Those who practice martial arts almost always carry with them an overwhelming, coercive presence.

Those who have killed one man wear a lethal gleam in their eyes. Those who have killed a hundred men — none dare approach within a hundred paces.

And those who have achieved the apex of martial mastery — their killing intent is drawn inward, their bearing indistinguishable from an ordinary person’s, yet they can end a life in the blink of an eye.

Zong Hao was without question of that third kind.

Just as now — Xiao Nanhui could not feel even a trace of the murderous aura she had sensed that day in the rear courtyard of the Xuanyuan Prince’s Mansion. It was as though the person standing before her was nothing but an ordinary old man. He appeared so aged and frail, yet so serene and harmless, that even the most timid fawn and the most distrustful phoenix bird were willing to draw near to him.

Xiao Nanhui stepped forward. The sole of her boot pressed down upon a tender new shoot of grass, which snapped with a faint creak.

The fawns startled. They pricked their ears, raised their heads, turned and fled into the pitch-dark undergrowth. The two phoenix birds spread their wings and took flight — two white specks swallowed in an instant by the darkness of the night.

“Beasts and birds alike possess a spirit. Does Miss Xiao share this view?”

He spoke without turning around, yet had already identified who had come.

Left and right I searched and you did not appear — and yet the moment I was about to leave, here you are.

Xiao Nanhui found herself caught between advancing and retreating, but almost at once she decided to set aside the countless versions of the speech she had rehearsed in her mind, and instead cut straight to the heart of the matter, asking that one question directly.

After all, he already knew her identity. If that matter from years ago had truly been connected to him, how could he not know why she had come?

“I apologize for disturbing your tranquility, sir. I ask that you forgive me.” Xiao Nanhui bowed respectfully, adopting a posture of great deference. “There is one thing your junior cannot understand, and I hope to find an answer from you.”

Zong Hao said nothing. He only lowered his head and began picking up the scattered green wheat, one stalk at a time.

He was hunched over, his movements somewhat sluggish — his hand searched across the ground for a while before retrieving even a small bundle.

The green wheat was newly sprouted, thin and soft, interspersed among the meadow grass. Even in broad daylight it would have been no easy task to pick out each stalk one by one.

Is he going to be picking this up until the Year of the Monkey?

Xiao Nanhui sighed and instinctively stepped forward to help. She had gathered a few stalks when she suddenly noticed that the old man was watching her with unblinking eyes.

She paused, somewhat awkwardly, but still passed the small bundle of green wheat in her hand over to him.

“In this darkness, I was afraid your eyesight might not be—”

She stopped herself mid-sentence, feeling the words were improper. She hurriedly swallowed the rest and stood there, at a loss for what to do with herself.

After a long moment, Zong Hao suddenly broke into a grin.

This was the first time in all this while that he had shown such an expression.

But the smile vanished as swiftly as it had come, replaced by a look that was both faintly mocking and profoundly guarded.

“So this is why you are able to remain at his side.”

Xiao Nanhui thought she had misheard him, and was about to press further, when he spoke before she could.

“I will ask you one question. If you can answer it, I will answer yours. If you cannot, you are forbidden from ever asking again.”

Xiao Nanhui deliberated for a moment. She felt she had no room to bargain, and so she nodded.

“Very well.”

“Green wheat is crisp and tender; duckweed grass is dry and coarse. The deer in this wilderness have tasted the sweetness of green wheat tonight — will they still linger even half a moment longer for duckweed grass?”

The question was strange, yet Xiao Nanhui considered it carefully, and after a long pause spoke with firm conviction.

“They will.”

The old man’s gaze was piercing, his voice steady.

“Why?”

“Because the deer possess an instinct for survival. In the wilderness, green wheat is scarce, while duckweed grass is plentiful. Green wheat may taste better, but duckweed grass can fill the belly. Even if they go without eating for a day, or two days — by the third day, they will stop for the duckweed grass.”

Zong Hao nodded, yet there was not even a hint of approval in his eyes.

