Ming Huazhang held Ming Huashang tightly. The shadows in his mind dissipated, leaving only resolve. Time was short. He gave her one last embrace, then stood and said: “The imperial procession has already departed. I must go to the Hibiscus Gardens and stop Liao Yushan.”

“I’m going with you.” Ming Huashang jumped up as well, ready to run out the door. Ming Huazhang saw this and said quickly: “Put some proper clothes on first — don’t catch more cold. Saddling the horses will take time anyway. Go change, and we’ll meet at the stable.”

Ming Huashang glanced down at herself — the cloak over her sleeping-clothes aside, this outfit was genuinely not suitable for movement. She did not argue, and ran out. At the doorway she paused: “Second Elder Brother, remember to prepare three horses.”

Three? Ming Huazhang was just beginning to wonder why three would be needed when through the wide-open door, he caught sight of who was standing outside.

The light morning mist had not yet lifted; ancient trees stood draped in cold grey. Su Yuji was leaning against a wall in the shadows, her expression unreadable at this distance.

Ming Huazhang paused, visibly surprised: “Ruoshui? What are you doing here?”

He considered Ming Huashang’s expression a moment ago and faltered, then realised.

They had once trained together at Zhongnan Mountain, and all seven of them had later remained in Chang’an, which was how they came to know one another’s true identities. Ruoshui’s real name was Su Yuji; she was Su Xingzhi’s younger sister, and the two of them were from Taiyuan Prefecture in the northern capital.

Su…

The woman who had carried away the other child born to Duke Zhenguo was a Nanny who bore the surname Su, if he recalled correctly. And coincidentally, Ming Huashang’s mother was originally from Taiyuan.

Who Su Yuji truly was, and why she had appeared here — it was entirely plain to see.

Ming Huashang had already run ahead. Only Ming Huazhang and Su Yuji remained in the courtyard. Something strange seemed to hover in the air between them. Ming Huazhang broke the silence first: “I’m sorry.”

Su Yuji held her blade and regarded him from a distance. Slowly, she said: “I’m not sure what to call you — Deputy Administrator, South Star, or His Lordship the Prince?”

Ming Huazhang knew perfectly well that he had wronged both of the Ming family’s daughters in more ways than he could count. Su Yuji’s hostility toward him was completely natural. Ming Huazhang said: “Call me by my name. Was it you last night who managed to bring Shang Shang around?”

“No,” Su Yuji said curtly.

Ming Huazhang nodded and said, with genuine sincerity: “Thank you, all the same. There were things I didn’t know how to say to her. I’m glad you came when you did — it’s because of you that she was able to recover so quickly.”

Su Yuji gave a light, dismissive sound and turned to walk away, completely unmoved. Ming Huazhang did not take it to heart. He took the initiative to show the way, saying: “The stable is over here.”

The horses had been fed the day before. Ming Huashang had not disturbed the groom, but had quickly led out three horses herself. Su Yuji stood to one side adjusting the mane. Ming Huazhang made small adjustments to Ming Huashang’s saddle, and after a brief pause, still said what was on his mind: “I know this is your own choice to make, and I am saying this out of personal concern — forgive the presumption. I owe you a great deal. Don’t hold it against Duke Zhenguo — he too had no choice. Though he has never spoken of it, I know that the guilt of having sent you away has never left him. These past years have not been easy for him. If you are ever willing, I would still like to ask you to go and see him.”

Su Yuji heard the mention of Duke Zhenguo and her expression went colder still. Ming Huazhang said no more and left it at that. The two of them fell into silence. When Ming Huashang came sprinting back, she found them standing at opposite sides of the stable yard — not that far apart in distance, and yet the space between them felt like a river no one could cross.

It seemed they had talked, but the results did not appear particularly hopeful. Ming Huashang acted as though she had noticed nothing, and came running down full of energy: “Let’s go — we have to get ahead of the Jing Zhaoyin and warn the Holy Sovereign!”

If someone told you one day that a person intended to assassinate the Emperor, what should you do? Ming Huashang had never once imagined she would find herself earnestly turning this question over in her mind.

