The second prisoner brought for interrogation: former Penglai Ward neighborhood head of Cheng County, Han Tai Ping.

Han Tai Ping’s approach to the interrogation was the polar opposite of Xuanming’s. If Xuanming could be described as unhinged, then Han Tai Ping’s approach throughout was captured in exactly four words: silence is golden.

Whether Hua Yitang asked him about Third Master’s identity, the origins of the “Net” scroll, or his connection to the Longshen Temple, Han Tai Ping offered nothing in response. He simply knelt there in silence, head down, staring fixedly at the floor, like a black period at the end of a sentence.

Hua Yitang asked several times in succession. Even Zhu Dachang grew impatient with the waiting, hinting repeatedly that if all else failed, torture was always an option.

But Hua Yitang had evidently settled on a different approach. He simply stopped asking altogether. He had the jailer heat a cauldron of water to a boil, scattered in some loose Hundred Flower Tea leaves and stirred slowly with a ladle, then produced an array of bottles and jars and lined them up neatly on either side of the tea cauldron. He stirred a couple of times, selected a bottle, sprinkled in several pinches of powder, stirred again, switched to another bottle, until the tea broth had gradually thickened into a dense, murky shade of dark green.

Lin Sui’an knew those bottles and jars all too well — they were all Fangke’s precious things. Heaven only knew what extraordinary materials had been packed into them, and stirring them all together like that would presumably produce something a hundred times more potent than the ritual water. Was Hua Yitang’s plan to simply finish it all in one stroke and poison this man to death outright?

The bitter, sour, and acrid smell quickly filled the entire jail. The jailers retreated to the doorway to catch some air. Zhu Dachang dry-heaved repeatedly. Yun Zhong Yue pinched his nose. Ling Zhiyan’s complexion turned unwell. Lin Sui’an made an executive decision and strapped on the thick cloth mask Mu Xia had given her, breathing easier at once.

Hua Yitang’s beautiful face drifted in and out of sight in the steam rising from the tea broth, his long lashes lowered, a few points of sharp light occasionally catching the glow — the quieter he was, the more a bone-chilling atmosphere pervaded the space.

Han Tai Ping finally reached his limit. He raised his head and glared at Hua Yitang with undisguised hostility, his lips moving — but still he said nothing.

Hua Yitang set down the ladle, picked up a cloth and wiped his hands. “This tea has a vivid color and a rich fragrance — the flavor must be unforgettable. Ah, but Han neighborhood head looks at me with such eager longing. Could you have been craving it for some time now?”

Han Tai Ping’s eye twitched sharply.

“Attendants,” Hua Yitang said, “please serve Han neighborhood head his tea.”

Two jailers carried the cauldron away. Two constables pinned Han Tai Ping’s arms. Another constable gripped his jaw, and began pouring the scalding hot tea broth spoonful by spoonful into his mouth. Han Tai Ping thrashed violently; his enormous eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets; his throat produced strangled, howling cries as dark green tea broth mixed with some unidentifiable viscous fluid oozed from the corners of his mouth. Then Han Tai Ping’s body convulsed in a violent heave, and he collapsed forward onto the ground, retching in great spasms — the tea broth and unknown slime combining into a mixture of nauseating odor.

Zhu Dachang fled the jail in a dead sprint and vomited with a great heave. Even the battle-hardened jailers looked shaken to the core. Ling Zhiyan appeared to want to say something, then didn’t. Yun Zhong Yue made a succession of loud clicking sounds with his tongue.

Lin Sui’an was deeply perplexed, and couldn’t help glancing over at Hua Yitang — only to see him sitting bolt upright behind the desk, watching with cold detachment, his shadow rearing and writhing up the wall behind him like a great, sprawling peony growing out of darkness.

Han Tai Ping retched at length, and only stopped once he had emptied his stomach completely. Trembling, he lifted his neck and fixed his blood-red eyes upon Hua Yitang — and still didn’t speak.

Hua Yitang waved a hand. Several jailers came running with buckets of water to wash down the floor, and in the process doused Han Tai Ping from head to toe, leaving him a soaking, dripping mess.

“That was the first version of the Hundred Flower Dew, prepared by my Doctor Fang. How did Han neighborhood head find the taste?” Hua Yitang asked.

Han Tai Ping’s neck veins stood out sharply, his eyes nearly spitting fire.

Hua Yitang shook his head. “It seems it didn’t suit Han neighborhood head’s palate.”

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. At the door, Ita entered, leading Bingsi and the other three in a single file, lining up in a row. All five held trays — each tray bearing a portable stove and a small cauldron, the cauldrons bubbling away with boiling contents of various colors, more pre-prepared broths.

The smell inside the jail became even harder to describe. Zhu Dachang, who had just returned from his first round of vomiting, got a noseful, turned back around, and went to vomit again. Even the constables pinning Han Tai Ping down were on the verge of being sick. Ita’s expression remained businesslike as she raised a ladle and held it to Han Tai Ping’s lips. Han Tai Ping’s face instantly turned a vivid shade of green, and he twisted his head sideways, retching up a mouthful of black acidic fluid.

“Hold on a moment.” Hua Yitang fanned himself with a sharp snap of his wrist. “How careless of me — I almost forgot: the Hundred Flower Dew is the antidote to the ritual water. Drinking it without first consuming the ritual water would certainly be harmful to the body. How dreadful, it was my oversight entirely. Bingsi — quickly send the ritual water over.”

Bingsi nodded stiffly. “Oh. Send ritual water.” He put down his tray, reached into his robes, pulled out a yellow gourd, and walked over with heavy footsteps. He tipped the ritual water into Ita’s ladle — and as the two liquids combined, a black smoke column in the shape of a skull rose from the mixture.

Ita: “Drink.”