“What the young lady says is perceptive. I only hope that in the days ahead, she may remain as clear-headed as she is tonight.”

His words carried a hidden meaning. Xiao Nanhui had no desire to probe further.

“Though I do not know what you mean, I have practiced martial arts since childhood, and those who practice martial arts are always clear-headed. You, sir, know this better than anyone.”

Faced with her “counterattack,” he showed no great displeasure. His tone even carried a kind of compassion — neither sorrowful nor joyful.

“The clear-headedness of one standing outside a situation is difficult to sustain once one is within it. Duckweed grass, to the deer, is nothing but an illusion brought about by this old man’s presence — to dwell upon it endlessly is to sink into a quagmire. Just so, certain people, to the young lady, are nothing but a great dream brought about by chance and circumstance — to become entangled within it is to spin one’s own cocoon. Do you understand?”

If what came before had seemed somewhat opaque, having heard these words, Xiao Nanhui began to understand.

The “certain people” Zong Hao spoke of — he was perhaps referring to the Emperor.

Yet, strangely, the moment she grasped this, she felt no great aversion or fear.

On the contrary, she almost felt like laughing.

To think that she, an orphan of no rank or title, could prompt someone of Zong Hao’s standing to say such words to her — perhaps her presence in this world was not as negligible as she had imagined.

“I will take your words to heart, sir.” She paused, and asked as calmly as she could manage. “May I ask where the cord on the prayer banner in your hand comes from?”

Zong Hao’s expression shifted. He was still carefully sorting through the wheat stalks in his hand, yet his entire bearing seemed to transform — becoming that same unapproachable quality he had possessed that day in the rear courtyard of the Prince’s Mansion.

Just as Xiao Nanhui was beginning to think she would not receive the answer she sought, he finally spoke.

“This is no ordinary cord. It is a woven brocade used by ancient diviners of the School of Celestial Signs to record prophecies. Heaven is the warp, earth is the weft — the workings of Heaven are woven into these two threads and made into brocade, preserved for the day when they are fulfilled and may be examined. None but those of its own lineage may interpret them. And the most important prophecy of all is tied to the Imperial Seal — it is called the Celestial Cord.” He paused. His voice gradually grew heavier. “In this old man’s lifetime of wandering, every prophecy under Heaven has been gathered here. All but one — whose whereabouts are unknown.”

Xiao Nanhui’s heart gave a heavy lurch.

She felt she knew where that piece of woven brocade was.

She struggled to steady herself, and pressed on, trying her best not to betray her emotions.

“Why, sir, have you gathered all the prophecies under Heaven?”

This time, he did not answer her directly.

“This is your second question.”

Zong Hao’s gaze passed through the deep darkness of the night and fell upon her, carrying with it an irresistible weight.

But Xiao Nanhui did not retreat. A fearlessness suddenly came over her — a reckless sort of courage.

That answer might be right here before her. She could not retreat. For if she retreated now, she might spend the rest of her life in regret.

She moistened her dry lips and said quietly:

“You, sir, just asked me two questions as well.”

For one instant the air seemed to congeal. The evening breeze fell still at that very moment. The night owl folded its wings. The insects held their breath.

After a long pause, he finally let out a soft laugh. It was a hollow, weary sound, dissolving and fading into the boundless mist.

“Because in this world there are no prophecies — only empty illusions, the capriciousness of fate, and the ugliness of the human heart.”

Xiao Nanhui’s palm was damp with sweat.

“If they are nothing but empty words, why trouble over them? When the time comes, empty words will unravel on their own.”

“A prophecy declares: a fierce tiger lurks in the mountains. The people are seized with fear, and to ward off the tiger, they beat iron into pestles through the night. The clanging of metal echoes through the mountains and startles the tiger — which then enters the village and devours the people. I ask the young lady: was it the prophecy that came true, or was it the prophecy itself that guided everything toward the very outcome it foretold?”

Xiao Nanhui was rendered speechless.

This was an unsolvable question. No one could offer an answer. No one could prove the answer.