The Hibiscus Gardens were a famous pleasure ground to begin with, and with the Flower Festival approaching and the Holy Sovereign coming out of the palace to view the lanterns, Chang’an was virtually deserted that day as the whole city flocked toward the Gardens. The closer they rode to Qujiang Road, the heavier the crowds — until even the horses could no longer move at a canter and were reduced to picking their way forward through the press of people.

Ming Huashang was not a particularly skilled rider; she had to work hard to keep her reins under control and prevent the horse from shying at the crowd. She was just starting to consider whether to dismount and walk when her eyes lit up and she spotted a familiar face.

Without regard for the people around her, she immediately threw her voice out at full volume: “Ren Jiejie!”

The Feathered Forest Guard was the Son of Heaven’s personal army, and today they were responsible for clearing a path, protecting the procession, and managing the crowds. Ren Yao was directing her people into position when she thought she heard someone calling her. She looked back in surprise and saw, at some distance, a young woman waving at her with great enthusiasm.

Ming Huashang? Wasn’t she still recovering in bed? What was she doing here?

Ren Yao thought it strange, but had her people let them through and brought Ming Huashang inside. When she drew closer, she saw that it wasn’t just Ming Huashang — Ming Huazhang and even Su Yuji had come as well.

Ren Yao looked the three of them over, finding the combination decidedly peculiar. Ming Huashang had no time for pleasantries — the moment she arrived, she ran to Ren Yao’s side and murmured something in her ear.

As she listened, Ren Yao’s eyes grew steadily wider. By the end, even her complexion had changed. Her gaze moved across Ming Huazhang and Su Yuji; her expression was struck through with doubt and alarm. Ming Huashang gave her a single nod and said: “No need to be guarded around them — they know about this matter and can be trusted. Ren Jiejie, the situation today is unlike anything ordinary. We cannot let a single word of this leak out. Do you know where the Holy Sovereign is at this moment?”

Ren Yao cast a glance over the dark, packed mass of people outside, and her own expression turned serious. Someone intended to attack the imperial procession — that alone was enough to freeze the blood. But what was even more frightening was that this was no conventional assassination; it was a bomb. One misstep — if it triggered a public panic, or if the noise reached Liao Yushan’s ears and he felt cornered and detonated the explosives early, taking everyone with him into death — the chaos of the crowd would be catastrophic. Surging, trampling, falling into the water — the consequences would be beyond calculation.

Ren Yao understood the full weight of it in an instant. Without hesitation she abandoned her original assignment: “I don’t know. But he should know. Follow me.”

Jiang Ling, as the widely known “Young Master Jiang” among the Northern Guards, had been assigned the most relaxed, dignified, and face-giving stretch for today’s duty. He stood watching the well-dressed ladies of the nobility conversing with quiet elegance not far away, finding the whole thing remarkably dull.

Ren Yao was out at the outer gates keeping order — she got to arrest people and haul in troublemakers, which was impressive work. While he was stuck here standing guard. Tedious. He was letting his mind wander among the clouds when a familiar voice sounded behind him: “Jiang Ling!”

Jiang Ling froze for a moment, wondering if he had daydreamed it. Ren Yao, having called his name several times without response, reached the end of her patience and delivered a solid knock to the back of his head. Jiang Ling winced and clapped a hand over the spot. Good. That confirmed it was not a daydream.

He turned around, about to complain, when at that very moment Ren Yao leaned in close to him. Without either of them expecting it, her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. Both of them went rigid.

The tips of Jiang Ling’s ears erupted in red. Ren Yao was also somewhat flustered for a moment — but then it occurred to her that this place was about to blow up, and what did a brief accidental touch matter? She immediately threw all of those thoughts clean out of her mind, grabbed Jiang Ling by the ear and said: “Yesterday’s suspect was the wrong person. The real perpetrator behind the explosion case is the Jing Zhaoyin. Right now he intends to assassinate the Holy Sovereign. Keep your expression under control — don’t show anything.”

Jiang Ling blinked rapidly and let out a slow “Oh.”

Too many things happening at once — his brain had been scorched to a crisp.

Ren Yao had worried Jiang Ling might react too visibly and draw attention, but now she realised she had massively overestimated this idiot. She said with undisguised exasperation: “Stop standing there in a daze. Where is the Holy Sovereign — lead the way!”

