“Wait.”

Wu Xing paused, puzzled. Xiao Nanhui looked more closely at the spot, and her suspicion grew even stronger.

Bolao’s memory was reliable — there was indeed a hidden passage in the Zou Family estate, located in a side courtyard on the western side of the main residence. Earlier, her copy had been damaged by water and unclear; now she could make it out properly.

That side courtyard looked very familiar — it closely resembled the servants’ rear kitchen where the five of them had hidden that night.

She had long been troubled by something. On the night they reached their agreement, Hao Bai had been the first to leave — he was temporarily staying at the Zou estate and had far more freedom of movement than the rest of them, who were outsiders. She and Bolao had left afterward, and despite both of them being reasonably skilled fighters who had studied the floor plan in advance, they had still spent a great deal of effort getting out of the Zou estate.

Yet Zhongli Jing had no martial arts at all, and even if Ding Weixiang had the ability to pluck stars from the sky, it was hard to imagine him sneaking a man who couldn’t even scale a wall into the compound without alerting a single guard — and then slipping back out without a trace.

Just now, a possibility had suddenly occurred to her: could it be that Zhongli Jing and Ding Weixiang had left through the secret passage marked on the floor plan?

But if so — how on earth had they known about it?

“Xiao Nanhui? Are you bewitched?”

Xiao Nanhui snapped back to herself. Yaoyi was staring at her from beside her.

She turned to Wu Xing: “Master, one moment — there is one more thing I wanted to ask.”

Wu Xing had, in the span of a single cup of tea, gone through the full range of highs and lows, and now felt his heart quivering beyond all further endurance: “What more could there be?”

Xiao Nanhui offered a reassuring smile: “There’s no need to be alarmed, master. I only wish to ask — before this floor plan was lent to me, had anyone else ever seen it?”

Wu Xing replied without a moment’s thought, shaking his head: “Of course not. This sort of unconventional item is known to very few people, let alone anyone coming specifically to look at it.”

“Is there any possibility that before the floor plan entered the archive—”

“This floor plan spent more time in the Grand Secretary’s manor than I have, and I have been librarian at the manor for over thirty years. If anyone ever saw it, that would be at least thirty years ago. What’s more, before my time, almost no one ever visited that archive.”

Xiao Nanhui fell silent.

Perhaps Zhongli Jing’s knowledge of this had nothing to do with the floor plan at all. The floor plan did not specify where the hidden passage led — yet Zhongli Jing had known. He might even have entered the estate from the other end of the passage from the very beginning. Xiao Nanhui had a vague feeling that the more she thought about this, the stranger it became.

“I see there is a character ‘Hu’ at the center of the plan — what does it mean?”

“That question, if put to most people, would leave them without an answer — but I happen to have read through some obscure notes on this subject in my spare time.”

Wu Xing’s greatest pleasure in life was researching eccentric historical lore. Perhaps feeling that Xiao Nanhui had touched on something interesting, he set aside his earlier displeasure and said with a look of quiet satisfaction: “The Hu surname was once a great noble clan in Huozhou — alongside the Shen, An, and Long surnames, they were known as the Four Magnates of Huozhou. All were powerful families whose influence at their peak rivaled the nobility of the imperial capital. But when dynasties change, those who stand tallest fall hardest — aside from the Shen family, who survived because they commanded an army, the other three families fell due to their very prominence. The An and Long families were nearly exterminated to the last member. Among them, the Hu family alone vanished without a trace — as though they disappeared from their residence overnight, leaving nothing behind but an empty manor. Decades passed before anyone took over that estate, and it was none other than the prosperous Zou family, whom you have visited.”

The An family? Was that not A’Lu’s family?

“Is there any written record of why the An and Long families were killed?”

Wu Xing’s expression carried a note of quiet sorrow: “History has left no record. But the very absence of a record makes it easy to guess — and given the timing, it was most likely connected to the incident in which Qiu Feiyu carried the jade seal through Huozhou. That is the most probable explanation.”

“But wasn’t it said that the seal ended up sinking into a swamp? How did it leave behind all this entanglement?”

“That, I cannot say. Regardless of whether the truth is connected to the seal, when a new king rises and a dynasty changes, the fates of those who served the old order have never required a reason.”

Xiao Nanhui fell silent. Across the table, Yaoyi poured the now-cold tea from the pot onto the charcoal brazier: “Though this is a fine private room, the soundproofing may not be quite as good as one might imagine. I suggest both of you simply focus on enjoying the tea.”

The tea water hit the blazing coals with a harsh hiss, sending up a plume of white steam.

Wu Xing seemed to come to his senses and pressed his lips together in silence.

Xiao Nanhui parted her lips, then swallowed the question back down.

When Xiao Zhun requested an audience with the Emperor, he had not expected the other party to consent.

After all, Tiancheng’s present Emperor was famously averse to seeing people. Without submitting a private audience request several days in advance, nine times out of ten one would be turned away entirely.

Under ordinary circumstances, the ones who came to send ministers away were the scarlet-robed attendant officials. On the rare occasion that the sun rose in the west and the Emperor agreed to a meeting, it would be a black-robed chief attendant who appeared instead.

So when that figure in black came walking along the palace corridor, Xiao Zhun was genuinely taken aback.

“His Majesty requests your presence. Marquis Qinghuai, please follow me.”

As usual, Xiao Zhun was led to the side hall adjacent to the Hall of Yuanhe. The Emperor seemed to favor this place, always receiving ministers here.

Xiao Zhun himself was less fond of it. The Hall of Yuanhe had an exceptionally winding layout and poor lighting, as though it existed in a state of perpetual half-light, neither fully bright nor fully dark.

