautiful occasion as this, fine wine befits a fine lady. Madam Bo must not let it go to waste.”
She watched helplessly as that hand took the empty cup, then raised the wine vessel and poured again. The cup that had been emptied with such effort was full again in an instant.
“Madam, please.”
Madam Bo’s long-trembling pupils went still — gradually widening like those of a person approaching death. In those pupils, what was reflected seemed not to be that porcelain white wine cup, but the gates of hell, thrown open wide before her this night.
One cup. Another cup. And another still.
Su Wei poured slowly, not wasting a single drop — until he had emptied the last drop from that large-bellied vessel. Only then did he stop, his manner carrying a faint, calm trace of regret.
“Truly, fine wine is never enough. Would Madam not agree?”
Madam Bo could no longer answer that question. She lay collapsed on the ground, both legs shaking uncontrollably, her face an unnatural crimson, her mouth beginning to mumble incoherent words, her hands ceaselessly tearing at her own clothing.
The nurse who had been following her all along could no longer bear to watch. Swallowing the sobs rising in her throat, she went to pull up her prostrate mistress.
The moment she did, a rushing, pattering sound of liquid rang out. A thin stream ran out from beneath Madam Bo’s skirts, soaking those blue silk slippers embroidered with white peonies and adorned with sea pearls, pooling into a small puddle on the ground.
The Emperor finally lowered his gaze and let out a soft sigh.
“Madam Bo has a poor head for drink — it seems this will be a taxing night for her. Imperial Uncle, I must trouble you to see her settled and properly looked after. Do not allow her to make any further spectacle of herself and bring shame upon the Imperial family.”
Xuanyuan Prince Su Che said nothing, his expression having long since turned unbearably ugly. He glanced at the nurse, and the woman — her face ashen — dragged her mistress away without daring to utter another word.
In an instant, the courtyard that had been seething with undercurrents and one dramatic scene after another fell quiet once more.
The evening breeze rose again. The oil lamp seemed to have burned down at just that moment — it flickered and went out.
Before the Painting Residence, the Prince and the Emperor each stood concealed in shadow, their expressions unreadable.
“Has Your Majesty made this journey solely to meddle in your subject’s household affairs?”
“The Imperial Uncle is mistaken. What goes on in a minister’s household cannot be considered a purely private matter — and even less so when you and I both dwell within the Imperial family, where there are no truly private affairs.”
Watching the two men trade veiled barbs that hovered on the edge of drawing swords, Xiao Nanhui — crouched in her corner — was so agitated she could barely stand still, and desperately wished to find a crack in the ground to hide in.
The two people standing in this room now — she could afford to offend neither of them. And yet, tonight’s events had been set off on her account.
She fidgeted, rubbing her hands together, and merely drew her toes back an inch — but the man before her sensed it at once.
The Emperor stepped back from his dominant position of the evening, offering a slight concession. Then he pivoted sharply in his speech:
“How is the Left General?”
Xiao Nanhui’s ears perked up, a flicker of puzzlement stirring in her heart.
Su Pingchuan? What happened to Su Pingchuan? Could it be that Su Pingchuan had also suffered some misfortune tonight?
Across the way, Xuanyuan Prince’s expression stilled — he had already grasped the Emperor’s intent. He finally eased his stance as well, cupping his hands in a bow:
“This subject thanks Your Majesty for the timely reminder. Pingchuan — he is unharmed.”
Su Wei clearly did not take the thanks at face value. He turned and walked toward the wall painted with beautiful latticed window designs.
“It is said that in the days when the late General Feiliang led his campaigns, he often marched through the night, and over time fell into the habit of sleeping late and being unwilling to rise early. He reportedly complained that the rooms in the Prince’s Mansion had bright windows and gleaming tiles — the morning light was glaring, and the courtyard always noisy — and so the Imperial Uncle had the south-facing windows of this room sealed up and a painting rendered on the wall in their place. Now that I see it, it is indeed touching — the sincerity behind it is deeply felt.”
So this was the true origin of the Painting Residence.
Xiao Nanhui stole a glance at Xuanyuan Prince, a few steps away. The middle-aged man bore five or six parts resemblance to Su Wei in features — the commander of an army, yet without the bearing of an ordinary soldier. He carried instead a faint air of scholarly refinement. Such a man must have been the object of many a woman’s affection in his youth. To have taken a daughter of a military family as his wife despite Imperial suspicion — there must have been no small amount of winding story behind it.
Yet with such a history, the Xuanyuan Prince’s Mansion had still seen a new flower blossom and an old face replaced.