Jiang Ling gradually came back to himself. Understanding that there was no room for carelessness in this, he collected his scattered wits and said with composure: “The Holy Sovereign has gone to the lantern tower with Duke Yingguo, Duke Chengguo, Princess Taiping, and others. Prince Wei has arranged a flower carriage performance for the Holy Sovereign; it begins at the si hour.”

Ren Yao looked at the position of the sun. She said urgently: “It’s almost the si hour now — move!”

Using the advantages of his family name, Jiang Ling passed through every checkpoint without difficulty, but when they reached the base of the lantern tower, they were stopped by a eunuch. The eunuch’s eyes moved over all of them, alert and cautious. He asked: “Who are you, and under which great lord did you come?”

Jiang Ling was about to invoke his father’s name when Ming Huazhang, who had not the slightest patience for this kind of delay, said in a cold voice: “I am the Deputy Administrator of the Jing Zhaoyin. I am here to find the Jing Zhaoyin.”

The Jing Zhaoyin was indeed up on the tower. But the eunuch was still looking them over with an air of disdain.

He had seen this type many times before. All eager to be seen at the right place with the right people. Since the Jing Zhaoyin had not brought the Deputy Administrator up with him, there was presumably no standing invitation. If he allowed just anyone up, what use were people like himself?

The eunuch said with studied blandness: “Deputy Administrator, perhaps you’ve forgotten — the Jing Zhaoyin has been upstairs for some time now. I don’t recall him mentioning anyone coming with him.”

As Ming Huazhang’s expression darkened dangerously under that cold manner of speaking, Ming Huashang quickly took hold of his hand. She smiled and said in a gentle voice: “You’ve been working hard, sir. But we do have an appointment. We came with the Eastern Palace — if you don’t believe us, you could ask Lord Xie, the Palace Drafter attending the Crown Prince. He knows who we are.”

Ming Huashang’s tone was warm and easy, her bearing composed and self-assured — the picture of a person with nothing to hide and every reason to be here. The eunuch shot a glance her way and, not wanting to offend someone he might regret offending, turned and went upstairs to check.

A short while later, a young man in bluish-grey robes came descending from above. The eunuch that had gone up was walking close beside him with an air of flattery. He said: “Lord Xie, it’s these people. They say they came with you — I don’t know why they fell behind — I wonder if you could—”

Xie Jichuan’s gaze passed over Ming Huazhang, Ming Huashang, and the rest of their group. Nothing on his face gave anything away. He smiled with perfect composure and said warmly: “Indeed. His Highness sent them on an errand — I didn’t expect them to be delayed this long. Thank you for taking the trouble to check.”

The eunuch, hearing that they were in fact the Crown Prince’s people, underwent a complete reversal of attitude, bowing and nodding as he ushered them inside. Once they rounded the corner, Xie Jichuan let the smile drop and raised an eyebrow: “What are you all doing here?”

Ming Huazhang had no time for explanations. He swept his hem aside and took the steps three at a time, vaulting upward with swift, sure strides. Ren Yao followed without a word. Ming Huashang was last, but she paused long enough to explain to Xie Jichuan: “We were all deceived. Do you remember how when Yan Jingcheng’s body went to the mortuary, it seemed as though something was missing from it? Last night I found it on Zhao Cai — a gold plaque, about the size of a palm, with the character ‘空’ engraved on it.”

Xie Jichuan recalled, at Ming Huashang’s prompting, that he had in fact glimpsed just such a gold plaque when they were examining Yan Jingcheng’s body — but it had vanished without explanation afterward, and he had let it pass without further thought. He had never imagined it would turn up on Zhao Cai.

This could only be the killer’s doing. And the only person who could have had access to Yan Jingcheng’s body after the examination — who could have taken something from the mortuary without alerting the guards —

Xie Jichuan’s mind moved with extraordinary speed. In the time it took for a spark to catch and flare, the pieces connected. It could only be the Jing Zhaoyin. The character 日 for “sun” and 月 for “moon” could be combined in many ways, but with 空 — “sky” — added, there was only one person it could mean.

In the first year of the Tianshou reign period, the Holy Sovereign ascended the throne and decreed a set of new characters to be adopted across the realm. The sun and moon riding high in the sky, illuminating all the world below — and so the character Zhào was created as her name.