Bingsi: “Drink.”

This time, Han Tai Ping did not retch. For the first time, a look of genuine horror appeared on his face — as he stared, fixedly, at Bingsi.

“How — how is this possible?!”

Hua Yitang’s expression brightened, and he broke into a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the entire jail. He rose from the bench and paced over to Han Tai Ping with measured steps. Ita stepped back behind Hua Yitang; Bingsi and the other three replaced the constables pinning Han Tai Ping down. The jailers and constables, enormously relieved, scrambled out of the jail and joined Zhu Dachang crouched over the tree roots, heaving up bile.

Only then did Lin Sui’an notice that Bingsi and the other three were dressed today in the mustard-yellow livery of the Qiu family inner household, with their original name plaques displayed on their chests — as if they were afraid Han Tai Ping wouldn’t recognize them.

“Glad to see a familiar face, Han neighborhood head?” Hua Yitang fanned himself vigorously with flourish. “These four were rescued by my Lin Sui’an at great effort from Xuanming’s secret vault. They’ve had some minor injuries, but are recovering very well now — eating well, sleeping soundly, their complexions are healthy and rosy. In their spare time they love playing backgammon with my Ita, and every now and then they even win a round.”

Bingsi and the others: “Win a round.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes began to spin like a wound mechanism, then suddenly snapped toward Lin Sui’an. His expression turned sinister and cold. “It was you after all — Bearer of Qian Jing, Lin Sui’an!”

Suddenly addressed out of the blue, Lin Sui’an was thoroughly baffled. She blinked, then answered quite politely, “Oh — yes, that’s me.”

“How did you do it?! Tell me — how on earth did you do it?!”

Do what? This question had come out of nowhere — what on earth was he asking?

Lin Sui’an was a knot of question marks. She cast a questioning look at Hua Yitang, only to find that scoundrel was gazing right back at her with a smile — a smile that was thoroughly ill-intentioned.

She understood. Hua Yitang wanted her to play along.

Whatever the case, she’d improvise first.

“Well…” Lin Sui’an scratched her head. “Would you believe it was a coincidence?”

Han neighborhood head’s eye sockets nearly split open. His throat lurched, and he spat out a mouthful of blood — whether from a perforated stomach courtesy of the scalding broth, it was impossible to say.

Hua Yitang smiled with exaggerated insinuation: “Hehehehehehehe.”

Ita: “Hehehe.”

Bingsi and the others: “Hehe.”

The overlapping echoes of laughter, against the backdrop of Han Tai Ping’s expression, made for a quite spectacular scene. Lin Sui’an noticed that with every additional word Bingsi managed, the color of Han neighborhood head’s face worsened by a shade. No wonder Hua Yitang had Ita and the others come here — Bingsi and the four were clearly Han Tai Ping’s fatal weakness.

The question was — why?

Hua Yitang finally laughed his fill. He settled himself on a stool in front of Han Tai Ping and looked at him at eye level, his tone strangely gentle. “My Doctor Fang had some time on his hands these past days and was generous enough to treat the injured men among your masked force. He found something interesting — it seems Han neighborhood head’s subordinates all have…” Hua Yitang tapped the side of his head with his fan handle, “…something of a problem with their thinking. Dull and vacant, capable of understanding only the simplest instructions, unable to speak, and lacking the capacity to act independently without your orders. Just like—”

Hua Yitang pointed, “—Bingsi and the others in the secret vault.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes began to shake violently.

“And so my Doctor Fang tested their blood — and what do you suppose he found? Traces of Longshen Fruit compounds in their blood.”

Even Ling Zhiyan, who had been bent silently over his notes, looked up at this.

Lin Sui’an: Oh.

“And speaking of that,” Hua Yitang continued, “where do all those subordinates of yours live, and what do they eat and drink? Let me guess — could they be living in the underground tunnels of Xian De Manor?”

A bell rang in Lin Sui’an’s mind. She thought of Xian De Manor’s strange occurrences — those ten enormous water vats and the firewood that always mysteriously disappeared. Could those provisions have been intended for these black-robed figures?

For the first time, Han Tai Ping’s look at Hua Yitang held fear — as if the young man before him were some unknown and unknowable creature.

Hua Yitang stood and strolled around Han Tai Ping, fanning himself idly. “I was simply too curious, and so I took people to dig Xian De Manor down to its foundations — and well, would you believe it, I actually found an enormous underground prison cell. Big enough for a hundred people. And not only that—” Hua Yitang spun on his heel and tipped Han Tai Ping’s chin up with the tip of his fan, “—I also found a hidden chamber inside, and in it, I found this.”

Like a conjurer, Hua Yitang produced a black ceramic vial from his sleeve and held it up before Han Tai Ping. Han Tai Ping’s body recoiled sharply backward, apparently in great fear of the object.

Lin Sui’an was deeply astonished. Thinking back over these past few days, Nanny Zhu and Xiao Yu had been dragging her around from morning to night for conversation and sightseeing — and all that time, Hua Yitang had apparently been uncovering all of this without her knowledge. Or rather — he had been deliberately keeping it from her.

But why? Weren’t they partners? Shouldn’t they be sharing information?

Unless there was some particular reason—

Lin Sui’an’s gaze rested on the black ceramic vial, and a suspicion that had been lurking in her subconscious slowly surfaced.

That vial contains another kind of ritual water.

“That vial contains another kind of ritual water,” Hua Yitang’s voice said, almost simultaneously with the thought in her mind.

Lin Sui’an quietly exhaled. Of course.

“Xuanming told us you came to Cheng County to oversee the Longshen Temple,” Hua Yitang said, “but I believe your purpose in coming to Cheng County went considerably beyond that.” He turned the vial over and over in his hand, eyeing Han Tai Ping from the side. “Your primary purpose was to cultivate — or rather, to breed these masked assassins.”

