The night cold seeped through the body; moonlight fell chill upon the heart.

The days of flight had passed too swiftly. She had assumed there should still be a crescent moon hanging above the main tent by now, yet the moon was already nearly full.

Xiao Nanhui stared blankly upward, perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the sky above her.

She was lying in a darkened tent with no lantern lit. All around her was quiet; only through a gap between two panels of felt overhead did a sliver of moonlight and a thread of wind find their way inside.

She wanted to maintain her usual professional composure in these circumstances, but after so long at the fraying edge of endurance, the moment her nerves finally uncoiled, sleep seized hold of her with the grip of Dujuan’s delicate fingers — and would not let go.

She dozed for a while, and when she opened her eyes again, the moon had climbed directly overhead.

In the darkness, it seemed as though nothing remained but that single moon.

The events of the past months faded into the stillness. She felt she ought to sort through what she had witnessed and learned in Bijiang, but her thoughts scattered of their own accord and drifted into emptiness.

It must have been Lu Songping’s punch that damaged her brain, she decided, which was why she could not concentrate on anything now.

The wound on her thigh had already been properly tended to. This time, there was no outlandish bow made of butterfly knots — the hands that had bandaged her were cold and efficient, without so much as a loose thread left behind.

Everything was stripped down to a bleak simplicity. With no one coming to summon her, she supposed there was nothing to do but sleep.

Xiao Nanhui turned over, pulling the soft, thick blanket more tightly around herself.

What a wonderfully warm blanket. And so smooth to the touch — she hadn’t known there could be anything in this world as silky as this fleece.

Crack.

In the next instant, accompanied by the sharp sound of flint struck against stone, a point of firelight bloomed at her back.

Every hair on Xiao Nanhui’s body stood on end.

Someone had lit a fire less than ten steps behind her, and she had not heard a single footstep, not a single breath.

Then came the sound of a felt curtain being lifted. A cold gust of air swept in, carrying with it a faint, light cough.

Xiao Nanhui rolled off the low cot in an instant, landed cleanly with one knee on the ground, her injured thigh causing her to stagger — but she caught her balance in time and did not embarrass herself.

The cold wind brought in the air from outside the tent, carrying with it a clean, bitter chill.

She had already composed herself, prepared to bow fully and cry out her respects — but then her eyes adjusted to the sudden light, and when she made out the figures of the two people who had just entered the tent, she froze completely.

The person who had just come in did not spare her a glance. He was slowly and methodically unfastening the heavy fur coat on his body, and the sandalwood prayer bead bracelet on his wrist slid up and down, framing the line of his wrist — straight and lean. The fur coat, made of silver pelt, was weighty and thick, yet even it could not conceal the lean, upright frame beneath. And the figure wearing that moon-white, fully embroidered snow-satin robe bore a face she recognized — pale, composed, and indifferent.

Behind him, Ding Weixiang was lighting the tent’s torches with the freshly kindled candle in his hand, his expression utterly blank.

Xiao Nanhui’s tongue tangled. “You — you — you, how are you here?”

Before the last syllable had even landed, Ding Weixiang was already there, eyes wide and round, bellowing at the top of his lungs: “Insolence! You dare to speak so brazenly in the presence of His Majesty!”

At the same moment, the soldiers guarding outside poured in through the tent flap, swords drawn and aimed squarely at Xiao Nanhui in an instant.

She was completely stunned, feeling as though a thousand Ding Weixiangs were roaring at her from all directions.

His Majesty? Which His Majesty?

Tiancheng’s Emperor? The Emperor who had made her wait an entire hour for him to finish bathing?

The man’s gaze did not shift even a fraction in her direction. He walked straight past her rigid body and settled himself upon what she had been using as a “cot.”

With light in the tent now, she could finally see clearly: that smooth, silky blanket was not made of sheepskin at all, but of black marten fur. And the cot was not a cot, but an exceptionally wide meditation chair with a square armrest frame, carved with intricate spreading lotus-vine patterns — identical to the patterns on the gate of the Taihe Bathhouse and Gardens.

Xiao Nanhui swallowed.

She had just been “lying on” the Emperor’s meditation chair, and had been using his cushion as a blanket.

“Weixiang, could this prisoner have knocked her head and addled her brain? If so, that is truly a pity — I had thought she might carry some useful intelligence. Drag her out and execute her.”

That familiar face had finally spoken, and the voice that emerged was nothing like the clear, bright tone of “Zhongli Jing” — it was low and faintly hoarse, exactly like the voice she had heard outside the Taihe Bathhouse and Gardens.

Her arms were seized from both sides. The soldiers made to drag her out. Xiao Nanhui snapped back to herself at once.

“Wait — wait a moment!” She finally found her voice again, but could not think of what to say.

Zhongli Jing was the Emperor? How could he be the Emperor? That made no sense — back when she was in Huozhou, she had been around him the entire time, and there had never been any word of the Emperor leaving the capital.

But Ding Weixiang had no intention of giving her time to think. He kept urging the soldiers on: “What are you waiting for? Drag her out at once!”

“I — I have something to say—”

Xiao Nanhui struggled with everything she had. Another soldier stepped forward and pressed down on her back.

The men were clearly taking no chances with her — four grown men practically uprooted her like pulling a carrot from the ground, dragging her bodily toward the tent entrance.

“Wait.”