Xie Jichuan and Ming Huashang exchanged a look. Without a word needing to be said, he understood what she had left unspoken; she knew that he had understood. Xie Jichuan glanced at Ming Huazhang charging ahead at the front and lowered his voice: “So what are you doing now? What is this?”

“Saving someone.” Ming Huashang kept it brief. She didn’t even use the phrase “protecting the imperial carriage” — as though in her eyes, the Holy Sovereign was simply another concrete human being. She gathered her skirts and ran toward the stairs, saying: “Xie Xiong, I’d trouble you to stay here and hold the exit. Whatever happens, don’t let anyone block the escape route.”

Xie Jichuan tilted his head upward slightly. Light filtered down from the floors above, like the mouth of a tunnel through time, and they were casting themselves headlong into it — while he alone remained here in the dark.

Xie Jichuan thought: here was yet another thing he could not understand. Why go to the trouble of saving her? If she died, wouldn’t that be an enormous good fortune for the Duke Zhenguo’s household, for the Marquis Jiang’an’s household, and for Ming Huazhang above all?

Why would anyone throw themselves headlong into danger for the sake of an enemy?

Ming Huazhang was first to reach the upper landing. This tower had been constructed by Prince Wei expressly to please the Holy Sovereign; the second floor opened onto a broad and lavishly appointed viewing platform. At this moment, a magnificent flower lantern was being drawn slowly toward it.

The lantern was shaped like the spirit of the hundred flowers — three stories tall, with a face of serene and compassionate beauty, dressed in trailing embroidered silks and tinkling jade ornaments, looking as though she might step into the air and fly. In one hand, she held a phoenix flower blossom, just beginning to open, and at her feet all things were returning to life, flowers blooming in every direction.

Below the Flower Spirit’s hand, a narrow ring of platform jutted out, and a troupe of dancers in scarves and strands of jade jewellery were performing there. They split apart and came together in intricate patterns, moving across that narrow strip of wood as though it were the most natural thing in the world, their dancing light and beautiful as spirits in a garden of flowers.

The Holy Sovereign stood with many members of the imperial family and aristocracy at the balcony rail, showing her appreciation. Ming Huazhang cast his gaze quickly around and fixed at once on the phoenix blossom in the Flower Spirit’s hand.

The Holy Sovereign’s presence required layers of procedure and repeated inspection. Not so much as a fly could be hidden inside the tower. But a flower carriage brought in from outside was a different matter entirely. The imperial guards would only search the dancers’ persons for concealed weapons — they would never think to check whether the lantern itself had been tampered with from within.

All the more so if the hands doing the tampering belonged to the event’s host. It left not even a ghost of a trace.

The flower lantern and the lantern tower had both been managed from beginning to end by Prince Wei, who had calculated the distance precisely. Where the dancers performed was slightly lower than the second-floor viewing platform — just low enough for the Holy Sovereign to view the performance without any effort — while the Flower Spirit’s hand holding the blossom was positioned just a fraction above the platform level.

Which meant: if this spot exploded, the force of the blast would reach the viewing platform without question.

And now, the flower lantern had already stopped before the Holy Sovereign. The dancers had arranged their slender arms in the shape of a flower opening, and were just about to light the lantern.

Ming Huazhang’s fingers closed around a concealed weapon. He moved without hesitation, flinging it toward the flower lantern: “Everyone stand back — there are explosives in that lantern!”

The lead dancer had choreographed the entire performance meticulously. At the moment the lantern carriage reached the Holy Sovereign, she and the other dancers were to strike their signature pose — flowers blooming fully — and simultaneously ignite the phoenix blossom above, after which coloured streamers and flower petals would rain down, auspicious and beautiful, sure to delight any noble spectator. Who could have imagined that at the very moment she threw herself into her proudest and most polished movement, a throwing-blade would come slicing through the air — straight for her wrist?

The lead dancer startled; her hand released by reflex. The fire-starter dropped. The throwing-blade grazed along her arm and buried itself deep in the lantern behind her.