Han Tai Ping’s breathing quickened. His body kept retreating further back until his spine met the black, cold stone of the wall — and stopped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Hua Yitang’s expression turned grave. He shook the black ceramic vial. “This ritual water strengthens the bones and muscles, but carries a side effect: it corrodes the mind. With prolonged use, a person becomes a walking corpse — all brawn, no thought, incapable of thinking — just like…” Hua Yitang’s voice dropped, “…Qiu Wen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Han Tai Ping shrieked.

“Qiu Wen was a failed prototype. And so you bred what you called the Four Beasts — Bingsi, Bing Shisi, Bing Ershisi, and Bing Sanshisi. But the same problem persisted. They too had lost their autonomous minds. Without intervention, they would soon become yet another set of walking corpses — incapable of controlling their own bodies, ultimately dying of cardiac rupture.”

“How could you know these things?! How do you know?!”

“Net Fruit clarifies the body’s strength. Heavenly Steel draws upon the stars’ breath. Ten Cruelties seal the heart and soul. Breaking Army gives birth to the new.” Hua Yitang drew a slow, deep breath and walked to the desk, once again holding up the “Net” scroll. “Your ultimate goal was to breed killing instruments — possessing terrifyingly powerful combat ability, capable of freely controlling a body that has been altered, with the capacity to think and adapt, and yet controllable by you. Just like—”

Hua Yitang faltered. His throat worked several times. He turned to look at Lin Sui’an, his pupils burning crimson, tears pooling in his eye sockets — held back by sheer force of will, not allowed to fall.

Lin Sui’an’s eyes went wide. She pointed at her own nose. “Breaking Army? Me?”

Hua Yitang looked away. Yun Zhong Yue covered his mouth. Ling Zhiyan’s brush dropped. Ita let out an “Ah.” This time, Bingsi and the other three did not echo — all four fell silent together.

Han Tai Ping’s expression was impossible to describe. It was as if an earth-shaking secret he had desperately concealed in the depths of a gutter had been carelessly dug up, put on full display in broad daylight — despairing and absurd all at once.

Lin Sui’an’s mind raced through Hua Yitang’s reasoning in rapid order: Han Tai Ping and whoever stood behind him — “Third Master” — had two primary objectives. First, to brew and sell Ritual Water Type One as a means of amassing wealth. Second, to brew Ritual Water Type Two for the purpose of creating human bio-weapons.

The masked assassins were version 1.0. Qiu Wen was version 2.0. Bingsi and the other three had started as version 3.0 and were now version 3.5. Perhaps there had been more iterations in between. And based on the various unique characteristics of the body she now inhabited, along with its abnormally intense and violent reaction to the Longshen Fruit, the most likely conclusion was: she herself was the final version.

This line of reasoning was wildly fantastical. Yet what was even more fantastical was that Lin Sui’an realized something: the unnamed “unknown dread” that had been haunting her about this body was gone — vanished for the first time. In its place was a calm clarity, a “so that’s how it is” kind of ease, and even a faint flicker of self-satisfied thought: of course it had to be me.

When had this strange shift begun?

Hua Yitang was standing quietly before her. In the dim, murky light of the jail, the young man’s beautiful face shone white as a lamp — so very like the clear, bright moon she had once seen on a certain night.

You are different from them. You have someone standing behind you.

Lin Sui’an smiled softly. It had probably started around then.

Whether it was Hua Yitang’s unique, theatrical flair infecting her, or some other reason entirely—

Lin Sui’an didn’t pursue the thought further. Instead, she asked the question that had been on her mind: “So this is why you kept the investigation from me?”

Hua Yitang lowered his lashes and said nothing, the fan in his hands creaking as his grip tightened.

“That’s not right of you,” Lin Sui’an said. “We’re partners — inseparable, live-and-die-together partners. How can you not trust me?”

Hua Yitang looked up sharply. “I didn’t—”

“I trust you,” Lin Sui’an said steadily. “I trust Doctor Fang. I trust Jin Ruo. I trust Ling Judicial Inspector, Ita, Mu Xia. I trust that as long as all of you are behind me, I will not become Breaking Army — I will be Lin Sui’an.”

Hua Yitang clenched his jaw tight. His eye sockets reddened further.

Lin Sui’an stepped forward and gave Hua Yitang two firm thumps on the shoulder. “You’re the one who said all of this, aren’t you? Have you forgotten?”

Hua Yitang held Lin Sui’an’s gaze, and enunciated each word deliberately: “I will never forget it in this lifetime.”

“Now that’s the partner worthy of my Lin Sui’an!” Lin Sui’an gave him another thump.

Hua Yitang released the tension from his jaw and slowly breathed out. He closed his eyes to push back the emotion, and when he opened them again, he was once more the careless, devil-may-care wastrel — tilting his feet up onto the desk, raising an eyebrow, “Han Tai Ping — let’s talk about Third Master.”

“I don’t know anything about a Third Master!” Han Tai Ping clutched his own head, voice quavering.

“Ah, but to hold such loyalty to that Third Master of yours at a moment like this — Flower truly admires it.” Hua Yitang’s tone was easy. “Although I’ve never found your sort to be capable of real loyalty. Could it be Third Master has some leverage over you? Something like, say — the lives of your family?”

Han Tai Ping snapped his head around, his terrified eyes flickering in the shadows.

“I’m going to give you two choices,” Hua Yitang said. “First, you tell me who Third Master is. Second, within three days I have everything I just said spread to every corner of the Tang Kingdom — with the claim that every. Single. Word. Was. Your. Confession. Your choice: do you think Third Master will believe in your loyalty, or believe me?”

“You are inhuman! You son of a — Hua Yitang, you’ll get your comeuppance eventually!” Han Tai Ping screamed.

