Xiao Nanhui had nightmares again.

When a person is inside a dream, they often don’t know it’s a dream. Strangely, however, this time she was fully and unmistakably aware that she was inside a dream.

She seemed to be standing atop the Jingbo Tower, with the western sky blazing like flowing fire, and the streets of Quecheng below utterly empty of people.

The wind chimes at the corner of the eaves knocked against each other without making a sound. Everything around her was quiet — not even the sound of wind.

She tried to turn and leave, but found there was no exit to be found on this square tower. The stone-brick walls had neither doors nor windows. The endless railing had no conclusion, always returning to where it started after four turns.

Strange — everything was strange.

She hesitated, wanting to walk closer to the railing to see what lay below — and had just caught sight of a corner of the rock garden beside the lake when someone patted her from behind, lightly and quickly.

Xiao Nanhui stopped and turned back to look.

There, standing several steps away, was a young and beautiful woman.

That woman was truly lovely to look at. For some reason, though she knew that face to be beautiful, she could not make out what hairstyle the woman wore, what shape her brows were drawn in, or what shade of color her lips bore. Only those eyes — still and bright as a clear mirror — were visible on that elusive face. They soothed her, drew her in, like a deep and fathomless whirlpool.

The beautiful woman studied her for a moment, then waved her hand, as if beckoning her to come closer.

She hesitated briefly, took a few steps forward, and leaned her head in.

The woman gently bent down and began to speak into her ear.

What? What was she saying?

Xiao Nanhui furrowed her brow and tried to lean in closer, tried harder to hear clearly — but however hard she tried, she simply could not make out those few short words.

After a long while, the woman finally drew back. The gaze she turned on her seemed to carry a trace of regret. Then she tilted her head, seemed to think for a moment, raised her right hand, and pointed at the palm of her left hand.

This time Xiao Nanhui understood instantly. She extended her hand.

The woman’s fingertip lightly descended.

Two horizontal strokes, one vertical — one stroke to the left, one to the right.

Xiao Nanhui’s eyes went wide, and just as the woman was about to continue writing, the scenery all around suddenly transformed.

The fiery sunset became dim and dull, the streets of Quecheng not far away were collapsing, and the Jingbo Tower beneath her feet, like a quicksand pit in the Suyan Gobi, began to sink and shift.

She felt that force of descent once more, and in the final moment before darkness, she felt the woman gently close her fingers around hers and place them over her heart.

Darkness surged in from all directions, and then something lit up within that darkness.

An oil lamp.

Had the dream ended? Had she actually already woken?

Xiao Nanhui wanted to reach for the oil lamp, but after taking two steps she realized the bricks underfoot were strangely familiar.

These were the floor tiles of the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion. She was standing in the mansion’s side courtyard. She had not yet left the dream.

Why the side courtyard?

Even during her battles of wits with Bolao over hidden wine, she rarely came here — much less at night. Because Dai Yi lived here, and she always worried about disturbing her.

The lamp wick had burned low, and the only trace of light in the darkness was growing ever more faint.

Xiao Nanhui stared at the oil lamp and suddenly remembered something.

Wait — she seemed to recall this scene.

That night, she had visited Yaoyi in secret about the matter of investigating Zou Sifang, and Yaoyi had told her the letter had been returned. He had then given her a set of keys. She had used those keys to go to Dai Yi’s side-room side courtyard and unlock the door. And then — in a lacquer box thick with dust — she had found a blood-soaked garment and a sash.

Xiao Nanhui lowered her head.

Here and now, in the palm of her right hand, that same sash lay curled.

A shadow stopped behind her. She startled and quickly turned to look — only to see Dai Yi standing barefoot several steps away.

Her face was twisted now in a grotesque expression, her eyes bulging as though they might pop from their sockets, staring rigidly at what was in Xiao Nanhui’s hand.

Xiao Dai’s mouth was stretched wide open, as though in a silent scream.

Then she suddenly strode quickly forward, all ten fingers splayed, and with a lunge seized Xiao Nanhui by the throat.

It all happened too fast. Xiao Nanhui had no time to react, and even less thought to strike back at Dai Yi.

She rolled her eyes and struggled with all her strength inside the dream.

Yet even though her consciousness was fully awake, her body was weak and powerless — she couldn’t even manage to produce a sound.

She tilted her head back. Above her was a pitch-dark, starless, moonless sky.

At last she heard something — a distant, indistinct sound.

“Wake up.” His voice was very soft, his breath falling near her ear like a breeze passing through. “You were having a nightmare.”

