Seven days after returning undercover to the Tiancheng camp, Xiao Nanhui finally had access to charcoal.

To be precise — she was piggybacking off someone else’s charcoal.

The Emperor was deeply averse to cold, and the charcoal in the carriage burned in generous abundance.

Though she now had warmth, sleep eluded her.

The Emperor spoke little, and she had nothing to do. She could only close her eyes and feign rest, yet she kept catching herself listening to faint sounds and deducing what he was doing from them.

In the end, she lay there listening to the crackling of the charcoal, and found her mind drifting back to the night in Baiyao Pass — the night his outer garment had been torn apart by her, and the two of them had huddled together in nothing but thin inner robes through the cold.

Yes — Ding Weixiang had every right to resent her.

A pity she had not understood at the time, and had always assumed the Ding fellow had simply lost his mind.

Thinking of this, a new unease crept in. The Emperor had shown no sign of punishing her on the surface — but could it be that deep down he despised her utterly and had already resolved to implicate the Marquis Mansion?

Xiao Nanhui’s right eye gave a twitch. She peeled one eyelid open a crack and stole a glance at the man.

His posture had scarcely changed from an hour before. He was still going through the rolled reports, a wooden figure of a man.

No matter how much she looked, she could not read anything from him. She could not ask, either. She had no choice but to lower her eyelids, and in her peripheral vision, caught sight of a deployment map laid partially open on the floor. She found herself looking at it a moment longer than intended.

It was a deployment map of the region from Sanmu Pass to Suyan.

Before now, everything she knew about Tiancheng’s movements and strategy in this campaign had come filtered through Bolao’s letters — vague and piecemeal at best. Seeing it like this was suddenly far more illuminating.

Back when she had encountered the Black Feather Division’s ambush at Sanmu Pass, she had been puzzled by the Emperor’s decision. The Sun Family must have had the Bai Family backing them and would never submit easily to Tiancheng. Even with that “village elder” eliminated, the Bai Family would never stand by idly — and a clash between the two armies at the pass was all but inevitable.

Yet she had been in Bijiang for over three months and had never heard news of a battle at Sanmu Pass. Now, at last, she understood: the Emperor had left no garrison troops at the pass at all.

Sanmu Pass was a place armies had contended over since ancient times, but in the current situation, it was not a good choice. The pass had no city walls and provided no cover; pressing deep into that terrain would stretch supply lines to their limit. Leaving soldiers to hold it might appear to be seizing the upper hand, but the drain on resources would be enormous. The Emperor had done the opposite — he had purged the Sun Family from Sanmu Pass but then pulled back entirely, leaving no visible watchers. To any observer, it looked like a feint. The Bai Family appeared to have gained a piece of unclaimed territory delivered right to them, but in truth they could no longer use Sanmu Pass as a transit route the way they once had, and they now had to guard against Tiancheng launching another offensive through the same point at any time. They were harried and consumed from all sides, and had in fact come off the worse for it.

This approach — soft, circuitous, and full of concealed intent — was entirely consistent with the man himself.

The current configuration was one linked sequence of traps. The next move would have been the surprise strike at Famang Ridge; had that succeeded in taking the Bai Family’s rear while they were vulnerable, the campaign against Bijiang could be considered half-secured. As fate would have it, that critical step had gone wrong, and the Bai Family had rallied. Now both sides were locked in stalemate, waiting for some final weight to tip the scales — and when it did, the curtain on full-scale battle would be drawn.

Xiao Nanhui was so absorbed in thought that she did not notice her own neck growing longer and longer, and she had nearly craned forward until she was almost level with the map.

At that moment, the carriage stopped.

Ding Weixiang’s voice came from outside.

“Master, we have arrived.”

The Emperor looked up. Xiao Nanhui gave a start and lurched backward, her back striking the carriage wall with a sound that took a long time to fade.

The Emperor unhurriedly draped his outer robe over his shoulders and stood, not giving her so much as a glance, stepping directly over her rigid body toward the carriage door.

What was she supposed to do? Follow him?

The next second, the man seemed to have read her mind before she could open her mouth.

“There is no need to follow. We have found a familiar face to see to your arrangements.”

A familiar face?

“May I ask which familiar face of this subject’s—”

“The two of you have met on several occasions, and I am told you have also exchanged pointers in martial arts — he also spoke of you with considerable admiration.” The Emperor had barely finished when a man’s voice rang out past those near-soundless footsteps in front of the carriage.

“Your subject Lu Songping pays his respects to Your Majesty.”

Xiao Nanhui stared out in astonishment. She saw those long, slender, dangerously soft eyes of Lu Songping looking back at her with an expression she could not quite interpret.