Though his voice came out hoarse and barely recognizable after being scalded, he sounded like a chick being strangled.

The atmosphere had been quite tense — but this outburst made Lin Sui’an unexpectedly laugh.

Yun Zhong Yue looked disgusted. Ling Zhiyan paused with his brush, and gave Hua Yitang a deeply aggrieved look.

Han Tai Ping shouting was actually a sign that his hard outer defenses had cracked open. Time to press the advantage while the gap was there.

A flash of sharp light crossed Hua Yitang’s eyes. He signaled to Ita to bring the cauldron forward. Lin Sui’an caught a glimpse — the water rolling inside that cauldron seemed to make the air itself quake at every bubble. That was unmistakably Ita’s artistry. Ten of Hua Yitang put together wouldn’t come close.

The first time she had ever drunk tea brewed by Ita, Lin Sui’an had sensed that this terrifying liquid — capable of inflicting simultaneous physical and psychological torment — would one day carve out a place for itself in the annals of coercive interrogation.

Zhu Dachang returned for the second time from vomiting, walked back in, got a noseful, turned back around, and went to vomit a third time. Even the constables holding Han Tai Ping down were close to vomiting themselves. Ita raised a ladle with clean efficiency and aimed it at Han Tai Ping’s lips. Han Tai Ping’s face turned abruptly greenish, and he twisted his head away and dry-heaved a mouthful of black acidic water.

“Wait a moment.” Hua Yitang tapped his palm with his fan. “I’ve completely forgotten — the Hundred Flower Dew is the antidote to the ritual water. If one drinks it without having consumed the ritual water first, it would surely be harmful to the body! How dreadful, how careless of me. Bingsi — quickly bring the ritual water.”

Bingsi gave a rigid nod. “Oh. Ritual water.” He set down his tray, pulled a yellow gourd from inside his robe, walked over with heavy footsteps, and tipped the ritual water into Ita’s ladle. The two liquids merged together and a skull-shaped column of black smoke rose from the mixture.

Ita: “Drink.”

Bingsi: “Drink.”

This time, Han Tai Ping did not retch. For the first time, an expression of genuine terror crossed his face — and he stared, fixedly, at Bingsi.

“How — how is this possible?!”

Hua Yitang’s expression brightened and he broke into a radiant smile that seemed to light up the entire jail. He rose and paced over to Han Tai Ping. Ita stepped back behind Hua Yitang; Bingsi and the other three replaced the constables holding Han Tai Ping. The jailers and constables, enormously relieved, scrambled out of the jail and joined Zhu Dachang crouched over the tree roots, heaving up bile.

Only then did Lin Sui’an notice that Bingsi and the other three were dressed today in the mustard-yellow livery of the Qiu family inner household, with their original name plaques on display at their chests — as if they were afraid Han Tai Ping might not recognize them.

“Glad to see a familiar face, Han neighborhood head?” Hua Yitang fanned himself with a flourish. “These four were rescued by my Lin Sui’an at considerable effort from Xuanming’s secret vault. Though they sustained some minor injuries, their recovery has been excellent — eating well, sleeping soundly, looking healthy and robust. In their spare time they love playing backgammon with my Ita, and every now and then they even win a round.”

Bingsi and the others: “Win a round.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes began spinning like a wound-up mechanism, then snapped suddenly toward Lin Sui’an, his expression sinister and cold. “It was you after all — Bearer of Qian Jing, Lin Sui’an!”

Suddenly addressed, Lin Sui’an was utterly at a loss, but blinked and answered with reasonable courtesy: “Oh — yes, that’s me.”

“How did you do it?! Tell me — how on earth did you do it?!”

Do what? This had come out of nowhere — what on earth was he even asking?

Lin Sui’an was a tangle of question marks. She sent a puzzled look toward Hua Yitang, only to find that scoundrel looking right back at her with a smile — a smile of thoroughly ill intent.

She understood. He wanted her to play along.

Whatever the case, she’d wing it.

“Well…” Lin Sui’an scratched her head. “Would you believe it was a coincidence?”

Han neighborhood head’s eye sockets nearly split open. His throat lurched, and he spat out a mouthful of blood — whether the scalding broth had perforated his stomach or not, it was impossible to say.

Hua Yitang smiled with exaggerated insinuation: “Hehehehehehehe.”

Ita: “Hehehe.”

Bingsi and the others: “Hehe.”

The overlapping ripple of laughs, set against Han Tai Ping’s expression, was quite the spectacle. Lin Sui’an noticed that with each additional word Bingsi managed to produce, the color drained another shade from Han neighborhood head’s face. No wonder Hua Yitang had brought Ita and the others here — Bingsi and the four were clearly Han Tai Ping’s fatal weakness.

The question remained — why?

Hua Yitang finally laughed his fill. He pulled a stool over and settled himself in front of Han Tai Ping at eye level, his voice strangely gentle. “My Doctor Fang had some free time these past days and was generous enough to treat the injured members of your masked force. He found something interesting — it appears Han neighborhood head’s subordinates all have…” Hua Yitang tapped his fan handle against his temple, “…something of a problem up here. Dull and vacant, capable of understanding only the simplest instructions, unable to speak, incapable of independent action without your commands — just like—”

Hua Yitang pointed. “—Bingsi and the others from the secret vault.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes began to tremble violently.

“So my Doctor Fang tested their blood — and what do you suppose he found? Traces of Longshen Fruit in their blood.”

Even Ling Zhiyan, who had been bent silently over his notes, raised his head at this.

Lin Sui’an: Oh.

“And speaking of that,” Hua Yitang went on, “where do all those subordinates of yours live, eat, and drink day to day? Let me guess — could it be they were living in the underground tunnels of Xian De Manor?”