“All of that is ancient history. Your Majesty need not give it another thought.”
Su Wei’s form did not move. He merely extended a hand and traced his fingers along the painted brushstrokes on the wall.
“My finds the Painting Residence quite admirable — only the space is small, and cannot accommodate too many people. It is important to be clear about who belongs inside the room and who should remain outside — only then can regrettable situations like what occurred just now be avoided. Would the Imperial Uncle not agree?”
Set against what Madam Bo had just done — those vile machinations — this counsel was not without its basis. And yet this man had always spoken on one level while meaning something far deeper — one move ahead while plotting a thousand li beyond.
As the thoughts turned through his mind, a shadow of concealed worry crossed Xuanyuan Prince’s eyes, and his voice took on a trace of urgency:
“Is Your Majesty intending to call the descendants of the Mei family back to court for service? General Mei is advanced in years, and has only two sons remaining. Though both Masters have reached great heights in martial cultivation, they have long since withdrawn from court affairs—”
“In the Imperial Uncle’s eyes, is My so lacking in human feeling?” The Emperor’s voice turned cool, cutting in without mercy. “After Bijiang, Tiancheng will likely see years without war. There will surely be a trend at court toward favoring civil affairs over military ones. Yet the soldiers of each garrison cannot be reduced by a single man in a single day. If talk of being discarded the moment one’s usefulness is spent begins to spread from this very moment, how will the military families manage their standing in future? Once they were of one heart — but hereafter they could become heads for the chopping block. Favor some and slight others, and dissenting hearts will take root.”
It had long been said the Emperor possessed a strategy for pacifying the turbulent age and bringing good governance to a prosperous era. Only today did Xiao Nanhui glimpse even a portion of it.
The campaign to retake Bijiang had been concluded within a year — yet it had been built upon years of groundwork before it, and required years of careful management after. Only thus was it possible to forge the flourishing era of Tiancheng that existed today.
This truth Xiao Nanhui understood. Xuanyuan Prince, needless to say, understood it even more deeply.
“Your Majesty’s intention, this subject has taken to heart. In days to come, this subject will ensure no general is made to feel deserted.”
Having said this, Xuanyuan Prince glanced at the woman huddled in the corner and abruptly changed the subject. “Master Zong should still be in the ancestral hall. Your Majesty might go and have a word with him.”
The Emperor raised an eyebrow slightly, wearing an expression of perfectly calibrated surprise: “Was Master Zong not always in Minzhou? When did he come to Quecheng?”
Xuanyuan Prince smiled without replying, and raised his eyes to meet the Emperor’s. In that meeting of gazes, each had already gone back and forth many times in his own mind.
The Emperor was the first to withdraw his gaze. He turned and stepped into the Painting Residence.
“This residence is in a tranquil location, and the evening breeze is pleasantly comfortable. While the Imperial Uncle sees off those guests, My will take the air here for a while and leave shortly.”
“As you wish.”
Xuanyuan Prince complied readily, and truly, as though he had just concluded an ordinary round of casual family conversation, he turned and walked away at an unhurried pace.
Jiang Fei had also disappeared from the courtyard at some point unknown. Only now did Xiao Nanhui realize that the small courtyard had, without her noticing, been left with only her.
Was this — had they simply not given her a second thought?
She stood in place for a moment, somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, then followed him in stepping into the room. Recalling what the two men had just said, she asked almost instinctively:
“What happened to Su Pingchuan?”
The figure ahead paused, then turned around, brow lightly furrowed.
“And you still have the presence of mind to worry about him?”
For some unknown reason, seeing that faintly displeased face, Xiao Nanhui suddenly felt diminished — a little lost for words: “I — I only heard Your Majesty mention him just now, so—”
“If you truly have his interests at heart, keep your distance from him in the future.”
Xiao Nanhui froze.
She had grown accustomed to this person speaking in roundabout, cloud-veiled ways. This kind of bluntness, coming now, left her not just caught off guard but feeling an odd pang of hurt.
“Why? His stepmother is indeed a troublesome woman, but I can say with a clear conscience—”
“The problem is not with you, but with him. He does not yet have the power to fully pursue what he wishes to do, and yet he was born into a Prince’s household. Every inch you draw closer to him, the more danger you court. Do not forget what you witnessed just now. If you had drunk that wine, you would be in the same state as Madam Bo.”