In an instant, the crushing weight that had made it impossible for her to breathe lifted all at once. Xiao Nanhui felt control return to her body. Her five fingers instinctively went to the dagger at her waist and yanked it out with force.

Then she opened her eyes.

She saw that from within her sweat-soaked sleeve, a hand emerged — tendons standing out with the force of her grip — holding a dagger whose blade caught the light with a cold flash. And that blade, at its most dangerously close point, was resting against the fine and pale throat of the man.

Her vision gradually focused. Her hand loosened, and the dagger fell onto the soft cushion.

“I’m — I’m sorry.”

He said nothing, only took her slightly trembling hand, drew her a little closer, and patted her back.

His gesture was very light, and when it fell it carried something uncertain and hesitant about it — unlike Dujuan’s hand, which was always so confident and bold.

But even so, for her it was enough.

Xiao Nanhui breathed in deeply and looked toward the window.

Faint morning light had just begun to filter through. The sky was misty and grey.

Birds waking in the courtyard chattered noisily. Ding Weixiang’s dark blue silhouette flickered past the window — he had apparently just returned from some reconnaissance.

The trembling gradually subsided. She finally fully shook off the pall of that dream and returned to reality.

She was now in the territory of the Shen family of Heimu County, Huozhou. She had only just arrived the previous night — only one night had passed.

Yet vaguely, she felt as though she had experienced a dream just like that one before. Only the contents of that earlier dream, she could no longer remember clearly — only a dim shadow remained.

She looked at the man before her in a somewhat dazed state, and was just about to mention the Jingbo Tower that had appeared in the dream, when Ding Weixiang was already striding quickly into the room.

“My lord — they’re here.”

He immediately rose to his feet, blocking Ding Weixiang’s line of sight.

“Let’s go.”

Xiao Nanhui quickly tucked the dagger on the cushion away, and barely followed them out to the courtyard before she saw that familiar figure appear at the courtyard gate.

“Did the three of you rest well?”

She had originally planned to stay up all night, alert and watchful — and had ended up having two nightmares instead. Was that a good night or not?

Xiao Nanhui managed a smile with some effort.

“Well enough.”

The old woman nodded and signaled to the three grey-clad guards following behind. The three stepped forward one by one, each holding a blindfold.

“To enter the inner courtyard, your eyes must be covered. The three of you won’t mind, will you?”

Xiao Nanhui said nothing, but discreetly exchanged a glance with Ding Weixiang beside her.

Ding Weixiang clearly understood what she meant, but didn’t respond much — only stepped forward first and took the blindfold.

She understood — it was apparent that he and his master had already worked out some sort of strategy. She went along with it accordingly.

“Of course. Please lead the way, old madam.”

At first, after putting on the blindfold, she still silently counted her steps and tracked the changes in direction — but as time went on, her mind began to grow sluggish.

She finally understood the donkey that worked the millstone in the backyard of the Wangchen Tower. Darkness was exhausting, and the emptiness of not being able to see the path ahead was even more draining to the will.

Yet just as people often jerk awake when on the verge of sleep, she suddenly became alert, forced herself to rouse her thoughts, and began carefully recalling all that she had seen since setting foot in Heimu County.

The boat she had traveled on was following the river downstream, but upon reaching that estuary, she had seen numerous small vessels covertly transporting coal, choosing to travel upriver with cargo and downriver empty. This was rarely seen at other docks. But it did not rule out one possibility: that the Hunhe waterway was an absolutely safe transport route for the Shen family. Ordinary cargo ships frequently encountered bandits on the waterways, even coal ships were not exempt. Yet if the entire Hunhe water route was controlled by the Shen family, that would greatly reduce the chance of anything going wrong — a reliably safe shipping route, worth the extra time even if it took longer.

The Shen clan had once commanded its own army, and even through a change of dynasty, deep-rooted trees could not all be felled in a single day. Yet aside from those grey-clad guards, she had not seen any other organized force in the area. Perhaps this invisible “army” was hidden among those small boats traveling up and down the Hunhe, only revealing itself when truly necessary.

When she had first come to Huozhou to retrieve the secret seal and returned, Hao Bai had taken the faster water route, yet the man had chosen the more perilous mountain path — perhaps for the same underlying reason.

Thinking of this, she suddenly realized something.

From the grey-clad guards to the boatmen and trackers, to the inner-courtyard servants — aside from the blind old woman, she had not seen a single person of advanced age.

