The hour of the rooster was almost upon them. The hidden guards were still scrambling in frantic disarray — it looked as though enough of them had been drawn out.

Zhang Zhixu rose and moved close to the window. Sure enough, he heard the sound of crockery shattering inside Cheng Huaili’s room. Then the door burst open and Cheng’an hurried out to summon a physician.

Poisoned?

No — all food and drink today had been tested with silver needles. At most, it was a sedative.

But Cheng’an looked genuinely alarmed. He went calling for help the whole way there, without it once occurring to him that leaving only two ordinary guards inside the room might be unwise.

Zhang Zhixu extended his hand and traced the layout in the air.

At this precise moment, if an assassin could scale the wall in from the unguarded covered walkway on the southern left side, then follow the corridor and break into the room — their odds of success would be eight in ten.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a masked figure flipped over the railing of that very walkway on the southern left side.

The figure moved with a reverse grip on a short blade, footsteps swift and decisive, the whole manner efficient and clean.

Xie Lanting was thrilled. “Didn’t we just get front-row seats? Quick, quick — place your bets. Can they pull it off?”

Was there even any doubt? The guards below could already be seen breaking into a run toward the main gate — clearly prearranged. Zhang Zhixu was about to remark what a pity it was to waste such skillful technique on this doomed attempt, when his gaze caught on something — the back of that person’s hand.

A thin, fine scar, running from the space between the thumb and forefinger all the way to the wrist.

He went still. He leaned forward to look again.

The figure wore a close-fitted, practical outfit. But tucked into the cuff, something had been concealed — something slender in shape, with one end raised in a slight bulge.

If he hadn’t seen it before, he would have thought it was a hidden weapon, or simply a sleeve left unsmoothed. But —

Zhang Zhixu closed his fingers around the Buddhist figurine in his own sleeve.

One hand reaches toward the other, and when placed together, they clasp — like this.

This is called ‘Clasping the Buddha.’ One for each of us — if anything happens to me, just call to me through the figurine.

“…”

Xie Lanting was still watching the scene unfold, when a sudden gust swept past beside him.

He turned in surprise — and saw only Zhang Zhixu’s retreating silhouette as he leaped out the door. The elaborate and ornate outer robe billowed against the wind, and in an instant he vanished beyond the threshold.

·

Chen Baoxiang had felt that something was off even as she was hanging outside the railing.

It had all gone too smoothly. Whether it was blowing up the tablet or slipping Cheng Huaili the sedative — all of it had gone too smoothly. Even with her several capable martial siblings providing support, Cheng Huaili should not have been this careless.

The final step completed, even the ever-anxious Zhao Huaizhu had withdrawn her signal, indicating that Chen Baoxiang could proceed.

Chen Baoxiang crept along the covered walkway, brow still furrowed.

If she had a choice, she’d have liked to pull back and rethink the approach.

But she had already come this far. There was no retreat left. This was the closest to success she had ever been — miss this chance, and who knew when the next opportunity to get near Cheng Huaili would come.

She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and pressed on toward the guest quarters.

Almost there. Just two more rooms.

The wide-open door came into view. Chen Baoxiang drew a deep breath, gathered herself to surge forward —

A hand shot out from the adjacent room and hauled her forcefully inside.

Chen Baoxiang’s pupils contracted sharply. Her elbow snapped back with a fierce strike.

A low, muffled grunt sounded behind her. In the same instant, her senses were flooded with the refined fragrance of fine garments.

“?” She recognized who it was. Every muscle from the back of her neck down her spine locked rigid. She didn’t dare move a single inch.

Outside the door, a sudden rush of footsteps rang out. Then three or four of the adjacent guest room doors were struck in rapid succession: “Open up!”

Chen Baoxiang rose to spring for the window. The person grabbed her wrist and, with barely restrained fury, twisted her body back around to face him.

Their eyes met. The face covering fell away. Chen Baoxiang had nowhere left to hide.

“…” Her face went white.