“Since the young lady does not answer, this old man will ask one more. You take such keen interest in this cord — could it be that you have seen it somewhere before?”

Here it comes.

The thing she feared had come at last.

Xiao Nanhui gently shook her head and spoke the words she had rehearsed countless times in her heart.

“No. The day I received the blessing at the Prince’s Mansion was the first time I ever laid eyes on it.”

She was no good at lying. Almost the very instant she finished speaking, her heart began to race.

He shuffled forward a few more steps toward her. A fragment of moonlight fell upon his silver hair and beard, casting a pallid, ghostly light.

“The blessing ceremony lasted no more than the time of a single bow and rise. And yet Miss Xiao remembers it so clearly.”

It was said that those who reached a sufficient level of martial mastery could hear a person’s heartbeat from a dozen paces away, discern the dilation and contraction of a person’s pupils — and from these, judge whether a person was lying, whether they were flustered.

Zong Hao’s footsteps came to a halt. And then the entire aura around him changed.

It was as though he had become the center of an invisible net that spread outward through the air, and she stood beneath it — about to be exposed, with nowhere left to hide.

Sweat trickled down her temple. She dared not wipe it away. Never mind that she now had nothing but a dagger tucked into her boot — even if her bow Pingxian were still with her, she was no match for the man before her.

She should not be estimating her chances of winning. She should be estimating her chances of surviving.

She ought to say something. But that oppressive force seemed to have sealed her mouth shut — no matter how she tried, she could not open it.

Cough.

A cough drifted through the mist from behind the two of them — carrying a barely concealed weariness.

“Xiao Consultant.”

At those three words, Xiao Nanhui’s wildly pounding heart suddenly grew calm.

And with that, the terrifying killing intent also vanished — drawn back entirely into that aged body, leaving no trace.

“I sent you to the courtyard to change your boots. Why haven’t you come?”

His voice drew closer. He was not a martial artist, and even the uneven fall of his footsteps — one deep, one shallow — could be heard with perfect clarity.

No matter how suspicious Zong Hao might be of her, he surely wouldn’t let her blood be spilled on the spot before the Emperor’s very eyes.

Xiao Nanhui finally slowly shifted her gaze away. The moment she turned her head, she saw him walking toward her through the mist.

He appeared to have come on a sudden whim — in haste. Beneath his cloak, he seemed to be wearing only his inner robe, and he had not put on his formal headpiece.

“Your servant greets Your Majesty. Your servant did not know Your Majesty was here — I have been presumptuous. Your servant also couldn’t sleep in the long night and came out for a stroll, not expecting to encounter—”

She trailed off mid-sentence, glancing around with the corner of her eye, only to discover that the surroundings were already completely bare — nowhere was there any trace of that brown-robed old man.

Where had he gone?

“What is it. Was there someone else here just now?”

So he hadn’t heard her exchange with Zong Hao just now?

“No — there wasn’t.” She instinctively moved to deny it. “Just your servant, alone. I was merely saying — I didn’t expect to encounter Your Majesty here.”

Her capacity for quick thinking had improved considerably of late. She had woven this nonsense so seamlessly.

“The face Xiao Consultant makes when lying is truly dreadful.”

This man — why did he always insist on undermining her?

The expression on Xiao Nanhui’s face stiffened, and the corners of her mouth drooped.

“It was Master Zong. I don’t know how, but he suddenly vanished again.”

Su Wei’s lips curved ever so slightly, with something that was almost sardonic.

“He owes a debt, so naturally he hasn’t the face to see me.”

With that, he turned and left. Xiao Nanhui saw this and hurried to follow.

She had no desire to remain alone in that spot, waiting for Zong Hao to return.

They stepped once more onto the slick stone steps. The mist from a moment ago seemed to have thinned somewhat. Glass lanterns adorned the eaves of the courtyard walls, casting pools of soft light here and there.

Su Wei walked ahead; she walked behind. He did not walk quickly, and she did not dare to overtake him.

He seemed remarkably familiar with the layout of this place, choosing paths at every fork with almost no hesitation.

She was curious.