The sovereign on the chair spoke suddenly. The soldiers’ movements came to an immediate halt. The man who had been seated on the marten-fur meditation chair rose to his feet, took up a candlestick, and walked a few steps toward her.

“We were too far away before. At this distance, it is rather clearer.”

Tears very nearly welled in Xiao Nanhui’s eyes.

Your Majesty, it was your own golden word that sent me to infiltrate the enemy — have you finally remembered?

“Is this not the female bandit with the bounty on her head from the wanted notices posted at Suyan recently?”

The sovereign’s voice drifted over, unhurried, and Xiao Nanhui’s almost-tears froze right where they were.

Ding Weixiang played along impeccably, leaning in with the candle to peer at Xiao Nanhui’s face as though he had truly never laid eyes on her before, then gave a measured tilt of his brow. “Come to think of it, Your Majesty, now that you mention it, there does seem to be a resemblance.”

He turned to the soldiers and said in a low, authoritative tone, “You few — go to the prisoner camp and bring back a female interrogator. Make it someone experienced with female prisoners. Go, quickly!”

“Mm.” The Emperor gave a noncommittal hum, then added lightly, “The prisoner camp is a fair distance away, and the night is already late — the night watch will likely have closed the camp as well. Go find the right personnel tomorrow. Leave this matter to Weixiang for now — the rest of you may withdraw.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, then bowed their heads and accepted the order, withdrawing from the tent with appropriate discretion.

The tent fell quiet. A fine silk handkerchief dropped onto her face, covering her eyes.

“Appearing before the imperial countenance in such a state of disarray — what a disgrace.”

Xiao Nanhui sniffled, and only then did she realize that all the urgency and grievance of the moment had pushed tears from her eyes.

She was not someone who cried easily — no matter how grave her injuries had been before, she had never shed a single tear. She did not quite know what had come over her now. Perhaps it was everything she had endured, and the feeling in this one moment that the days of constant fear and vigilance had finally come to their end. And even now, knowing who this person truly was, she still found herself unable to stop the emotion from spilling over.

She wiped her face twice, left and right. As her composure gradually returned, an acute awkwardness crept in.

The combination of emotion and circumstance made her feel deeply out of sorts all over. And thinking it through — she hadn’t even formally paid her respects yet. She promptly used the position she was already in to prostrate herself in a proper bow.

“Your subject Xiao Nanhui pays her respects to Your Majesty.”

Five or six breaths passed before the voice returned.

“You have labored greatly in service of the realm — how could you prostrate yourself in the dust? Rise, please.”

She was still wary and dared not lower her guard, though she was ready to rise. Then she noticed the man bending forward to peer at his meditation chair.

The Emperor extended two fingers and, very slowly, lifted a long strand of hair from the glossy black fur surface, then released it with a light touch. It drifted down and settled directly before Xiao Nanhui’s eyes.

“Our chair — did you sleep comfortably in it?”

Xiao Nanhui’s whole body gave a jolt, and the torso that had just begun to straighten thudded back flat to the ground.

“Your Majesty, I had no idea — I didn’t know—”

She hadn’t known you were the Emperor! If she had known you were the Emperor, would she have gone to all this trouble? You were the Emperor — why didn’t you say so sooner? It was because of you that she had wracked her brains back in Huozhou with all those schemes, convinced the imperial seal was about to fall into someone else’s hands—

Wait. He is the Emperor — then during the whole time in Huozhou, who had been holding down the capital? Did her adoptive father know about this? And if he didn’t know, and she knew now, would knowing somehow implicate him?

Xiao Nanhui’s mind churned through all of this, her expression shifting through a dozen different shades in quick succession — none of which she was aware of herself.

Ding Weixiang stood watching nearby, and after a while, he simply could not watch any longer. He let out a pointed, forceful cough.

The person on the floor gave a start and came back to her senses. “Your — Your Majesty, the reason I came is to report a matter of grave urgency.”

The Emperor changed his posture and waved a hand with a casual air. Ding Weixiang slipped out of the tent. A moment later, even the sounds of sentinels changing the night watch outside the tent could no longer be heard.

Xiao Nanhui understood the signal, and without pause, she laid out in full everything Su Pingchuan had encountered, combined with her own observations in Bijiang, and offered her analysis of the current situation. She had considered reporting the matter of Pu Huna and An Lu as well, but decided against it — the affair was too strange, and to speak of it now would invite accusations of speculation and groundless rumor, so she set it aside for the time being.

Throughout, she glanced from time to time at the man’s expression, but not a trace of emotion was visible on it.

After the better part of half an hour, she had said everything there was to say. Silence settled over the tent, natural and inevitable.

The Emperor sat with his eyes half-closed, motionless, as though not even a single crease of his garment had shifted. After quite a long while, he finally parted his lips and exhaled four unhurried words.

“I see.”

I see? That was all?

Xiao Nanhui was taken aback, and felt rather sorry for all the saliva she had spent.

“Your Majesty, your subject believes this matter is no trifling—”

“You have come a great distance, through dust and hardship — you have truly toiled greatly. You may go and rest now.”

She was ill-at-ease with such an abrupt end to the conversation. She lingered for a moment, and then that voice which had a way of putting people on edge came once more.

“What is it? Did you wish to rest upon our meditation chair once more?”

Terrifying.

Truly terrifying.

Xiao Nanhui retreated step by step, practically stumbling as she fled out of the tent.