This sequence of events had only just played out when Ming Huazhang’s warning reached them. The dancers froze entirely. It was only when they saw the Holy Sovereign, the Crown Prince, and the others being shielded and guided toward the exit that the reality of what was happening finally broke through. They screamed in panic.

The performance platform had been designed for aesthetics, with no thought whatsoever to the convenience of the dancers. It was suspended in mid-air, with no route up or down. In rehearsal this had never seemed a problem, but now that escape was necessary, they realised the true desperation of their situation.

There was, quite genuinely, no way out — not up, not down.

Having stopped the dancers from lighting the fuse, Ming Huazhang immediately charged toward Liao Yushan. But Liao Yushan had come here already resolved to die. He had, of course, left himself a fallback. He did not so much as flinch or dodge. Instead he drew a compact crossbow from his sleeve and triggered the mechanism without hesitation.

The crossbow bolt had been specially treated; it caught fire as it flew, trailing a streak across the sky like a meteor, and struck the fuse with perfect accuracy. With a searing hiss, the fuse caught and burned rapidly, vanishing into the phoenix blossom.

By the time Ming Huazhang moved to stop it, it was already too late. His expression turned cold and resolute. He snapped a single command at Su Yuji beside him — “He’s yours” — and turned and sprinted for the flower lantern without looking back.

The fuse had been lit, but fortunately the phoenix blossom did not explode at once. Ming Huazhang knew that to ensure full effect, Liao Yushan had certainly rigged additional triggers inside, all of which would need time to engage.

No one could know how long that time was. Ming Huazhang did not pause to weigh it. He drew his soft-whip, sprang onto the balcony railing, and began sending the dancers down one by one.

They had dance training and the whip to slow their descent — they should not be hurt too badly from the fall. Even a broken arm or leg was better than being blown to pieces.

Liao Yushan dropped all pretence and attempted to use his crossbow bolts to set the staircase ablaze, but a flying dart from Su Yuji struck his shoulder. Even then, Liao Yushan — whose reflexes had been honed through long years as a senior Xuan Xiaowei operative — suppressed even the most basic physical pain response. His hand did not so much as tremble; he was still trying to fire again.

Su Xingzhi had also come today as part of the escort. He had been at a loss for quite some time over Su Yuji’s whereabouts, and had been standing in a corner working himself into a silent bad temper. Because of that, he was standing not far from Liao Yushan. He saw Su Yuji come charging up the stairs, and thought for a moment he was dreaming — but then Ming Huazhang gave his warning, Su Yuji threw her dart, and though Su Xingzhi hadn’t heard what Ming Huazhang had shouted, he moved by instinct to back Su Yuji up. He brought his hand down like a blade on Liao Yushan’s shoulder from behind and knocked the crossbow from his grip.

With that brief window of opportunity, Su Yuji closed the distance. She drove her knee hard into Liao Yushan’s abdomen, twisted his arms behind his back, and pinned him to the floor.

Ren Yao reached the top of the stairs and immediately went to the Holy Sovereign. She shouted “protect the imperial person!” and began shepherding the Holy Sovereign, the Crown Prince, and Princess Taiping as they fell back. Jiang Ling came rushing up to help as well. In the middle of the chaos, Ren Yao looked back and saw that Liao Yushan had already been subdued by Su Xingzhi and Su Yuji, that Ming Huazhang was clearing the dancers from the lantern, and that Ming Huashang was managing the flow of people at the stairwell. Disorder as it was, there was order within it.

But those imperial relatives and aristocracy, long accustomed to soft lives and comfort, were moving down the stairs slowly and with great confusion. Those ahead could not speed up, which meant those behind could not leave. Fire does not negotiate with people, however — and at this rate, at least half of those present would not make it out.

Ren Yao swept a quick look across those nobles — ladies and princesses and princess-consorts alike, and not one of them was faring better than she was; every single one had lost her head, barely able to walk in a straight line.

And yet she had to save these people. Because she needed to distinguish herself. She needed enough merit to stake a claim for the right to inherit the Marquis Pingnan title — a right denied to women.

Ren Yao set her jaw. Then she shoved against the current and went backwards up through the stream of people, seized a column, and dropped over the side.

Jiang Ling was terrified, and reached on instinct to grab her but missed. He ran to the railing and shouted down: “Ren Yao, what are you doing?”