Her tongue felt suddenly uncooperative. “Your — Your Majesty, this subject and Governor Lu have only met twice — we can hardly be called familiar—”

But the Emperor had already walked away, and Ding Weixiang followed, casting a sideways look in her direction as he went.

She interpreted the expression on his face. She decided it meant something like: You’re on your own. Good luck.

Lu Songping drifted up into the carriage like smoke — his movements eerily light, as though he made no sound even when killing someone and disposing of the body.

She tensed like a hedgehog, every muscle coiling, and with a turn of her arm, Pingxian flashed across the space between herself and Lu Songping like a band of silver light.

Lu Songping looked down at the glinting spearhead with a somewhat peculiar expression.

“General Xiao, I have no interest in your weapon. You may put it away.”

Xiao Nanhui gave a cold snort. “His Majesty is long gone. Why does Governor Lu still put on this performance for me? Back in Tong City, you were nothing like this polite.”

Lu Songping smiled — or rather, his face curved in a way that involved only the surface. “It was simply a matter of duty in those days. I am confident that, beyond the necessary security work, I was never a fraction out of line.”

He was implying that she had brought everything on herself.

The oblique intonation in his words was about seven or eight parts as maddening as the style favored by the Emperor’s own attendant.

“I had Bolao keeping a constant watch on you. With her there, of course you didn’t dare make a move.”

“Bolao?” Lu Songping paused, as though something had come back to him. “Ah — that was her name. She stayed at my residence for over two months. On her own, she ate through more than half of this year’s grape harvest. I imagine that bill will find its way to General Xiao’s account.”

What?!

Xiao Nanhui’s jaw clenched. She was fuming. “What did you just say?! Explain yourself — clearly!”

“I am speaking in perfectly clear official Mandarin. How is it that General Xiao cannot follow?” Lu Songping gathered up six reins with efficient grace and took hold of the carriage with the practiced ease of someone who had done it many times. “And it was not only grapes — even no small number of military reports she managed to steal glances at from me. Though General Xiao has been far away in Bijiang, it seems her heart has been aligned with mine all along.”

She and you are not aligned in the slightest!

Before she had time to fully turn that remark over in her mind, the vehicle lurched into motion. Xiao Nanhui’s expression shifted.

“Where are you taking me?”

Lu Songping said nothing. He gave the reins a sharp snap, and the carriage accelerated forward.

“Let me out! I want to go find Mo Chunhua!”

Lu Songping, in his green robes, with his long neck and his slender waist, sat there as immovable as a green mountain despite the moving vehicle. “Save it. His Majesty has handed you over to me — which means you do as I say.”

Apart from Xiao Zhun and that old Emperor, there was no one in this world with the right to give her orders!

If he wouldn’t let her out, she’d get out herself. Wasn’t that an option?

She gripped Pingxian and prepared to swing it at the carriage window.

Without turning his head, the man at the front spoke into the air behind him with chilling calm: “That is His Majesty’s carriage. If you have the nerve, go ahead and wreck it thoroughly.”

Xiao Nanhui stumbled and fell back onto the cushions, resentment simmering in her chest as she glared at that indifferent back and laid Pingxian across her own chest.

“The carriage is so cramped — if you insist on holding that up, that is your own affair.”

The carriage jolted forward, flying quickly away from the Black Feather Division’s column, heading up into the dark hills rising above the gobi.

The Black Feather Division’s column retreated steadily in the direction of the southeast, not halting until it had put some twenty li between itself and its former position.

This order had come directly from the Emperor. No one in the army dared question it — though more than one general privately harbored doubt and discontent. They all turned it over privately, wondering what the Emperor was trying to accomplish with this move.

That night, one hundred thousand troops made camp on a high ground several dozen li east of the Tianmu River. In the main command tent, the Emperor summoned all the generals and high officers for a conference, to deliberate on how to coordinate with the Guangyao Division in the north and the Suibei Camp in the center, and launch a full assault on Bijiang.

The conference began just after the seventh watch hour and stretched through the night until well into the fourth — and still the Emperor had not given his approval to any single proposal.

The generals went from vigorous argument and heated debate to utter exhaustion, mouths dry and tongues numb. Throughout, the Emperor maintained the same unmoved, noncommittal air, as though he found every strategy inadequate.

At last, the tent fell into a prolonged silence.

Whether it was some private quirk of the Emperor’s, no one knew — but the bronze water clock from the Yuanming Hall had somehow been transported and set up inside the command tent, its drips and trickles setting every nerve on edge, each drop seeming to stretch time into something infinite, making the waiting all the more excruciating.