Something clicked in Lin Sui’an’s mind. She thought of Xian De Manor’s strange occurrences — the ten great water vats and the firewood that always vanished. Could those provisions have all been intended for these black-robed figures?

For the first time, the way Han Tai Ping looked at Hua Yitang held fear — as if the young man before him were some unknown, impossible creature.

Hua Yitang stood and strolled around Han Tai Ping, fanning himself idly. “I was simply too curious, so I took people to dig Xian De Manor down to its foundations. And well, would you believe it — I actually found a huge underground prison. Big enough for a hundred people. But not only that—” Hua Yitang spun on his heel and tipped Han Tai Ping’s chin up with the fan handle, “—I also found a hidden chamber inside it, and inside that, I found this.”

Like a conjurer, Hua Yitang produced a black ceramic vial from his sleeve and held it up before Han Tai Ping. Han Tai Ping’s body recoiled sharply, apparently in deep fear of the object.

Lin Sui’an was greatly astonished. Thinking back over these past days — Nanny Zhu and Xiao Yu had been pulling her around from dawn to dusk for conversation and sightseeing, and all that time, Hua Yitang had apparently been uncovering all of this without her knowledge. That is to say — Hua Yitang had deliberately kept it from her.

But why? They were partners — partners who shared information. What particular reason could there be—

Lin Sui’an’s gaze settled on the black ceramic vial, and a suspicion that had been lurking in her subconscious slowly rose to the surface.

That vial contains another kind of ritual water.

“That vial contains another kind of ritual water.” Hua Yitang’s voice sounded at almost the same moment as the thought in her mind.

Lin Sui’an quietly let out a breath. Of course.

“Xuanming said you came to Cheng County to oversee the Longshen Temple,” Hua Yitang said, “but I believe your purpose in coming here went considerably beyond that.” He turned the vial in his hand, regarding Han Tai Ping with narrowed eyes. “Your principal purpose was to cultivate — or rather, to breed — these masked assassins.”

Han Tai Ping’s breathing turned rapid and shallow. His body kept retreating further and further until his spine hit the cold stone wall — and stopped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Hua Yitang’s expression settled into solemnity. He shook the black ceramic vial. “This ritual water strengthens the bones and muscles, but carries a side effect: it corrodes the mind. With prolonged use, a person becomes a walking corpse — all physical power, no capacity for thought — just like—” Hua Yitang’s voice dropped, “…Qiu Wen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Han Tai Ping shrieked.

“Qiu Wen was a failed prototype. So you bred what you called the Four Beasts — Bingsi, Bing Shisi, Bing Ershisi, and Bing Sanshisi. But the same problem remained. They too had lost their autonomous minds. Without intervention, they would soon become another set of walking corpses — unable to control their own bodies, dying in the end of cardiac rupture.”

“How could you possibly know all this?! How?!”

“Net Fruit clarifies the body’s strength. Heavenly Steel draws upon the stars’ breath. Ten Cruelties seal the heart and soul. Breaking Army gives birth to the new.” Hua Yitang drew a slow, deep breath, walked to the desk, and lifted the “Net” scroll once more. “Your ultimate goal was to cultivate killing instruments — possessing terrifyingly powerful combat capability, capable of freely commanding an altered body, with thinking and adaptive capacity, yet fully controllable by you. Just like—”

Hua Yitang stopped. His throat worked several times. He turned to look at Lin Sui’an, his pupils a burning crimson, tears gathering in his eyes — held back by sheer will, not allowed to fall.

Lin Sui’an’s eyes went wide as saucers. She pointed at her own nose. “Breaking Army? Me?”

Hua Yitang turned away. Yun Zhong Yue covered his mouth. Ling Zhiyan’s brush dropped. Ita let out an “Ah.” This time, Bingsi and the other three said nothing — all four fell into silence.

Han Tai Ping’s expression defied description — as if some world-shaking secret he had desperately concealed deep in a gutter had been casually dug up and put brazenly on display in broad daylight. Despairing, absurd, all at once.

Lin Sui’an’s mind ran through Hua Yitang’s reasoning at high speed: Han Tai Ping and the figure behind him — “Third Master” — had two primary objectives. First, produce and sell Ritual Water Type One to accumulate wealth. Second, produce Ritual Water Type Two to breed human bio-weapons.

The masked assassins were version 1.0. Qiu Wen was version 2.0. Bingsi and the other three had begun as version 3.0 and were now at 3.5. There had perhaps been more iterations between. And based on the various peculiar characteristics of the body she now inhabited, along with its abnormally intense and violent reactions to the Longshen Fruit, the most likely conclusion was: she herself was the final version.

This reasoning was wildly fantastical. Yet what was even more fantastical was this: Lin Sui’an realized the “unnamed dread” about this body that had haunted her was now gone — vanished for the first time. In its place was a calm, clear ease — a “so that’s how it was” kind of equanimity — and even a faint twitch of proud satisfaction: naturally it would have to be me.

When had this change begun?

Hua Yitang stood quietly before her. In the dim, murky light of the jail, the young man’s beautiful face shone white as a lamp — so very much like the bright moon she had once seen on a certain night.

You are different from them. You are someone with people standing at your back.

Lin Sui’an smiled softly. It had probably started around then.

Whether it was Hua Yitang’s particular theatrical flair having rubbed off on her, or something else entirely—

Lin Sui’an didn’t follow the thought to its end. Instead, she asked the question that had been lingering in her mind: “So this is why you kept the investigation from me?”

Hua Yitang lowered his lashes and said nothing. The fan in his hands creaked under the tightness of his grip.

“That was wrong of you,” Lin Sui’an said. “We’re partners — inseparable, through life and death together. How can you not trust me?”