Not just the elderly — not even middle-aged men or women were to be found. Even positions that typically required experienced hands, such as gatekeeper, house guard, or the head managing Nanny, were without exception filled only by young men and women.

She recalled something that Yaoyi had told her long ago about the Qu family. The Qu clan at its most prosperous had numbered only a dozen or so people, precisely because members of the clan rarely survived past the age of twenty. For a great clan and household, even without four generations under one roof, there would certainly be elders presiding. If one saw only young people, there must be some reason that was difficult to speak of openly.

As these thoughts turned over in her mind, the footsteps of the old woman ahead finally stopped.

Then the blindfold was removed from her eyes. Xiao Nanhui blinked to adjust to the surrounding light, and looked ahead.

The courtyard was not large, but the candles and lamps were lit brilliantly throughout. There were many rock garden formations but very few flowers or plants — instead, much of the ground was covered with fine, soft dry grass, and several round, plump rabbits wandered back and forth upon it. In the center of the courtyard stood a solitary old pine, and hanging from its branches were several enormous bird cages, each containing small, brilliantly colored birds.

Standing directly below those bird cages was a little girl. She was dressed with great formality — her double-bunned head crowned with three or four extraordinarily ornate and precious hairpins — and she held a stalk of reed grass, teasing the birds inside the cage.

She was staring fixedly at Xiao Nanhui and her companions, and in those round, dark pupils was reflected a maturity far beyond her years.

“This old one pays her respects to the family head.”

The old woman, approaching a hundred years old, slowly bowed, and Xiao Nanhui could not hide her astonishment.

The northern Shen clan — Tiancheng’s only local clan with its own standing army — and its family head was a little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old?

After completing her bow, the old woman stepped forward to murmur something quietly, then retreated to the doorway and fell silent.

“Young master Zhong Li — we meet at last.” The little girl clasped her hands behind her back and walked slowly in from the courtyard, her steps leisurely and unhurried. “There have been some rather unpleasant incidents recently, and so outsiders entering the mansion requires a bit more procedure. Please forgive any lapses in courtesy.”

The words were very considerate, yet spoken from such a child’s mouth, they carried an indescribable strangeness.

The girl child came to a stop in the center of the courtyard and gestured for the three of them to take seats.

Xiao Nanhui noticed that among the stone chairs beside the stone table, one was set slightly higher — so that even when the child sat, her gaze would not fall below theirs.

Xiao Nanhui and Ding Weixiang exchanged glances. Only Su Wei’s expression remained calm.

“Has the family head offended someone? Or perhaps — done something to offend others?”

The girl child sighed and poured three cups of tea at the stone table.

“I have an enemy. I came to know too many of its secrets, and it has been trying to kill me ever since. My clan and I have fought it for many years and have still not fully escaped its reach. It is only because it has found a new target in recent years that it has set me aside for the time being.” The other party paused, but her hands kept moving. “What is the young master’s purpose in coming here?”

“And what is the family head’s purpose in setting up the Yueyuan formation?”

The girl child finally set down the tea pot she had been holding like a prop. The last trace of childlike warmth faded from her face, leaving only a cold sharpness with a hint of calculation at the corners of her mouth.

“You and I already had a hidden contest a year ago — no need for so many roundabout ways now.”

“If the family head had been willing to get straight to the point from the beginning, we could naturally have saved ourselves considerable trouble.”

“Last time I lost to you in one move — that won’t necessarily be so this time. The Shen family has never been soft with fat sheep that come to our door.”

“I have heard that the Huozhou Shen clan is a great establishment, and that the family head, Shen Shi’an, possesses the bearing of one who rides the wind and crests the waves. Yet seeing it now, this falls rather short — you refer to a guest who has come to call as livestock.”

Shen Shi’an showed no sign of irritation. She propped her two small, dainty hands under her chin and cocked her head to look at the man before her.

“Right now it is you who needs something from me. Even if you score a few verbal advantages, what difference does the outcome make?”

The man did not answer, and changed the subject.

“Is the family head aware of a certain woven silk once known as the Heavenly Sash?”

“Merely something from legend — even if it once existed, what does that matter?”

Su Wei did not immediately respond. He reached casually into his sleeve and withdrew the object, lightly cradling it in his hand.

The aged, plain-colored sash lay coiled in the man’s palm, like a venomous snake waking from winter sleep, ready at any moment to flick out its tongue.

“And if the purpose of my coming here this time is to discuss with the family head the price of this Heavenly Sash — what would the family head think?”