Composing himself, Xiao Zhun performed the customary bow.

“Your Majesty.”

The Emperor was half-concealed behind a gauze screen, leaning over the desk, apparently tinkering with something.

“Hmm, Marquis Qinghuai has come? There’s a box over there — go ahead and open it first.” A slender hand emerged from behind the gauze screen, languidly pointing toward a chest placed in the center of the room.

Xiao Zhun paused, then rose and walked to the chest.

An octagonal bronze-fitted lacquered wooden box, unadorned, without even a lock.

A strange smell drifted to his nose. Xiao Zhun paused for a moment, then lifted the lid.

Even with some mental preparation, when he saw the bloodied, mangled head inside, his pupils contracted.

The figure behind the gauze screen picked up something he had been fiddling with at his desk all this while — a censer — and began to move about, letting the wind sweeping through the hall carry the incense fragrance outward and dispel the foul, putrid smell in the air.

“Does Marquis Qinghuai recognize it?”

The head in the box was swollen and rotting, reeking terribly, and could only barely be made out as belonging to a man with disheveled hair.

“Your subject cannot make an identification.”

“Never mind — the weather has been growing hot faster than expected. When the box first arrived, I could still barely make out King Kang’s face.”

So this was the King Kang who had been assassinated. The killer was truly audacious — they had even sent his head to the capital, an open act of provocation.

Xiao Zhun’s lips pressed thin: “May I ask Your Majesty — was this done by the Bai Family?”

The man behind the gauze screen set down the censer and walked a few steps in Xiao Zhun’s direction. His shadow wavered on the screen as though he were looking down at him with appraisal. “Whether it was or was not, it will not change my decision to level Bijiang.” He paused, then continued: “I wish to know — in Marquis Qinghuai’s opinion, what kind of blade killed King Kang?”

The remains in the box were severed cleanly at the neck. The cross-section faintly showed a spine cut straight through — apart from the seeping marrow and blood, the cut surface was remarkably smooth.

Xiao Zhun did not rush to give an answer: “With only the head before me, I cannot determine whether there are other lethal wounds on the body. However—” his gaze settled on the sharp, clean edge of the flesh and bone, “—the cut across King Kang’s neck is most unusual. It would not have been made by an ordinary sword or blade.”

“Oh?” From behind the gauze screen came a drawn-out, meaningful sound. “Not a sword or blade — then what manner of weapon?”

Xiao Zhun hesitated for a noticeable moment before responding evenly: “Your subject is no coroner. I cannot determine the answer at a glance.”

“Hmm, I only asked on a whim. Though I have heard it said that among the jianghu, there is a weapon made of fine wire — when used with sufficient force, it can cut through gold and stone. Has Marquis Qinghuai perhaps heard of this?”

The composure on Xiao Zhun’s face began to crumble — imperceptibly, yet unmistakably — though his body remained perfectly still. Unless one stood face to face with him, no one could see his emotions in this moment.

In his mind, an overwhelming flock of ravens seemed to sweep past, mixed with the chaotic pounding of hooves, the labored breath of a young man, the heavy scent of rain before a downpour, and the relentless, heart-rending arc of a silver net closing in from all sides—

“Marquis Qinghuai?”

Xiao Zhun lowered his head slightly further, his voice as steady as ever: “Your subject… has never heard of it.”

“Oh? Then it must be nothing but rumor.” The figure behind the gauze screen seemed to lose interest in an instant, turning back toward the desk, his voice cooling: “I have a great many documents to review. Does Marquis Qinghuai have anything further?”

In truth, Xiao Zhun had not yet had a chance to state his purpose since entering the hall — he did not know whether the Emperor had done this deliberately. He collected himself and spoke: “Your subject fears that his foster daughter Xiao Nanhui is too young to bear the responsibility of Right General, and worries she may cause trouble for Your Majesty.”

“Does Marquis Qinghuai know that the three bandit chiefs of Mount Zhong were slain by Xiao Nanhui?”

Xiao Zhun was visibly startled for a moment, then replied: “Your subject did not know. She never mentioned it — I suppose she encountered them during her unauthorized excursion to Huozhou.”

A low, subdued laugh rang out. Xiao Zhun rarely heard this man laugh, and he always felt that laughter carried little genuine warmth.

“There is no need for Marquis Qinghuai to be modest. A mighty father raises no mediocre daughter — in my view, she is excellent indeed.”

There was something peculiar in these words. Before Xiao Zhun had time to discern the deeper meaning, the voice continued: “You came last month to this side hall to work on the Linglong Niche — have you made any progress?”

This was a signal that the topic of Xiao Nanhui was closed. Knowing that pressing further would be futile, Xiao Zhun could only answer the question at hand: “Your subject has now solved seven or eight layers. Given another hour or so, it should be solved.”

“Very good.”

The Emperor lightly tapped his desk. The black-robed chief attendant, who had dissolved away like smoke moments before, drifted back out from somewhere, holding something in his hands — the nine-fold Linglong Niche.

“This Linglong Niche was left behind by my mother. I only brought it out before to pass the time. If you can solve it, I will take it as bringing joy to my mother’s spirit, and grant you one request. Only — what you ask of me, have you thought it through?”

Xiao Zhun’s gaze fixed unwaveringly on the intricately crafted object, no larger than a fist. After a long pause, he finally bowed his head: “Your subject has considered it. I humbly ask His Majesty to grant that your subject be appointed commander of the campaign to recover Bijiang.”

The Emperor’s silhouette swayed behind the gauze screen, shifting and shimmering like a reflection in a lake stirred by wind.

“We… grant it.”