It was plain enough: the conference was a pretext. Something else entirely was the true business of the night.

Serving beside the Emperor was not like serving beside a tiger. It was like standing at the edge of an abyss. And who could ever know what lay hidden in the depths of an abyss?

Ah — to serve as an official in Tiancheng was truly too difficult.

At last, someone’s composure cracked.

Yan Guang stepped forward, resolved to pierce the paper screen the Emperor had set up.

“Your Majesty has summoned us here tonight — is there perhaps another matter you wish to discuss? This officer is a straightforward sort and does not understand subtlety. Better to simply tell us plainly, rather than waste everyone’s time standing here.”

The Emperor still sat like a statue in his meditation chair, the black outer robe making his expression seem even more remote than usual. But there was something in those eyes — a flicker of something like amusement.

“The general is forthright, and we have no wish to prevaricate. Half a month ago, the Left General led the Guangyao Division’s finest troops in a surprise assault on Bijiang through Famang Ridge and failed — he nearly lost his life at the hands of the Bai Family. He sent word to us, reporting that the reason the Bai Family was prepared was because the marching orders had been leaked. We have turned this over and over in our mind and cannot make sense of it. That is why we have invited you all here tonight. Does anyone have anything to say?”

The moment those words landed, a thousand waves crashed through the tent.

This was as plain as it could be: there was a spy in the army.

More than a few people thought back to the prisoner who had been buried at the riverside a few days ago. It now emerged that there had been far more to that story than met the eye.

The Emperor had kept everyone trapped inside this tent — surely those outside were already guarded by trusted men. Was he about to close the trap and flush out his prey?

The principal secretary of Jizhou, Huang Yu, hesitantly spoke up: “May I ask Your Majesty — is this intelligence reliable? Given the gravity of the matter, one must proceed with care and verify whether it is true—”

“Why is Lord Huang so quick to cast doubt?” This voice belonged to Sun Zhuo, the senior military commander of the Suibei Camp’s advance division. He had no patience for the fussiness of officials, and he was also eager to declare his own allegiance. He spoke up at once: “It seems to me that since His Majesty has raised the matter, the intelligence must be quite credible. Perhaps we should begin the search immediately — I can lead my men to start with my own encampment.”

The exchange had barely begun before an edge of discord was already felt inside the tent.

The Upper Army’s adjutant, Zhu Tingmao, glanced a couple of times at the Emperor seated above, and decided to smooth things over: “Commander Sun makes a good point, and Lord Huang need not be anxious. His Majesty has summoned us here — that must mean he trusts us, which is why he does not fear alerting the suspect. We will all work together wholeheartedly to help Your Majesty clear away the treachery. Only—”

Zhu Tingmao’s face wore a careful, hesitant look. Sun Zhuo, too impatient to watch, said curtly: “Is Lord Zhu still going to say half and hide half in front of His Majesty?”

Zhu Tingmao gave a good-natured, rueful smile, and seemed to steel himself before bowing deeply: “This subject merely feels that the Left General has been out of contact for more than half a month, and that this news has come at such a critical juncture in the battle between the two sides — and yet the man himself has not appeared—”

A veteran of battles and stratagems, Yan Guang grasped the meaning behind Zhu Tingmao’s words before they were fully spoken.

“If you ask me, Lord Zhu raises a fair point. Putting aside whether the assault on Famang Ridge was ever a sure victory to begin with — the Guangyao Division is thick with imperial relatives and nobility, people who likely have tender pride to match their clumsy hands. If the Left General led his men poorly and was humiliated by it, he might have invented this tale of a spy to save face. And given how dangerous Bijiang is — even if he was lucky enough to escape with his life, why will he not show himself in person? Why this ghostly performance, stirring up alarm and confusion in the ranks?”

Yan Guang had come up through the Yanyiying, the Western Garrison Division — a force distributed across the most arduous postings, filled with men who had clawed their way up from nothing through real fighting. And the Guangyao Division, with its abundance of imperial connections, had never sat particularly well with them.

This sort of comment might have been forgiven in the privacy of one’s own camp. But today, inside the command tent, there were men from the Guangyao Division present.

The imperial-blooded Commander Wei Yuanxiu, bearer of the golden seal and purple sash, took immediate offense.

“When the Guangyao Division was holding Famang Ridge against all its perils, not one of you came to offer any assistance. Now that something has gone wrong, you turn to place blame. Does Commander Yan have any evidence for what he is claiming? If not, how is this different from some gutter ruffian throwing mud and impugning people’s character?”