At those words, the scene she had witnessed with her own eyes came flooding back into Xiao Nanhui’s mind. If before she hadn’t had the space to think on it carefully, remembering it now brought not just the flush of satisfaction at seeing evil punished — but something more: a cold shudder running through her.
“Why aren’t you speaking?”
Because she didn’t know what to say.
She despised Madam Bo. Despised the way she looked down on everyone from on high with such ease. Despised how she — also a woman — sought to secure her own position by crushing other women beneath her.
Yet the scene just now left her shaking inside.
For some people, death is not the most terrifying thing. Losing one’s dignity is.
It was so for Madam Bo. It was so for her as well.
He could be so utterly ruthless in destroying the spirit of a woman whose standing was far beneath his own. Would he, in future, use the same means against her? And if he chose to do so, she would have not a single avenue of resistance.
She was far worse off than even Madam Bo. She had no father, no brothers, no maternal clan. Her only support was the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion — but her adoptive father could scarcely protect himself, so how could he spare thought for her?
Could she truly depend on that little light from the solitary moon? Was it the warmth that lit the darkness for her — or simply one of those eternal, indifferent presences in the heartless night sky?
Having heard nothing from her for a long while, Su Wei lowered his gaze.
“Let My guess. You think My is cruel?”
Xiao Nanhui went silent.
He knew her every thought. In his presence, she could never hide.
“People praise honesty and despise deception — yet in the end they most often choose to believe lies. What you took to be all manner of unavoidable circumstance is nothing but whitewash. My only presents you with the truth of things as they are.” His voice echoed through the Painting Residence, each word striking with weight. “It is the same with that cup of wine. It is the same with what you call cruelty.”
He usually spoke gently and obliquely — but now he was like a newly sharpened blade, his edge aimed directly at the most vulnerable place in her heart.
From the circumstances of the past to her present relationship with Xiao Zhun — all of it had long since been determined. She knew the truth, but had never been willing to lay it bare. And yet she had managed to coexist with those truths in peace for years. So why was it that the moment he appeared, everything had to be turned upside down?
Even if she had been truly blind and foolish and had brought it on herself — had he not also stirred the waters and fanned the flames?
Xiao Nanhui’s heart began racing again, a breath lodging in her chest that needed out.
“Madam Bo brought it on herself and deserved what she received. Only — today was meant to be a joyous occasion at the Prince’s Mansion, and this matter arose on my account. That it has been blown into such an affair is truly unsettling. The Xiao Mansion already stands beneath a crumbling wall. I beg Your Majesty to show mercy and not continue to hold me over the fire.”
The moment she mentioned the Xiao Mansion, the man’s expression cooled in an instant.
“Are you implying that My used you?”
Xiao Nanhui remained silent still. Her silence held a kind of stubbornness within it. She didn’t understand where that stubborn streak came from — she only felt she had become somewhat self-deceiving, or perhaps she had always been that way.
Xuanyuan Prince currently commanded tens of thousands of elite soldiers in the Guangyao garrison, bore Imperial bloodline, and held great prestige at court. Even the late Emperor had not been free of some suspicion toward him — let alone now.
Perhaps the Emperor had merely used her affairs as a pretext to put pressure on the Prince, and Madam Bo had simply stumbled into the blade at just the wrong moment, becoming a sacrificial offering.
Perhaps everything he had done had nothing to do with her.
Reasonably speaking, this was entirely normal. Yet for some reason, there was a faint ache in her heart.
Her clenched fist unclenched, then tightened again. She looked across at the man standing cold-faced beside the flower table.
“Then may your subject ask. Why did Your Majesty come here today?”
Su Wei’s expression turned harder than she had ever seen it — each word he spoke seemed to be carved in stone.
“The Guardian Priest, Master Zong, was by Imperial command removed from the capital years ago. According to the statutes, he is forbidden to set foot in the capital for the rest of his life. My harbored suspicions regarding him, and so came uninvited.”
So. He had been aware of every move at this banquet all along — and it was not because she might find herself in danger. It was because there was someone at this banquet he wished to investigate.
“What is it? Are you disappointed?” His gaze reached toward her out of the dimness, carrying a sharp, piercing scrutiny — as if he intended to see straight through her. “But such is the human heart: fearful of not seeing clearly enough, and yet fearful of seeing too clearly — lest it prove deeply disappointing, utterly revolting.”
If before, having her thoughts seen through had caused her nothing more than inner astonishment, being laid bare so mercilessly now brought a burning, fiery shame.
And what shamed her even more: she was disappointed.
And the reason she was disappointed was because she had allowed herself to hope for something.