Something finally shifted in Shen Shi’an’s expression. But she quickly composed herself.

“It’s just a sash — not worth a single copper coin.”

The man wound the sash around the tip of his finger, appearing to examine it with leisurely attention.

“Perhaps what holds value is not the sash itself, but the information left behind by the one who wove it.”

Shen Shi’an’s expression grew colder.

“That, too, would only be of value if one could actually decipher the information within.”

“The sash is in my hands. If I wish to investigate it, I’ll spend some time doing so — and if I choose not to, I can just as easily use it to tie up kindling and burn it.”

“You—” Shen Shi’an suddenly stood up from the stone chair, but the flash of anger on her face was fleeting, replaced by a coldness several degrees sharper than before. “Everything has a price. To obtain something, one must give up something. I wonder what price the young master would be willing to pay for the prophecy contained within this woven silk?”

“As for this so-called prophecy — how much of it is true, how much is false? How am I to know whether what the family head says is worth whatever price she names?”

Shen Shi’an laughed without sound.

She casually waved a hand, and the rabbits clustered around her in twos and threes. She picked one up at random and set it on her lap, lightly stroking the fur.

“When the Xishen people trade in fur goods, they prefer to show their clients the merchandise first. During the showing, they cover the full pelt with an oilcloth, leaving only a hand-sized opening for the client to assess the quality. If they are pleased, they purchase at a high price. If not, they will have no knowledge of what the full pelt looks like and won’t develop any other ideas — which is fair for buyer and seller alike. If the young master doesn’t mind, please take the time of one cup of tea and listen to me tell a story.”

Su Wei said nothing, and Shen Shi’an began to speak of her own accord.

“In ancient times, divine worship and shamanic divination were extremely widespread throughout Chizhou. Among these practices, there was a relatively rare and unusual method of divination used by rulers only during times of extreme danger or crisis, or when the fate of the nation was on the brink of collapse. They would mobilize the resources of the entire realm to seek out two of the most reputable diviners and oracles, and invite them to sit in two separate rooms and divine the same matter simultaneously. If the oracular pronouncements were broadly the same, they would be combined and recorded together. If they diverged significantly, the prophecy for that matter would be recorded separately from each perspective and preserved apart. This method was called ‘Different Records, Same Oracle.'”

“It is said that one hundred years ago, when the Niexuan dynasty was tottering and on the verge of collapse, they secretly summoned members of the Qu family out of seclusion, and at a place where land and water came to their ends, opened an altar and conducted the final session of the Different Records, Same Oracle. Two clans answered the call at that time. Both used dream visions as the basis of their prophecies — one clan wove warp and weft into images, creating a prophetic text in fabric that only their own clan members could read; the other clan burned bones to produce written signs, sealed within a vessel, not to be opened until the right circumstances arose. Afterward, these two prophecies were carefully preserved by the ruling house of that era, kept out of the sight of the world.”

“However, not long after that prophecy, both clans of oracular lineage suffered misfortune in succession. The Su clan staged a coup. A certain long-maintained balance was shattered, and the traditions of ritual sacrifice and deity worship fell into ruin along with the collapse of the ancient Niexuan state. The bone-burning clan had their eyes veiled by the power of the divine, becoming unchanging offerings on the sacrificial altar, their numbers dwindling and their days growing difficult. The silk-weaving clan suffered implication from the change of dynasty — someone secretly reported that a fugitive princess of the fallen Niexuan state had entrusted her orphaned child to members of that clan, leading to the overnight destruction of the entire clan—”

Xiao Nanhui’s heart began pounding wildly with the other party’s final words of telling. She thought of the old case of the surviving loyalists of the former dynasty that Su Wei had recounted to her on the journey to Huozhou, and almost blurted out:

“Are you saying that when Qiu Feiyu fled north, she had a child with her?”

Shen Shi’an’s hand loosened, and the rabbit on her knee leaped away.

“Young lady — the opening in the oilcloth is only so large. If your hands wish to reach elsewhere, you’d better wait until the goods and money have changed hands.”

Xiao Nanhui was cut off. She stared at this half-grown girl child and suddenly felt a crawling sensation on her skin. Perhaps the person before her was not nearly as young as she appeared.

The price — what exactly was the price she had spoken of?

And at this very moment, Shen Shi’an’s gaze had already come to rest on the prayer beads on Su Wei’s wrist.

“I have heard that the relics of a high monk can counteract a hundred poisons — a rare and invaluable medicine. I wonder if the young master might be willing to part with it and allow those prayer beads to come to me?”