“Hey, what’s the use of just sitting there like a stone? Have you gone stupid or something?”

Ding Weixiang sat on the ground like a boulder, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the heap of tattered clothing in front of him — he had been staring at it for half an hour already.

It was a garment torn clean in two, soaked through with muddy water, and it was not difficult to tell where it had been fished out from.

Yet even in its filthy, wretched state, Ding Weixiang could recognize at a single glance whose clothing it was.

“It’s just a piece of clothing. As the saying goes — for the living, you need to see the person; for the dead, you need to see the body. Don’t come to conclusions so early.”

Before Bolao could finish speaking, Ding Weixiang spun around and glared at her. “Ignorant little brat!”

Bolao was stunned by the insult, then the realization hit her, and in an instant she was blazing with fury.

“You miserable wretch, who are you calling a little brat?! When this old lady was already out making a name for herself, you probably didn’t even know where you were running around bare-bottomed!”

The color of Ding Weixiang’s face darkened to something frightening. He clutched the tattered garment and slowly rose to his feet. “If Xiao Nanhui hadn’t been hounding Zou Sifang so relentlessly, our lord would never have followed after him.”

“Now you’re blaming us? Who was it that insisted on coming along in the first place — weak as a chicken, yet determined to charge right in!”

Ding Weixiang nearly launched himself off the ground. Bolao darted aside in a flash, a short blade already sliding out from her sleeve. “You want to fight? Good timing — let me see just how capable you really are.”

Ding Weixiang rested one hand on his scabbard, and from within his anger arose a bearing of cold arrogance. “You’re being unreasonable.”

Bolao’s eyes darted and rolled, landing on the scabbard of that extraordinary blade, and she finally dropped all pretense of concealing her mockery. “Oh? The blade of the Dou Clan — has it gone rusty?”

At those words, Ding Weixiang could no longer maintain his earlier composure. A flicker of undisguised astonishment crossed his face.

Though he had come from the jianghu world, he had never truly walked its paths. Since leaving the An Dao Academy, his place had always been at that one person’s side. That person, though sometimes fond of putting himself in danger, had few opponents who could actually compel Ding Weixiang to draw his blade — and most who had ever witnessed his swordsmanship were already dead.

The woman before him — he had absolutely no recollection of her.

His gaze fell on the pair of short blades in her hands, and at last certain memories began to surface.

“I once heard my master mention it — that I had a senior martial sister who sought to inherit the blade techniques. Her aptitude was decent enough, but her stature was lacking. So it was you.”

When Bolao heard the words “stature was lacking,” she nearly ground her teeth to dust. “What kind of eyes does that old man have?! To think he went and found someone like you —” She choked on her words, racking her brain for something sufficiently venomous to hurl back, “— someone like you, a great lumbering oaf!”

Bolao’s somewhat cracking accusation rang out across the empty rear courtyard of the Xiong household.

And then, as if deliberately responding to this laughably childish quarrel between two accomplished fighters of the jianghu, a low, muffled cough rose from among the reeds.

Ding Weixiang spun on his heel, and swept past Bolao like a gust of wind. In an instant, he had steadied someone and helped them out.

Bolao turned to look, and saw Xiao Nanhui emerge — feet caked in muddy water, clothed in thin, meager garments.

“Weren’t you two about to have a fight just now? Go on, continue!”

Bolao caught the teasing tone in Xiao Nanhui’s voice and answered with a stiff kick at the clothing on the ground. “We searched the entire night yesterday, all right? This wretched place — you can’t even see your own feet in daylight, let alone in the dark. When dawn broke this morning, he went back in again to scout the way, and in the end only found your clothing. Once he came back out, he ended up like this.”

Ding Weixiang paid Bolao’s words no mind. He swiftly looked Zhongli Jing over, determined that the other man had not been injured, and only then released a long breath. He then immediately clasped his hands and dropped to one knee.

“This subordinate deserves death for his negligence. I await my lord’s punishment.”

Zhongli Jing only lightly patted the top of his head, his tone light and unreadable. “Enough — this matter has nothing to do with you. I was reckless.”

A flicker of something like gratitude surfaced in Ding Weixiang’s perpetually deadpan eyes, though he still could not bring himself to rise.

Xiao Nanhui watched from the side with a sour expression, then planted a foot down hard on Bolao’s toes nearby, muttering through gritted teeth: “Aren’t you people from the An Dao Academy famous for your absolute loyalty? Pledging to serve only one person for your entire life — how come when something happened to me, I didn’t see you in any particular hurry?”

Bolao hopped away clutching her foot. “I was forced into this, all right?! If the Marquis hadn’t shoved me off onto you, do you think I’d willingly spend every day eating your dust?”

Those words were truly grating and merciless — and spoken in front of outsiders, no less.

Xiao Nanhui sucked in a sharp breath, silently recited the word “patience,” and carefully drew out the jade seal she had been keeping tucked against her chest all along. “Who asked you to trail after me? I brought you along thinking you could be of use — in the end I still had to rely on myself. At least the item didn’t get submerged in that wretched mud.”

“Stop cradling it. That one is also a fake.”

Xiao Nanhui stood rooted to the spot as if struck by lightning, staring at the man beside Ding Weixiang — the one whose lips had gone slightly blue — in disbelief.

“What did you say? How — how could this possibly be a fake? Zou Sifang took this out himself. We followed him the entire way. There’s no mistake.”

Zhongli Jing draped the thick fur robe Ding Weixiang handed over across his shoulders, his complexion seeming to ease slightly at last, though his voice was inexplicably hoarse. “He was deceived as well. As for those who sought him out for the transaction — they never intended to retrieve anything from the start. Their purpose from the very beginning was to destroy all evidence and eliminate all witnesses. Whether the item was genuine or counterfeit, they did not know.”