Hua Yitang looked up sharply. “I wasn’t—”

“I trust you,” Lin Sui’an said steadily. “I trust Doctor Fang. I trust Jin Ruo. I trust Ling Judicial Inspector, Ita, Mu Xia. I trust that as long as all of you are behind me, I won’t become Breaking Army — I’ll be Lin Sui’an.”

Hua Yitang clenched his jaw. His eyes reddened further.

Lin Sui’an stepped forward and gave him two firm thumps on the shoulder. “You said all of this yourself — have you forgotten?”

Hua Yitang held her gaze and enunciated each word with deliberate care: “I will never forget it in this lifetime.”

“Now that’s the partner worthy of my Lin Sui’an!” Lin Sui’an gave him one more thump.

Hua Yitang released the tension from his jaw and let out a long, quiet breath. He closed his eyes, pushed back the tide of feeling, and when he opened them again, was once more the careless, devil-may-care wastrel — tilting his feet onto the desk and raising an eyebrow, “Han Tai Ping — let’s talk about Third Master.”

“I don’t know anything about a Third Master!” Han Tai Ping clutched his head, his voice unsteady.

“To remain so loyal to that Third Master of yours even at this point — Flower truly admires it,” Hua Yitang said with ease. “Though I’ve never found people of your sort to be capable of genuine loyalty. Could it be Third Master has some leverage on you? The lives of your family, perhaps?”

Han Tai Ping jerked his head around, his terrified eyes flickering in and out of the shadows.

“I’m giving you two choices now,” Hua Yitang said. “First: tell me who Third Master is. Second: within three days I’ll have everything I just said spread across every corner of the Tang Kingdom — saying that every single word was your confession. You decide: will that Third Master believe your loyalty, or believe me?”

“You’re inhuman! You—! Hua Yitang, you’ll get your comeuppance one day!” Han Tai Ping shrieked.

Unfortunately, his voice came out hoarse and barely recognizable after the scalding, making him sound like a chick being strangled around the throat.

The atmosphere had been quite tense — but somehow this outburst made Lin Sui’an unexpectedly laugh.

玄明 and Han Tai Ping — truly products of the same criminal organization. Their vocabulary for abuse was equally impoverished and unoriginal.

But by speaking up, he had shown the first crack in his hard outer shell. Time to drive the wedge while the opening was there.

A flash of sharp light crossed Hua Yitang’s eyes. He signaled Ita to bring the cauldron forward. Lin Sui’an caught a glimpse from a distance — the rolling bubbles in that cauldron each seemed to exude an aura capable of shaking heaven and earth. Unmistakably Ita’s artistry. Ten Hua Yitangs put together wouldn’t come close.

The first time she’d drunk tea brewed by Ita, Lin Sui’an had had a premonition: this terrifying liquid, capable of inflicting simultaneous physical and psychological torment, would one day carve out a distinguished place in the history of coercive interrogation.

Zhu Dachang, back for the second time, walked in and got a noseful and went out to vomit a third time. Even the constables pinning Han Tai Ping were nearly sick themselves. Ita briskly raised a ladle and aimed it at Han Tai Ping’s lips. His face instantly turned green, and he twisted his head sideways and dry-heaved up a mouthful of black acidic liquid.

“Hold on a moment.” Hua Yitang tapped his palm with his fan with a sharp snap. “I’ve completely forgotten — Hundred Flower Dew is the antidote for the ritual water. Drinking it without first having consumed the ritual water would certainly be harmful to the body! How terrible — this was entirely my oversight. Bingsi, quickly bring the ritual water.”

Bingsi gave a rigid nod. “Oh. Bring ritual water.” He put down his tray, dug a yellow gourd from inside his robes, walked over with heavy footsteps, and tipped the ritual water into Ita’s ladle. The two liquids merged, and from the mixture rose a column of black smoke in the shape of a skull.

Ita: “Drink.”

Bingsi: “Drink.”

This time, Han Tai Ping did not retch. For the first time, a look of genuine horror crossed his face — as he stared, transfixed, at Bingsi.

“How — how is this possible?!”

Hua Yitang’s expression brightened, and he burst into a radiant smile that seemed to light up the entire jail. He rose with a measured pace toward Han Tai Ping. Ita withdrew behind Hua Yitang; Bingsi and the other three replaced the constables holding Han Tai Ping in place. The jailers and constables, enormously relieved, scrambled out of the jail and joined Zhu Dachang crouched over the tree roots, heaving up bile.

Only then did Lin Sui’an notice that Bingsi and the others today were wearing the mustard-yellow livery of the Qiu family inner household, their original name plaques displayed on their chests — as if afraid Han Tai Ping might not recognize them otherwise.

“Glad to see familiar faces, Han neighborhood head?” Hua Yitang waved his fan with flourish. “These four were rescued by my Lin Sui’an through no small effort from Xuanming’s secret vault. Though they had some minor injuries, their recovery has been excellent — eating well, sleeping soundly, rosy-cheeked and vigorous. In their spare time, they love playing backgammon with my Ita, and now and then even win a round.”

Bingsi and the others: “Win a round.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes spun as if on a wound mechanism, then snapped suddenly toward Lin Sui’an, his expression sinister and cold. “It was you after all — Bearer of Qian Jing, Lin Sui’an!”

Addressed out of the blue, Lin Sui’an was thoroughly bemused. She blinked, then answered with reasonable courtesy: “Oh — yes, that’s me.”

“How did you do it?! Tell me — just how did you manage it?!”

Do what? This had come from nowhere — what on earth was he actually asking?

A whole constellation of question marks formed in Lin Sui’an’s mind. She sent a puzzled look toward Hua Yitang, only to find that scoundrel looking right back at her with a smile — a thoroughly ill-intentioned smile.

She understood. He wanted her to play along.