But when he saw what was happening below, his eyes went wide with disbelief: “Ren Yao, are you insane — get back up here!”

The explosion had thrown everything below into confusion long before this latest development; the coachman who had been driving the flower carriage was nowhere to be seen. The horses that had pulled it could feel the agitation and were snorting and stamping restlessly. Ren Yao dropped from the tower, landed in a single flying leap onto a horse’s back, and struck the horse’s flank.

It appeared she intended, singlehandedly, to drive the flower lantern away.

Yes — the explosives were loaded inside the lantern. One approach was to get the nobles away from the lantern; but another was to pull the lantern away from the nobles.

This turn of events had astonished even Ming Huazhang. Yet Ren Yao was already driving her horse away without a flicker of hesitation. Every single dancer had been delivered from the flower lantern by Ming Huazhang — one might say thrown — to the ground. The carriage had nothing on it but the frame. It was not particularly heavy, and the magnificent Flower Spirit lantern rocked and swayed, quickly gaining speed.

Before Ming Huazhang could process what had happened, another dark shape dropped down in his peripheral vision. Jiang Ling had never moved his legs this swiftly in his life. He seized someone else’s horse, drove his heels in hard, and without so much as a thought to what he was doing, chased after Ren Yao.

Marquis Jiang’an had just guided Princess Taiping down to the ground below. He caught a glimpse of Jiang Ling’s retreating figure, and his eyelid gave a violent twitch. He roared: “You reckless boy — what do you think you’re doing, get back here this instant!”

Ming Huazhang looked around at the scene — Ren Yao had pulled the explosives away, and from the looks of it the tower no longer needed to be cleared. He jumped cleanly down from the second floor as well, and called out to those still remaining: “Protect everyone here — don’t let anyone take advantage of the confusion.”

He didn’t wait to see if anyone had heard him. He leapt onto a horse and shot after the others like a streak of light.

He caught up to Ren Yao’s carriage and called out: “There’s a lake ahead. The moment the horses reach the water’s edge, chop the tow-rope and ride back on the horse. Stay clear of the explosion. Can you do it? If not, jump clear — I’ll take over.”

Ren Yao gave a scornful laugh. Her face was resolute and bright with a fierce, unstoppable light — the kind of look that dares anyone to say it can’t be done. She called back: “I have the best horsemanship here. Who says I can’t? Get out of my way and don’t block my path.”

Ming Huazhang laughed as well — an unlikely surge of exhilaration in the midst of such danger. He pulled on his reins to distance himself from the carriage and rode on ahead to clear the path: “Very well then. I’ll run your escort.”

Jiang Ling rode hard on the other side, his eyes darting back and forth between the flower lantern and Ren Yao. The Flower Spirit was towering and precarious, as though she might take flight at any moment. His heart was beating faster and faster. He had a feeling — the explosives were going to go off.

The rope fastening the carriage was thick. If she didn’t cut through it in time, she would either be dragged into the lake along with it, or be caught in the blast. Jiang Ling, without any warning or forethought, let go of his reins and jumped onto the carriage. Ren Yao felt the weight shift behind her, looked back, and saw who it was. She snapped: “What are you doing — get off!”

Jiang Ling was already sawing through the rope with his blade, paying no attention to the cuts it left across his own hands. He had grown up in the Marquis’s household in luxury and ease; before he knew Ren Yao, the heaviest thing these hands had ever held was a teacup. He had always believed that the most important thing in life was to enjoy oneself. But after meeting her he finally understood that there existed a kind of person who would sacrifice every comfort for a goal.

To this day, he still did not understand her choices. Why gamble your life for a merit record? Were those three characters — Marquis Pingnan — truly so important?

He did not understand. But he wanted her to be happy. If the only way she could ever be happy was to obtain that title, then he was willing to help her achieve it.

The surface of Qujiang Pool glittered ahead of them, its reflection blindingly bright. Jiang Ling cut through one side of the rope and held the other end in his grip. He kept his eyes on the path and bellowed: “Ren Yao, have you been starving? Don’t slow down — keep going forward!”