Zhang Zhixu’s expression was as dark as a sky on the verge of a thunderstorm. His lips were drawn in a tight line, and his grip was iron. Without a word, he shoved her behind the bed curtains and followed, pressing down over her and swiftly undoing her waist sash.

Chen Baoxiang’s breath caught. She thrashed in a frantic tangle, but he still stripped off her outer robe.

She was gathering herself for a real fight when she saw him roll her outer robe and face covering together and fling them into an invisible gap in the rafters above.

“…” Chen Baoxiang went still.

She sank back against the soft pillow and received the weight of the great immortal pressing down beside her, letting him drag open her inner robe and tousle her hair, dazedly aware of the breath against her ear.

Anger. Scorching heat. Bewilderment.

The door was kicked open with a crash. Cheng’an burst in with his men. He’d barely drawn breath to question them when a woman’s sharp cry pierced the air.

The two figures on the bed flew apart. The next instant, a pillow smacked him squarely in the face.

“How dare you!” Zhang Zhixu rose, pulling his robe closed, and in the same motion drew Chen Baoxiang’s short blade and leveled it across the threshold.

Cheng’an’s eyes went wide. He raised an arm to fend off the pillow and said, “My Lord, please understand — there was an assassin earlier. Someone saw a figure disappear in the direction of your quarters.”

“An assassin?” Zhang Zhixu’s voice was cold with contempt. “I thought the great Cheng household might have some sophisticated scheme waiting for me. I hadn’t imagined it would be this same worn-out old ploy of framing someone.”

“My Lord, you misunderstand.” Cheng’an bowed his hands in apology. “There truly is an assassin.”

“Very well.” Zhang Zhixu reached back and pulled the inner robe up around the figure on the bed. “Search the room. If you can find a third person in here besides myself and my woman, I’ll walk into the palace carrying my own execution blade and offer my life as payment to your master.”

“Those words are too heavy, far too heavy.” Cheng’an was stealing glances around the room even as he gave a placating smile. “Our master was not harmed — he merely ingested a mild sedative.”

That was what he said — but the men he’d brought promptly began searching the room all the same.

The several guards swept through the space and shook their heads at Cheng’an.

Unsatisfied, Cheng’an craned his neck to peer toward the bed.

A beauty of jade-like quality, trembling slightly, a snow-white nape of neck exposed, curled shyly against Zhang Zhixu with her head averted.

Zhang Zhixu had run out of patience. “Ningsu.”

A figure dropped from the air above, unsheathed blade cutting directly across the threshold, driving Cheng’an and his men back through the door.

“We have disturbed you — please do not hold it against us, Lord Zhang.” Cheng’an bowed repeatedly even as he retreated.

The sound of searching stirred in the neighboring rooms as well. Zhang Zhixu waited a moment, then said to Ningsu, “Have the carriage readied. Once they’ve finished the search, we leave.”

“Yes.”

The door was pulled shut. The window remained half-open, and through it the courtyard below was clearly visible — a dense press of hidden guards, shadows shifting and circling on all sides.

Zhang Zhixu let the person in his arms hold on to him and stared ahead, his expression cold enough to frost over. “How do you intend to explain yourself this time.”

Chen Baoxiang squeezed her eyes shut and said nothing.

“Let me say it for you.” He lowered his voice. “You were bored at home and came to find me on purpose — not to assassinate Cheng Huaili. Lu Shouhuai’s death has nothing to do with you either. You heard the Buddhist figurine call out, and that’s why you risked your life to go destroy the tablet in the main shrine.”

His broad hand closed around the back of her neck, his voice quiet. “Come up with something along those lines — it won’t convince anyone else, but as a way to deceive me, it would work just fine.”

The cold seeped through the fabric and into her arms. Chen Baoxiang felt her very teeth go tense. She couldn’t help but pull him closer.

“Great Immortal…”

“I nearly believed every word. Why didn’t you weave it a little tighter?”

The tendons on the back of his hand rose beneath the skin. Zhang Zhixu closed his eyes, jaw clenched, and drew her and the blanket together into his arms — his boundless fury pressing down on her like a physical weight.