Yan Guang was rebuked to his face, and fury flickered behind his eyes. “What do you mean by that? I am a serving commanding general of the western frontier — what do I have in common with that sort of street scoundrel?!”

It seemed they were on the verge of coming to blows right there, and Zhu Tingmao quickly spoke up: “Lord Huang has followed Prince Kang for many years and has served under not a few regional governors — surely he has the greatest understanding of the hearts of these vassal kings and nobles. Perhaps he can offer an impartial word.”

Singled out at this moment of crisis, beads of sweat slid down Huang Yu’s face — yet he knew that rather than offend everyone in this tent, he could not afford to deceive the one sitting above them. After careful thought, he spoke truthfully.

“The Left General comes from the household of Duke Xuanyuan. In this subject’s assessment — with Your Majesty personally leading the campaign, while Duke Xuanyuan has been left alone to hold the capital, the image of a lone wolf guarding an empty mountain does tend to breed certain ambitions.”

The atmosphere inside the tent, at those final words, reached the burning point of ignition.

Yet the scorching tension seemed to stop short of reaching the Emperor. He and the meditation chair beneath him maintained the same glacial temperature as the air outside.

“We find ourselves suddenly weary.”

The Emperor raised one hand slightly to his brow and let his eyes fall shut, his voice dropping lower.

“You have all been occupied with the campaign for months on end. Tonight’s late conference must have also left you exhausted. Let us rest for a stick of incense. When it has burned, we will have a decision.”

The collective sound of relief was almost audible inside the tent.

No one had expected tonight’s conference to be so fraught, and it had dragged on so long already — everyone had been standing until their legs ached, with not so much as a sip of water, and even the warriors among them could not entirely ignore certain unavoidable physical necessities.

After a tide of requests to be excused, the tent was left with only a few who had not withdrawn.

The Emperor opened his eyes unhurriedly, looked over that face that revealed almost nothing at all, and closed them again with the ghost of a smile.

On a mound to the west of the Black Feather Division camp, Xiao Nanhui let out a heavy sneeze.

She and Lu Songping had been sitting on this hill for more than two hours.

The ground beneath her was hard and cold grit, impossible to warm no matter how long she sat on it. She had shifted and fidgeted through the discomfort for a long time, and now she was genuinely at her limit.

“I have to say — what exactly are you waiting for?”

Lu Songping said nothing, but raised one finger to his lips and motioned toward the camp below.

From this high ground, the entire camp lay spread out beneath them, and even without Lu Songping’s prompt, she had long since noticed that something was unusual about the camp tonight.

Standard wartime protocol required strict control of firelight at night, to prevent enemy troops from identifying positions. But a darkness as complete as tonight’s was something she had never seen before.

The camp was so utterly still it had nearly merged with the gobi itself — silent and lethal.

The wind that had howled for days from the north seemed to have stopped. This empty land had no birds, no animals, no insects calling in the night. The air was terrifyingly silent.

Into that boundless quiet, something faint drifted in from a distance — too faint to be sure it wasn’t imagination.

Lu Songping was on his feet immediately, lifting the black longbow he had kept close at hand.

The bow was slender and taut, not unlike his silver serpent of a sword in its way.

With practiced efficiency, he tilted open the quiver and checked the black-fletched arrows inside, then lifted his gaze without looking up and asked in a low voice.

“How is General Xiao’s archery?”

She looked sideways at him, nonplussed. “What does my archery have to do with you?”

Lu Songping paid no attention to the resistance in her tone. He reached into the long wrapped bundle he had carried with him, drew out another bow, and held it out to her.

Xiao Nanhui hesitated for a moment, then took it.

The bow limbs were cold, heavy as a stone in her hand, and the bowstring — razor-sharp and perfectly straight — hummed when plucked, as though the air itself split apart at the touch.

This was the Black Feather Division’s ceremonial bow.

She looked up. On Lu Songping’s face, she saw that something had completely changed. She realized then that those soft, dangerously elegant features could carry this much killing intent.

Many people carried two faces.

She knew the feeling well. Every time before going into battle, she became someone else — someone she barely recognized herself.

Without thinking, she heard herself ask:

“What do you want me to do?”

Lu Songping looked out toward the dark, indistinct horizon.

That expanse of purple sky still hung as though frozen, perfectly still.

And yet within that stillness, something was building, churning — like a creature on the edge of breaking free of its chrysalis.

A night without moon, a night of failing yang energy — the perfect hour for a hundred ghosts to walk.

“General Xiao — watch closely. Do not let anything moving escape your eye.”

Anything moving? What things?

Xiao Nanhui’s gaze settled on the black, ink-dark sky, and her mouth, for no clear reason, began to feel dry.