Ren Yao clenched her jaw, cracked her voice in a sharp command, and drove the horse forward at full speed. She felt the left side go slack. The horse, feeling itself freed from part of the load, surged powerfully ahead. At that same moment, a pair of hands seized the remaining length of rope from behind and held it with their own flesh and blood, forcing the carriage to a halt.

Ming Huazhang was riding point ahead, watching what was unfolding, and spoke: “Ren Yao — when you turn back, bring Jiang Ling with you. Jiang Ling — when the moment comes, jump onto Ren Yao’s horse.”

Jiang Ling was stretched between the parted rope ends like a man being pulled apart, with no strength left to speak. Ren Yao’s heartbeat was climbing faster and faster, until she could barely hold her grip on the reins.

She hadn’t been frightened when she jumped. She hadn’t been frightened when she drove a cartload of explosives to the water. But now she was afraid. She was afraid she would be a moment too slow and fail to get Jiang Ling up behind her; afraid the explosives would detonate early and he would be the first to take the full impact; and she was afraid her own ambition had brought him to his death.

He had been born into wealth and luxury. Everything was provided for him from birth; a title was already waiting for him at home. He should have gone on forever being a happy and carefree young nobleman — why was he doing any of this?

Qujiang Pool blazed in the sunlight, so dazzling that tears threatened to rise in her eyes. Ming Huazhang had slowed and was waiting on the bank. At the moment the horses’ hooves struck the water, Ming Huazhang said sharply: “Pull back!”

Ren Yao immediately pulled hard on the reins. The horse reared up with a screaming whinny, front legs pawing the air. With nothing but her legs clamped around the horse’s sides to hold her, Ren Yao turned back to drag Jiang Ling up. Jiang Ling seized the moment and used the horse’s momentum to vault up behind Ren Yao.

Ren Yao drove the horse in a wild weaving charge through the chaos and, against every likelihood, cleared the flower carriage and made it onto the bank. Behind them, the untethered carriage plunged straight into the water. The lantern structure, already shaking apart from the rough ride, was struck by the water — and the topmost lantern frame, unable to bear it any longer, pitched and toppled toward the centre of the lake.

Ming Huazhang and Ren Yao — two horses, three riders — did not hold back a single thing. They ran with everything they had. Behind them came a thunderous boom; a blast wave carrying water surged toward them with the force of a thunderclap. Jiang Ling wrapped his arms around Ren Yao from behind; Ren Yao did not dare turn to look and rode on desperately.

After what might have been a lifetime — or only a breath — Ren Yao found that she could hear again. Ming Huazhang was half a horse’s length ahead of her; he pulled up first, brushed the water off his clothes, and said: “We made it just in time. Are you both all right?”

There was still a low ringing in Ren Yao’s ears. She shook her head blankly, then suddenly realised something, and turned sharply: “Jiang Ling — Jiang Ling?”

Jiang Ling was slumped against her shoulder, completely unresponsive. Ren Yao called his name again and again, and he didn’t stir. Her face drained of colour. Then the person on her shoulder suddenly opened one eye and said, in a smug and entirely unbothered voice: “Ha — got you.”

Only then did Ren Yao feel her heart start beating again. She looked at Jiang Ling, and a wave of furious exasperation rose in her so intense she could barely contain it. Jiang Ling sensed how things were going and jumped off the horse at once, shrieking for all he was worth: “Help! Officer assaulting a government official!”

He hollered and made a dash for Ming Huazhang. Ming Huazhang was in the middle of wiping down his clothes with a handkerchief; he caught Jiang Ling by the collar and shoved him away with considerable disgust: “You’re soaking wet. Don’t touch me.”

When Ming Huashang came sprinting up to Qujiang Pool, gasping for breath, this was what she found: Ren Yao chasing Jiang Ling, Jiang Ling shrieking as he ran circles around Ming Huazhang, and Ming Huazhang trapped in the middle, every inch of him radiating profound and unambiguous disdain for the entire situation.

Ming Huashang let out a long breath of relief, then doubled over in pain and clutched at her abdomen as she sank into a crouch. Ming Huazhang saw it immediately, dropped Jiang Ling entirely, and strode quickly to her side.

“Shang Shang, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Ming Huashang waved a feeble hand. “I just ran too fast. Got a stitch.”