“Your Majesty is astute at reading minds and skilled at winning hearts. How could I possibly be a match for that?”
By saying this, she had in effect admitted her disappointment.
But where there is no hope, how can there be disappointment?
Faced with her sarcasm, Su Wei did not grow angry. His expression softened in an instant, and his voice became lighter and more gentle — making it impossible to tell in that moment whether he was speaking for another’s ears or only to himself.
“My did not come because of you — yet it was because of you that a killing intent arose in Me. You should know: for My, joy and anger and sorrow and happiness have long since become distant things.”
His voice was very soft, yet where it landed in Xiao Nanhui’s heart it was like a stone dropped into deep water — sending ripples spreading outward.
How could any person born into the world have no joy, no anger, no sorrow, no happiness?
Buddhist teaching holds: where there is attachment, where there is caring, the emotions are set in motion by feeling, and then come love, hatred, obsession, fury, and the separations of life and death.
Could she be the one who tugged the thread of his emotions?
She decided to press the offensive, to get to the root of it.
“This subject dares to ask: what was the killing intent Your Majesty felt?”
Rather than answer, he turned the question back on her:
“Do you know who that old man in the brown robe was — the one you went chasing after alone?”
“I only know he is a Guardian Priest. As for the rest—” She paused instinctively, and in the end swallowed back the matter of the sash. “The rest I know nothing of.”
Su Wei’s fingers tapped lightly on the table in a rhythmic pattern, as if in recollection.
“Do you remember the purple-robed swordsman who appeared on the cliff of the ancient trail above the Tianmu River, before the memorial altar at the Huiri Ceremony on the dark day?”
“I remember.” Xiao Nanhui nodded. “But what does that have to do with him?”
“Nothing to do with him — something to do with the sword in his hand.” His fingers stilled, and the tapping stopped with them. “Legend has it that when the sword was forged, a great diviner sealed within it the single most important hexagram in all of Heaven and Earth, saying that when the time came, the hexagram would reveal itself of its own accord and save the world. This sword was cast from crimson gold, three chi and one cun in length, three and a half fingers wide at the guard, forged in one piece — no patterns, no inscription. Only at the ricasso: a single point of red. It is known as the Sword of the Moving Line.”
The more Xiao Nanhui listened, the more astonishing it seemed — yet what followed was even more astonishing.
“On the day this sword was completed, it was bestowed upon the Andao Academy of that time for safekeeping, with the intention of cutting down all those in the world who spread slander and falsehood — born to purge the Emperor’s side of treacherous influence. Over thirty years ago, after its last keeper took it away from the Andao Academy, it disappeared from the sight of the world.”
“Are you saying that Yanzi was from the Andao Academy?”
The moment the words left her mouth, Xiao Nanhui realized she had misspoken.
The Sword of the Moving Line had left the Andao Academy thirty years prior, and Yanzi appeared to be no older than her early twenties.
“My has said — what the purple-robed figure carried was a stolen sword. The original master of the Sword of the Moving Line did indeed come from the Andao Academy. He entered the Academy in the same year as Xie Li. The two were comparable in cultivation, and before the age of forty both had achieved the rank of Grandmaster. Xie Li ultimately remained and kept watch over the Andao Academy, while he chose to enter the world — becoming a personal guard to the late Emperor in his lifetime. His surname is Zong, his given name Hao. He is the one you call Master Zong.”
Xiao Nanhui stood motionless, feeling as though the flow of blood through her body had slowed to a halt — while her previously fragmented thoughts were slowly piecing themselves back together.
Some truth was on the verge of emerging — yet she found she did not dare to look at even a part of it.
“Why — why is Your Majesty telling me all of this?”
He actually smiled — a smile that carried a certain lightness, as though the weight of what he bore were nothing at all.
“Telling you all of this openly is far better than letting you batter your head bloody in pursuit of it.”
She drew a sharp breath, feeling for the first time a helplessness and confusion in the face of his utter nonchalance.
“Aren’t you afraid that I—”
Afraid she would just tell Xiao Zhun the truth? Afraid she would expose it all and tear off that layer of truth? Afraid they might, from that point on, find themselves meeting as enemies—
“Would you?”
His smile remained at the corners of his mouth; his eyes were a pool of stillness.
Here within the four walls of the Painting Residence, there had been a room full of warmth only moments ago — yet now a chill like early spring seemed to have seeped in. Just as the present scene made it impossible to tell whether this was a lovers’ quarrel or a gamble staked on life and death.
Without warning, Jiang Fei’s voice sounded from outside the room.
