The chirping of insects and the gentle night breeze filled the air. Jiang Ci felt her whole body brimming with joy and contentment. She kept patting her burning cheeks as she walked towards her quarters in the west wing. Just as she turned past the moon gate, she nearly collided with a figure.
Pei Yan stared intently at Jiang Ci, noticing her cheeks burning as if on fire. She was wearing a military uniform, but her hair was styled in a woman’s bun. His heart felt as if it had been pricked by a needle, and his fingers clenched tightly as he asked coldly, “Where have you been?”
Jiang Ci stepped back and replied softly, “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. Prime Minister, you’re still awake? You should rest early.” With that, she walked towards her room.
She closed the door and sat down on the bed, gently touching her chest to feel her heartbeat. Recalling the mixed feelings of joy and sorrow from earlier, she suddenly felt the urge to cry.
Pei Yan returned to the main hall and sat in the purple sandalwood armchair, lightly turning a delicate celadon teacup in his right hand, his brow furrowed as if frosted.
Soon after, Xu Yan of the Changfeng Guard came to report quietly, “Lord Wei has returned.”
Pei Yan’s handsome brows furrowed, and with a surge of strength in his hand, there was a light “crack” as the delicate celadon teacup shattered. As porcelain fragments scattered, Xu Yan noticed traces of blood on Pei Yan’s hand. Alarmed, he looked up at Pei Yan’s expression and dared not speak further, retreating from the room.
After a long while, Pei Yan finally looked down at his bleeding right hand and the scattered porcelain shards: When did her figure start drifting further away? When did she slip out of his grasp?
This teacup, crushed by his hand, could never be repaired—
As the morning light began to appear, the sound of a flute floated through the air, less lonely than usual, with a hint of undisguised joy, yet still tinged with anxiety and unease.
Footsteps approached, and Wei Zhao put down his jade flute. Zong Sheng came to report, “The Prime Minister has sent someone to invite you over for breakfast, saying he has important matters to discuss.”
Wei Zhao brushed his robe and walked towards the main hall. Just as he stepped through the moon gate, a chill silently swept toward him. Wei Zhao smiled, his clothes rustling as he leaped and twisted in the air, avoiding Pei Yan’s fluid sword strikes.
“Third Brother, come, let’s spar a bit,” Pei Yan said with a smile on his handsome face, leaping forward to attack again.
“If the Young Lord is in the mood, I shall oblige,” Wei Zhao said as he grabbed a long sword from the weapon rack in the courtyard. His movements were strange and unpredictable, his sword flashing brilliantly. With a series of “clangs,” the two exchanged dozens of moves in an instant.
As the sunlight grew stronger, it shone on their sword blades. With their figures moving, it looked like two golden lotuses blooming in the courtyard. Pei Yan became increasingly excited, his swordplay bold and open, like the blazing sun in a clear sky. Wei Zhao’s sword, on the other hand, moved in unexpected ways, like the moon reflected in a cold pond. After exchanging hundreds more moves, their true qi surged, their clothes fluttering, causing all the trees in the courtyard to sway gently.
Pei Yan let out a hearty laugh. As he moved, his right foot kicked off a tree trunk in the courtyard, his sword following his body in a swift attack towards Wei Zhao. Seeing the ferocity of this move, Wei Zhao dared not meet it head-on. His feet seemed nailed to the ground as his body bent backward rapidly. Pei Yan’s sword blade brushed past Wei Zhao’s white robe, the blue shadow tumbling. As Pei Yan landed, he laughed loudly, “Exhilarating! Truly exhilarating!”
Wei Zhao twisted his waist like a white lotus flipping several times in the air before blooming silently. After landing, he brushed his robe and smiled slightly, “The Young Lord’s swordsmanship has become even more refined. Wei Zhao admires it.”
“Last night I was itching for a bout and wanted to spar with Third Brother, but you weren’t around.”
“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.”
“Is that so? Why didn’t you come find me for a game of chess?”
The two chatted as they walked into the house. Only then did the Changfeng Guard dare to enter the courtyard to help put away their swords.
As servants laid out the meal on the Eight Immortals table, Cui Liang and Jiang Ci entered together. Jiang Ci’s cheeks flushed slightly upon seeing Wei Zhao. Their eyes met briefly before Wei Zhao accepted a cup of hot tea from a servant, lowering his head to drink and hiding a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
Pei Yan’s eyes darkened slightly as he smiled at Cui Liang, “Ziming, did you also have trouble sleeping last night?”