Whatever the case, she’d improvise.

“Well…” Lin Sui’an scratched her head. “Would you believe it was a fluke?”

Han neighborhood head’s eye sockets nearly split open. His throat lurched, and he spat out a mouthful of blood — whether the scalding broth had perforated his stomach, it was impossible to say.

Hua Yitang smiled with exaggerated insinuation: “Hehehehehehehe.”

Ita: “Hehehe.”

Bingsi and the others: “Hehe.”

The cascading layers of laughter, set against Han Tai Ping’s expression, made for quite a spectacle. Lin Sui’an noticed that with each additional word Bingsi managed to produce, Han neighborhood head’s face lost another shade of color. No wonder Hua Yitang had brought Ita and the others along — Bingsi and the four were clearly Han Tai Ping’s fatal weakness.

The question remained — why?

Hua Yitang finally laughed his fill. He pulled a stool over and settled directly in front of Han Tai Ping, speaking in a strangely gentle tone. “My Doctor Fang had some time on his hands these past days and, in a moment of generosity, treated the injuries of your masked force. He made an interesting discovery: it seems Han neighborhood head’s subordinates all have…” Hua Yitang tapped the side of his head with his fan handle, “…something a little off up here. Slow and vacant, only capable of understanding simple instructions, unable to speak, and without the capacity for independent action in the absence of your orders — rather like—”

Hua Yitang pointed, “—Bingsi and the others from the secret vault.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes began to tremble violently.

“And so my Doctor Fang ran a blood test — and what do you think he found? Traces of Longshen Fruit in their blood.”

Even Ling Zhiyan, bent silently over his notes, looked up at that.

Lin Sui’an thought: Oh.

“Which brings up a question,” Hua Yitang continued. “Where do all those subordinates of yours live, eat, and drink every day? Let me guess — could it be they were lodged in the underground passages of Xian De Manor?”

A bell rang in Lin Sui’an’s mind. She recalled the strange occurrences at Xian De Manor — those ten enormous water vats and the firewood that always vanished without trace. Had all of it been provision for these black-robed figures?

For the first time, the look Han Tai Ping gave Hua Yitang held fear — as though the young man before him were some unknown, impossible creature.

Hua Yitang rose and strolled around Han Tai Ping, fanning himself at leisure. “I was simply too curious, so I took people and dug Xian De Manor down to its foundations — and well, would you believe it, I actually found an enormous underground prison cell. Big enough for a hundred people. And not only that—” Hua Yitang spun on his heel, tilting Han Tai Ping’s chin up with his fan handle, “—I also found a hidden chamber inside, and inside that, I found this.”

As if performing a conjuring trick, Hua Yitang produced a black ceramic vial from his sleeve and held it up before Han Tai Ping. Han Tai Ping’s body recoiled in a sharp lurch, appearing deeply afraid of it.

Lin Sui’an was deeply astonished. Thinking back over these past days, Nanny Zhu and Xiao Yu had been pulling her around from morning to night for conversation and strolling — and all that time, Hua Yitang had apparently been uncovering all of this without her knowledge. That is: Hua Yitang had deliberately kept it from her.

But why? As partners, shouldn’t they be sharing information? Unless there was some particular reason—

Lin Sui’an’s gaze lingered on the black ceramic vial, and a suspicion that had been lurking in the depths of her subconscious slowly surfaced.

That vial contains another kind of ritual water.

“That vial contains another kind of ritual water.” Hua Yitang’s voice sounded at almost the exact same moment as the thought in her mind.

Lin Sui’an quietly breathed out. Of course.

“Xuanming said you came to Cheng County to oversee the Longshen Temple,” Hua Yitang said, “but I believe your purpose in coming here went considerably further than that.” He turned the vial in his hand, regarding Han Tai Ping from the side. “Your primary purpose was to cultivate — or, more accurately, to breed — these masked assassins.”

Han Tai Ping’s breathing quickened sharply. He kept retreating until his spine hit the cold, dark stone wall — and stopped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Hua Yitang’s expression turned grave. He shook the black ceramic vial slowly. “This ritual water strengthens the bones and muscles, but has a side effect: it corrodes the mind. With prolonged use, a person becomes a walking corpse — all physical power, no capacity for thought — just like…” Hua Yitang’s voice dropped low, “…Qiu Wen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Han Tai Ping shrieked.

“Qiu Wen was a failed prototype. So you went on to breed what you called the Four Beasts — Bingsi, Bing Shisi, Bing Ershisi, and Bing Sanshisi. But the same problem persisted. They too had lost their autonomous minds. Without intervention, they would soon become yet another set of walking corpses — incapable of controlling their own bodies, dying ultimately of cardiac rupture.”

“How could you know all this?! How do you know?!”

“Net Fruit clarifies the body’s strength. Heavenly Steel draws upon the stars’ breath. Ten Cruelties seal the heart and soul. Breaking Army gives birth to the new.” Hua Yitang drew a slow, deep breath and walked to the desk, lifting the “Net” scroll once more. “Your ultimate goal was to breed killing instruments possessing terrifyingly powerful combat ability — capable of freely commanding an altered body, with the capacity to think and adapt, yet fully controllable by you. Just like—”

Hua Yitang faltered. His throat worked several times. He turned and looked at Lin Sui’an, his pupils burning crimson, tears welling in his eyes — held back by sheer will, not falling.

Lin Sui’an’s eyes went round as saucers. She pointed at her own nose. “Breaking Army? Me?”

Hua Yitang looked away. Yun Zhong Yue covered his mouth. Ling Zhiyan’s brush clattered to the ground. Ita breathed an “Ah.” This time, Bingsi and the other three did not echo — all four fell into silence together.