“Has Your Majesty been here before?”

“No.”

“Then how can you know these paths so well?”

“I walked them once. Naturally I remember them.”

Walk them once and remember them? Xiao Nanhui was somewhat taken aback. Even coming from this man, she found it difficult to believe from the bottom of her heart.

“All the stone walls and stone steps here look the same, and the courtyards are all the same size. How does Your Majesty tell them apart?”

“Observation.” He paused, then suddenly stopped and turned around. “Even among things that appear identical, careful observation will reveal that each one is different — from day to day, hour to hour, moment to moment.”

His sudden stop caught her off guard.

Her shoe soles, already soaked through by the moisture in the air, were treacherously slick — and her legs, which had not served her well at all tonight, caused her — normally so sure-footed — to stumble forward and pitch against his back.

Her hands reached out instinctively and grabbed hold of his waist sash. Before she had even recovered from this mortifying posture, his voice — with terrible timing — sounded again.

“Judging by Xiao Consultant, you seem to have eaten about half a jin of flatbread tonight and drunk roughly two liang of yellow rice wine.”

Grasping the full implication of his words, Xiao Nanhui’s face flushed red. She hastily covered her mouth and straightened herself up. He, meanwhile, behaved as though nothing whatsoever had happened, and pointed to the courtyard directly ahead of them.

“We’re here.”

She had no attention to spare for a second look. She hurriedly performed a bow.

“The night grows late. Your servant will take her leave.”

With that, not daring to glance at his expression, she hurried forward in a rush to the courtyard gate and pushed it hard.

Hmm? Why won’t it open?

She had noticed the courtyard wall was very slippery when she left — she had definitely left the gate unlatched. Could it be that someone up in the night, not paying attention, had gone and locked it again?

Whatever happens, she couldn’t afford to lose composure. Xiao Nanhui turned her head and produced a smile of complete control, then drew a breath, walked to one side, and began rolling up her sleeves, preparing to climb the wall.

“So you’re that eager — eager to climb over my wall?”

Xiao Nanhui froze. She stiffly withdrew the leg she had already raised halfway.

She swallowed, and carefully looked over the gate and the courtyard wall.

This courtyard was identical in every way to the one she was staying in, but there was no mark on the wall that she had made before leaving.

This was indeed not her courtyard.

This was, of course, not her courtyard — because this was where he lived.

So even the courtyard where the Emperor resided looked no different from any other, viewed from the outside. If someone truly intended an assassination, it would not be a simple matter.

But such a large courtyard — how many people lived inside?

In the past, the only ones at his side had been Ding Weixiang and Dan Jiangfei. But now that a beauty had come to accompany him, who could say whether she spent the long nights by his side?

The moment that thought surfaced, a rush of other questions followed, impossible to stop.

Were they sleeping in two rooms, or one? Were they sleeping in two beds or one? Were they sleeping, or were they—

Xiao Nanhui hiccupped.

A wave of poorly digested flatbread mixed with the taste of rice wine surged up through her nose, making even herself feel disgusted with herself.

In that single instant, the tension she had been holding throughout her body suddenly gave way. The outside of her thighs, right down to her knees, began to tremble against her will.

A few mouthfuls of rice wine were no longer enough to suppress it — the bone-deep pain finally surged upward.

The pain was fierce, and yet she had to endure it, presenting an appearance of breezy indifference.

She absolutely could not let Cui Xingyao, on the other side of that wall, witness her embarrassment and say that she had passed through three great military camps, and yet couldn’t even stand without wobbling like a feeble shrimp.

“There must be others waiting inside Your Majesty’s courtyard. With such a fine night before you, your servant will not intrude further—”

“What others? And what fine night?”

This wretched Emperor was asking questions he already knew the answers to. Did he also want her to thicken her skin and say something like “a single spring night is worth a thousand gold”?

She muttered and fussed for a while. Before she had even thought of a way to meet this unbearably awkward conversational thread, his voice sounded once more.

“You have already climbed over walls before. To want to leave now — it’s a little late for that.”