Cui Liang was momentarily stunned before smiling, “I went to bed early last night.”
“That’s good. I was worried the feng shui of the prefectural mansion might be poor, causing everyone to have trouble sleeping.”
A flash of light passed through Wei Zhao’s eyes, but Pei Yan said no more. The four quietly finished their breakfast when An Lu entered, holding a carrier pigeon. He removed the small bamboo tube tied to the pigeon’s leg and presented it to Pei Yan.
Pei Yan unrolled it and read carefully before giving a cold laugh, “Duke Yi Ping and Duke Ning Ping’s armies are about to cross the Juan River.”
Upon hearing “Duke Ning Ping,” Wei Zhao’s eyelid twitched, and a flash of intense hatred crossed his face. The veins on his hand gripping the teacup became visible. Jiang Ci, who was about to leave the room, noticed this clearly and took note of it.
Cui Liang took the secret message and read it, sighing, “Alas, it’s the innocent civilians who suffer. I never imagined these two would be so ruthless, committing such atrocities.”
He then passed the message to Wei Zhao, who put down his teacup and lowered his head to read.
“The lady entered Duke Ning Ping’s mansion, but her assassination attempt failed. She was secretly executed by Duke Ning Ping. I heard her body was thrown into a mass grave—” Uncle Ping’s words still echoed in his ears.
Wei Zhao’s internal energy surged like wild waves, and his five fingers suddenly clenched, turning the letter to dust.
He slowly raised his head to see Pei Yan and Cui Liang looking at him. His fine brows raised slightly as he smiled coldly, “Such demons, we might as well dispose of them on behalf of heaven!”
Pei Yan nodded, “The main force of the Huan army has mostly arrived. Long Prefecture is secure, so we can transfer 20,000 troops from Tong Min’s side.”
Cui Liang calculated and said, “We still don’t have the advantage in troop numbers, but with proper strategy, we have a chance of victory.”
“Everything still depends on Ziming.”
The true qi in Wei Zhao’s body became increasingly chaotic. He stood up, forcing himself to speak coldly, “Young Lord, Ziming, you two discuss first. I have some matters to attend to.” Without looking at them again, he swept out of the room.
Jiang Ci saw Wei Zhao return to the east courtyard from a distance and followed. However, Song Jun stopped her at the courtyard gate, “The Lord said he won’t see anyone.”
Jiang Ci faintly heard the sound of sword qi from inside the courtyard, which worried her more. But she smiled and said, “I forgot something in the Lord’s room yesterday. Now the Prime Minister urgently needs it. What should I do?”
Song Jun had protected her for many days and knew she had a very good relationship with Wei Zhao. Although he didn’t understand why his usually arrogant and unpredictable lord treated this young girl differently, he knew there must be a reason. As he hesitated, Jiang Ci had already slipped past him.
Unable to stop her in time, Song Jun thought for a moment and quickly walked away.
Jiang Ci ran into the courtyard to see broken branches everywhere and bamboo leaves flying. Wei Zhao stood holding his sword, beads of sweat on his forehead. His handsome face was filled with deep hatred and a tempestuous rage. Seeing Jiang Ci enter, he exhaled roughly, turned, and entered the room, slamming the door shut.
Jiang Ci didn’t knock but sat down with her knees hugged to her chest by the doorstep, saying nothing. After a long while, Wei Zhao opened the door. Jiang Ci stood up smiling and followed him inside. Wei Zhao didn’t look at her but sat down in a chair, remaining silent.
Jiang Ci pulled up a chair and sat down beside him, her right hand propping up her cheek as she quietly gazed at him.
After a long silence, Wei Zhao looked at the jade-green gauze window and slowly began to speak, “My mother left me when I was one year old.”
Jiang Ci said softly, “My master found me by the roadside when I was less than a month old. I’ve never seen my mother.”
Wei Zhao looked at her, his gaze softening a bit, and asked quietly, “Do you miss her?”
“Sometimes. Mostly I wonder what she looks like. I’m very curious.”
“I know what my mother looked like.” Wei Zhao’s breathing became a bit rapid. After a pause, he continued, “I heard from my master that my sister looked exactly like my mother.”
Jiang Ci had heard him say at the grave that his sister died by his master’s sword. Although she didn’t understand the reason, she knew it must be an unbearably painful memory for him. Hearing him say this now, her heart ached, and she quietly took his left hand.
“Xiao Ci,” Wei Zhao seemed to be murmuring to himself, “I must kill him. I must kill him with my own hands!”