Han Tai Ping’s expression was beyond description. It was as if some earth-shaking secret he had desperately kept concealed in the depths of a gutter had been casually dug up and put brazenly on display in broad daylight — despairing and absurd all at once.

Lin Sui’an’s mind raced through Hua Yitang’s reasoning in rapid sequence: Han Tai Ping and whoever stood behind him — “Third Master” — had two primary objectives. First: produce and sell Ritual Water Type One as a means of accumulating wealth. Second: produce Ritual Water Type Two to breed human bio-weapons.

The masked assassins were version 1.0. Qiu Wen was version 2.0. Bingsi and the others had started as version 3.0 and were now at version 3.5. There had perhaps been more iterations in between. And based on the various unusual characteristics of the body she now inhabited, along with its abnormally intense and violent reactions to Longshen Fruit, the most likely conclusion was: she herself was the final version.

This line of reasoning was wildly fantastical. Yet what was even more fantastical was what Lin Sui’an then realized: the unnamed dread she had always felt about this body was gone — vanished for the first time. In its place was a calm clarity, a sense of “so that’s how it is,” and even a faint flicker of something that might be called self-satisfied pride: naturally it would have to be me.

When had this shift begun?

Hua Yitang was standing quietly before her. In the dim, murky light of the jail, the young man’s beautiful face shone white as a lamp — so very much like the bright moon she had once caught sight of on a certain night.

You are different from them. You are someone with people standing behind you.

Lin Sui’an smiled softly. It had probably started around then.

Whether it was Hua Yitang’s particular theatrical brand of flair rubbing off on her, or some other reason altogether—

Lin Sui’an didn’t follow the thought further. Instead, she spoke the question that had been sitting in her mind: “So this is why you kept the investigation from me?”

Hua Yitang lowered his lashes and said nothing. The fan in his hands creaked under the pressure of his grip.

“That was wrong of you,” Lin Sui’an said. “We are partners — inseparable, through life and death together. How can you not trust me?”

Hua Yitang looked up sharply. “I didn’t—”

“I trust you,” Lin Sui’an said steadily. “I trust Doctor Fang. I trust Jin Ruo. I trust Ling Judicial Inspector, Ita, Mu Xia. I trust that as long as all of you are standing behind me, I will not become Breaking Army — I will be Lin Sui’an.”

Hua Yitang clenched his jaw tight. His eyes reddened further.

Lin Sui’an stepped forward and gave him two firm thumps on the shoulder. “You’re the one who said all of this yourself — have you forgotten?”

Hua Yitang held her gaze and enunciated each word deliberately: “I will never forget it in this lifetime.”

“Now that’s the partner worthy of my Lin Sui’an!” Lin Sui’an gave him one more thump.

Hua Yitang released the tension from his jaw and slowly exhaled. He closed his eyes to push the feeling back, and when he opened them again, he was once more the careless, world-weary wastrel — tilting his feet onto the desk and raising an eyebrow, “Han Tai Ping — let’s discuss Third Master.”

“I don’t know anything about any Third Master!” Han Tai Ping clutched his head, his voice trembling.

“To maintain such loyalty to that Third Master of yours at a moment like this — Flower truly admires it,” Hua Yitang said easily. “Though I’ve never found people of your sort capable of genuine loyalty. Could it be Third Master has some leverage over you? The lives of your family, perhaps?”

Han Tai Ping snapped his head around, his terrified gaze flickering in and out of the shadows.

“I’ll give you two choices now,” Hua Yitang said. “First: tell me who Third Master is. Second: within three days, I have everything I just said spread to every corner of the Tang Kingdom, with the claim that every. Single. Word. Was. Your. Confession. Your decision: will that Third Master believe your loyalty, or believe me?”

“You are inhuman! You—! Hua Yitang, you’ll get your comeuppance one day!” Han Tai Ping screamed.

Lin Sui’an suddenly recalled something. “You wouldn’t happen to also know a Sixth Master, would you?”

“A — what Sixth Master?!”

“The Hao Liu from the Red Makeup Lane in Dongdu City.”

Han Tai Ping’s eyes went even more horrified. Though he said nothing, his expression made his inner monologue perfectly plain: How do you know about that?!

“Add this one too,” Lin Sui’an said to Hua Yitang. “That Sixth Master’s identity was also supplied by Han Tai Ping.”

“Noted,” Hua Yitang said.

“Lin Sui’an, you demon! Hua Yitang, you beast! Neither of you are human! I want to cut you both to pieces, grind your bones to dust and scatter them to the winds!”

Against the backdrop of Han Tai Ping’s sky-shaking stream of curses, Hua Yitang and Lin Sui’an leaned side by side against the desk in identical postures, arms folded, identical smiling expressions on their faces — occasionally exchanging evaluations.

“His cursing skills are far below yours,” Lin Sui’an said. “No conviction.”

“You flatter me.”

“Why don’t you offer a demonstration yourself? Set the standard?”

“As a county officer of some standing, I can’t just go around cursing people — it would be terribly undignified.”

“He’s been at it for a while. Do you think he’s getting tired?”

“His lips do look rather dry.” Hua Yitang tossed the black ceramic vial to Bingsi. “Let Han neighborhood head wet his throat.”

Bingsi pulled out the stopper and was about to insert it into Han Tai Ping’s mouth. Han Tai Ping’s stream of curses cut off abruptly, replaced by a shrill, desperate shriek: “I only know that Third Master is the Sect Leader of the Pure Gate!”

Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang simultaneously threw out their backs. Ling Zhiyan’s brush stabbed a hole clean through the written record. Yun Zhong Yue’s jaw hit the floor.

Ita: “Come again?”

Bingsi and the others: “Come again again?”

Side story:

Jin Ruo, sunbathing outside the county office, sneezed and rubbed his nose:

“Who’s talking behind my back?”