From the dispute at the Zhuming Ceremony to the present, Xiao Nanhui had long since lost count of how many successive parties had come to seize and probe for the seal. Yet even now, staring at the small jade square that had cost her so much hardship and near death to obtain, she could not quite bring herself to give up. “Where is Hao Bai? Summon him to take a look — doesn’t he know some of the details—”

Before her words even fell, a commotion stirred inside the old Xiong family estate, and Hao Bai came trudging out through a side gate, dragging an enormous hide sack behind him.

He was hunched over hauling the sack and hadn’t noticed that two more people had appeared in the courtyard. By the time he realized, he was in a rather undignified posture.

“You’re out? That’s wonderful. So — where were we just now?”

Xiao Nanhui raised an eyebrow at the deer antlers, ginseng roots, and rare herbs practically spilling out of that sack.

“No. I don’t think you need to know.”

As they spoke, Ding Weixiang had already brought the carriage around. Zhongli Jing gave a quiet cough and stepped forward.

“Someone knew before us that Zou Sifang was walking to his death, and so swapped out the item in advance. A full day and night has already passed since he left the city. If you’d prefer to linger here a while longer, please do — but leave me out of it.”

*　*　*

Out through Mu Er He’s north city gate, about one tea-kettle’s journey by horse and carriage across open wasteland, stood a simple earthen dwelling.

The place had originally served as a resting stop for traveling merchants and traders. Since the nearest relay station to Mu Er He was located near the river crossing, it had been convenient enough for travelers on the road to take a brief rest here while waiting for the city gates to open. In recent years, however, a newly constructed official road had altered its route, causing this dwelling to fall off the main path — and a detour for a place to rest was no longer much of an attraction. Over time, it had simply fallen into ruin and disuse.

Xiao Nanhui gazed at the building from a distance, then turned to look at the person beside her.

“When did you come to learn all of this?”

Zhongli Jing had kept his eyes closed since a moment ago. He lifted his eyelids to glance at her. “I have your handkerchief to thank for that.”

The ground, long untouched by wheel ruts, was overgrown with weeds. The carriage swayed to an unsteady stop, and Zhongli Jing said nothing more, descending from the carriage first.

Ding Weixiang went ahead alone, entering the small courtyard first.

The earthen dwelling was very quiet inside — it seemed they had arrived one step too late.

Hao Bai was just about to speak when Xiao Nanhui clapped a hand over his mouth.

There was a faint sound in the air — the kind ordinary people would never detect.

Xiao Nanhui, Bolao, and Ding Weixiang all looked toward the same corner of the courtyard at virtually the same instant. The next second, a slight, slender figure darted out from behind a half-crumbled section of earthen wall, attempting to slip away. Bolao launched herself through the air to cut off the escape.

The figure moved with unexpected agility, feet barely grazing the ground as it veered off in another direction.

Xiao Nanhui watched that nimble silhouette and let out an involuntary sound of surprise.

This time it was Ding Weixiang who acted. He seemed entirely disinclined to play any further games of cat and mouse, and his move was swift and decisive. The figure cried out in pain and tumbled into the middle of the courtyard.

Although Xiao Nanhui had already half-expected what she might find, when she looked clearly at that person’s face, she still couldn’t help but widen her eyes.

“It’s you. The person on the Pingxiao Tower — it was you.”

The figure struggling on the ground stiffened with defiance, straightened his back, and lifted his head — and it was none other than A’Lu, the young manservant who had attended A’Xi at the Wangchen Pavilion.

Zhongli Jing stood nearby with cool, detached eyes, looking on — as though he was neither curious nor surprised by whoever this person turned out to be.

“It seems the one you were waiting for has been delayed on the road.”

A’Lu froze at those words, then immediately arranged his face into a blank, bewildered expression. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

Zhongli Jing didn’t bother saying another word. Ding Weixiang stepped forward expressionlessly, swift as a lightning strike, and pressed A’Lu face-down to the ground. A’Lu pulled out a dagger and thrust it backward, but Ding Weixiang deflected it with a single palm strike, dislocating the wrist. A’Lu cried out in pain yet continued to struggle — until, an instant later, the cold edge of a blade pressed against his neck.

He finally went still.

Recalling that harrowing encounter on the Pingxiao Tower, Xiao Nanhui felt a certain pang of reflection. On flat ground, the advantage of A’Lu’s light and agile frame simply did not apply — even his tricky, unorthodox techniques posed no real threat. But the circumstances that day had been entirely different, and she had nearly lost her life because of it.

Seen in this light, whoever had selected him had given it considerable thought and was quite familiar with the craft.

Ding Weixiang was clearly not doing this kind of thing for the first time. With a few efficient movements, he fished a small box from A’Lu’s person. The box was passed to Zhongli Jing, who gently opened the outer wooden casing to reveal what lay inside.

Xiao Nanhui looked on from the side, and for a brief moment felt a pang of disappointment.

The object inside the box was dark and murky, a dull blackish lump. Though it was perfectly square, it appeared coated in a layer of grime that obscured any fine pattern or carving. Only at the very center was there a tiny opening, no larger than a keyhole — seemingly the mechanism by which this strange container was to be unlocked — and beyond that, there was no other visible means of opening it.

“Is — is this really it?” There was a note of disbelief in Xiao Nanhui’s voice.

Zhongli Jing glanced at her, then lightly drew a fingernail across the surface of that cube. A faint scratch line appeared, and beneath the layer of mud, the true color underneath was revealed.

Pure, rich, and luminous jade-green.