“Who?”
“Duke – Ning – Ping!” Wei Zhao said, gritting his teeth with each word. His handsome features twisted slightly, “He led the Huan army to attack my Yue Luo and killed my father years ago. Later, he also killed my mother. I must kill him!”
Jiang Ci felt his hand gradually turning cold. She sighed silently and held his hand tighter, looking up at him and saying softly, “Revenge should be taken, but you must also take care of yourself.”
Wei Zhao turned to look at her for a moment, then slowly raised his right hand to caress her cheek. Jiang Ci quietly closed her eyes as the warm breath slowly approached. Without the struggle and unfamiliarity of last night, he gently lingered on her lips, as if a long-lonely person seeking comfort and support.
Jiang Ci felt this tenderness and breathed lightly. As Wei Zhao’s breath grew heavier, his peripheral vision inadvertently caught sight of the dragon-coiled sword on the long table. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him. He suddenly pushed Jiang Ci away and stood up.
Jiang Ci fell sitting on the ground and looked up, calling out, “Third Lord.”
Wei Zhao dared not look at her. He forcefully opened the door and walked to the corridor. Jiang Ci followed him out. Her gaze made Wei Zhao feel as if ice picks were piercing his heart. He said tremblingly, “Go away!”
Jiang Ci silently looked at him, her gaze pausing on his waist for a moment before she turned and left the courtyard. Seeing her leave, Wei Zhao let out a long breath. He went to the well and drew a basin of cold water, submerging his head in it.
She was like this pure, sweet spring water. He couldn’t bear to taint this purity with the filth on his body, yet he was reluctant to leave this sweet source.
He kept his head submerged in the water, sighing silently.
Light, broken footsteps sounded again. Wei Zhao suddenly raised his head to see Jiang Ci holding a needle and thread, smiling, “Third Lord, your robe is torn. Let me mend it for you.”
Without waiting for Wei Zhao to answer, she smiled again, “I’ll have to charge for this. I’m completely penniless now, so Third Lord, please be kind and let me earn a few copper coins.”
Seeing Wei Zhao still stunned, she pulled him to sit on a bluestone bench in the courtyard. She threaded the needle and carefully examined the torn seam at Wei Zhao’s waist. “This is fine Jing Prefecture ice silk. We can’t find this kind of silk thread now, and it will leave a visible mend. What should we do?”
Wei Zhao looked down at his waist and only then realized that it was when Pei Yan’s sword had brushed past him earlier, the sword Qi had cut through his white robe. His heart chilled, and his gaze gradually turned frosty.
Jiang Ci thought for a moment and smiled, “I have an idea.” She took out a ball of crimson silk thread from her cloth bag and threaded it, squatting in front of Wei Zhao. Her needle danced lightly as she said softly, “It’s a pity I can’t embroider a jade orchid. I’ll embroider a peach blossom branch instead.”
“Never mind,” Wei Zhao said, looking down at her. “I’ll just change into another robe.”
“No, this robe is worth half a year’s expenses for an ordinary commoner,” Jiang Ci said very softly. “It’s a pity that ‘Moon Embroidery’ can’t be bought and sold among civilians. Otherwise, Yue Luo could support many people with just this skill.”
Wei Zhao was stunned for a moment, lost in thought. But Jiang Ci seemed to remember something and laughed.
“What are you laughing at?” Wei Zhao asked curiously.
Jiang Ci looked up at him, smiling, “I’m laughing at how much of a glutton Third Lord is. I only steamed that small amount of peach blossom cakes that day, and before I could even eat any, you ate them all.”
Wei Zhao touched her left shoulder, his words carrying a hint of guilt and pity, “Does it hurt?”
Jiang Ci shook her head, giving him a slight smile before lowering her head to continue mending. After a moment, she said softly, “Third Lord, I want to ask Brother Cui to help take a look at you.”
“No,” Wei Zhao said urgently.
“Why not? Brother Cui is a good person. He—” Jiang Ci paused before continuing, “He has a healer’s compassion. He will surely find a way to cure your illness.”
“There’s no need,” Wei Zhao said calmly. “This illness is an aftereffect of my past training. Once my skills deepen further, it will heal without medicine.”
“Really?!” Jiang Ci looked up, overjoyed.
“Really.”
“You’re a puppy if you’re lying to me,” Jiang Ci said, staring at him intently.
Wei Zhao’s lips held a faint smile, his gaze tender, “I won’t be a puppy. If I have to be something, I’d rather be a faceless cat.”