“Your Majesty, the Qinghuai Marquis requests an audience. He is waiting just outside the courtyard.”
The Emperor withdrew his gaze. When he raised his eyes again, composure had returned.
“Let him come in.”
He was completely at ease. Xiao Nanhui was the one who felt flustered and at a loss.
Of course she knew why Xiao Zhun had come — she had sent Bolao to fetch him more than an hour ago. Of all the people in the Xiao Mansion, the only one who could come to her rescue in an emergency was Xiao Zhun.
Urgent footsteps ascended the stairs, faintly intermingled with the metallic murmur of armor.
He was still wearing his armor — he must have come straight from the military camp, urged along by Bolao in a great hurry.
Her heart had already begun to feel regret. The way things stood now was somehow even more torturous than if she had actually gotten into trouble.
Xiao Zhun’s figure stopped with precise restraint at three steps outside the door. He removed his cap and bowed in salute:
“Your subject Xiao Zhun prostrates himself before Your Majesty.”
After a beat, the Emperor’s voice slowly rose.
“Qinghuai Marquis need not stand on ceremony. I only wonder — what brings you here today?”
“Your subject had military duties today and so entrusted his adopted daughter to pay respects to Xuanyuan Prince on his behalf. He heard that she had mistaken someone’s identity at the banquet, and worried she might have caused trouble in her recklessness. He came expressly to check. Not knowing Your Majesty was present — any lack of courtesy, this subject begs Your Majesty to pardon.”
“The Qinghuai Marquis is well-informed. It was only a minor disturbance, and it has now been settled.”
“That is good to hear. If that is so, then this subject will take his adopted daughter and leave first.” Xiao Zhun’s gaze naturally settled on Xiao Nanhui, as it had countless times before — and he gave her the same small nod as always. “Nanhui, come here.”
Xiao Nanhui’s body tilted forward. For some reason, her feet did not move right away.
In the next instant, the person beside her suddenly grasped her hand.
He did not look at her. His form continued to face forward — only his sleeve, embroidered with dark patterns, overlapped with her plain-colored sleeve, concealing beneath it what could not be seen from outside.
But this time, he held tight. Far more tightly than the gentle clasp of before.
She could feel the roughness and unevenness of his palm. That was the scar she had left on him.
For an instant, she thought he would go on gripping her like that — all the way to the end of time.
At last, he released his gaze, and his fingers slowly loosened.
Looking at that hand — whitened slightly from the pressure of the grip — Xiao Nanhui was seized by an impulse she could not suppress.
And before her thoughts could catch up with her, her body had already acted.
She reached out and clasped back that departing hand.
In her haste, she had only caught hold of his fingertips — but even so, she could feel through those fingertips a single instant of trembling.
“Your Majesty — Spring Hunt, I’ll see you then.”
She left those words — light and quick — and then, not daring to linger another moment, she withdrew her hand and fled through the door.
The faint sound of hurried footsteps receded into the distance. The Painting Residence became still as a deep pool — even the whisper of the evening breeze through the courtyard seemed to vanish.
After a long while, the eunuch official departed and then returned. The Emperor’s hand still hung in the air, as though some trace of her warmth still lingered there — as though he was still reluctant to leave that spot.
Jiang Fei sighed inwardly.
When had his Emperor come to be like this?
At last, Su Wei straightened his robes and rose, walking toward the door.
“How goes things on Zong Hao’s side?”
The eunuch official quickly composed his expression and followed close behind.
“He left the mansion a short while ago. Your Majesty need not worry — with Vice Commander Ding there, even if he wished to act, he would have to think twice.”
“When we set out the day after tomorrow, arrange an extra carriage for him.”
Jiang Fei paused, then understood the Emperor’s intent, and quietly acknowledged the order.
Since there was no escaping it in any case, the best approach was to keep the matter in plain sight. Though this move was also likely made more for that person’s sake — Zong Hao was not someone to be trifled with, and he feared she would suffer if she went digging into things on her own.
Thinking on this, Jiang Fei could no longer hold back and finally spoke up:
“Your Majesty, why did you not simply tell Miss Xiao directly that you acted with such severity in order to put on a show for Master Zong—”
“There is no need any longer.”
Because he already knew the answer.
At some point unnoticed, the moon had slipped out from behind the clouds, white and brilliant as daylight.
The man’s voice was leisurely, carrying a note of quiet contentment. In an instant he had stepped out into the moonlit courtyard.
“The moonlight is lovely. My heart is glad.”