A double blessing—her lifelong happiness and his freedom hung upon her single thought. Yet as she tightly gripped those two red beans amidst the glorious sunset clouds, she found herself unable to utter a single word.

Though Yongchang Ward lay near the Grand Ming Palace, it was now twilight hour. Every household’s evening smoke rose as doors closed, leaving the ward feeling suddenly desolate.

Wang Zongshi escorted Huang Zixia to the Wang residence entrance. As the carriage stopped, Wang Yun emerged from inside—he had been waiting for her for some time.

Upon seeing Wang Zongshi, Wang Yun felt slightly awkward and greeted him: “Lord Wang.”

“Mm.” He pushed the carriage door closed without returning the greeting and departed.

Wang Yun watched his carriage leave and smiled at Huang Zixia: “I told you before—in all the world, Lord Wang only admires you. He barely acknowledges even me in daily life.”

Huang Zixia lowered her head and smiled tiredly, not picking up his thread of conversation.

The attentive household staff had already prepared dinner, portioned perfectly for two. Wang Yun naturally dined with her.

The sunset blazed like fire on the horizon, its reflection filling the small pavilion with crimson light. Wang Yun gazed at her face, bathed golden in the sunset glow, finding himself unable to look away.

Sensing his gaze, Huang Zixia turned her face aside and ordered someone to bring lamps.

As the sunset gradually dimmed and the deep blue night began to descend upon the world, they sat facing each other in the mingled light of candles and sunset. She couldn’t help but break the silence first: “What urgent matter brings you here today?”

Wang Yun smiled faintly, setting down his silver chopsticks: “First, to congratulate you on clearing your name, successfully identifying the true culprit, and escaping imprisonment.”

Huang Zixia lowered her eyelashes and said: “It was all thanks to Young Master Wang… Yun’s help. How else could I have left the Court of Justice?”

“I had originally planned to deal with Zhang Xingying directly and uncover the truth, but Lord Wang said you would handle this matter properly, so I left it to you,” Wang Yun said, interlocking his fingers and gazing at her before continuing, “Secondly, if all goes well, the Prince of Kui should be able to return safely to his residence in a month or two, resuming his role as prince, and perhaps even with enhanced prestige.”

Huang Zixia’s eyes widened in sudden shock as she asked: “Is this true?”

“Of course, how could I deceive you?” He watched her face, mixed with joy and doubt, his expression growing complex. His eyes, fixed upon her, revealed countless unspoken emotions. “Thirdly… Zixia, spring approaches, and the earth grow warmer. If I were to accompany you back to Shu now… would the timing be suitable?”

His smile was gentle, his lips curved in tenderness, his gaze upon her careful yet slightly shy with natural awkwardness, while his interlocked hands betrayed the nervousness he couldn’t completely hide in his heart.

Huang Zixia’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she quickly lowered her head. Her lowered lashes concealed both her gaze and his intense look upon her.

She heard Wang Yun’s voice, still gentle but carrying an inexplicable coldness: “This way when we return, the Prince of Kui will also be ready to return to his residence. Wouldn’t that be… a double blessing?”

Her hands began to tremble involuntarily. She instinctively reached out to tightly grasp the two red beans on her wrist. The two deep red love beans, naturally clustered together in their circular setting, gleamed round and crystalline, still slightly warm.

She understood his meaning. Traveling back to Shu with Wang Yun meant returning to pay respects to her parents and brothers, then having the Huang clan elders arrange the marriage, with the Wang family formally welcoming her as a bride.

When the Emperor visited Li Shubai today, he had clearly shown murderous intent. They likely couldn’t delay much longer before he would move to end Li Shubai’s life. The situation was now so urgent that they had been forced into a corner with no retreat. Since Wang Yun spoke to her this way, he must be confident that when they returned from their marriage, it would be the moment of Li Shubai’s escape from danger. They now faced such circumstances, and though she didn’t know what methods the Wang family of Langya might have since he made such a promise, he must be certain of success, with no possibility of failure.

A double blessing—her lifelong happiness and his freedom hung upon her single thought.

Yet as she tightly gripped those two red beans amidst the glorious sunset clouds, she found herself unable to utter a single word.

Watching her hesitation and confusion, Wang Yun felt a flash of uncontrollable resentment, but immediately turned his face away, worried he might lose control and let her see what showed in his eyes.

He recalled Li Shubai’s words to him, after his failed assassination attempt when he deeply feared involving his family. Li Shubai laughed and challenged him: “Yunzhi, don’t you have confidence in yourself? Do you think without that marriage contract binding her, Zixia wouldn’t choose you?”

He had already known then that if he truly agreed to those words and wrote that letter dissolving their marriage, he would likely lose any chance to be with Huang Zixia in this life. However, he still pretended to fall for it, writing the dissolution letter to secure Li Shubai’s promise to return north to the capital, all to protect himself and his family.

So when he found Huang Zixia frozen unconscious at Anguo Temple and brought her back to the Wang residence, he was almost thanking Heaven for giving him this opportunity. She was determined to unravel the mystery surrounding Li Shubai, and how could he not know she wanted to use the Langya Wang family’s power? But since she was intent on helping Li Shubai, he had to pretend he knew nothing. After all, he consoled himself, he had used her before too—let’s call it even.

In truth, they both understood each other’s hearts clearly, and both knew the other understood their thoughts. Yet they maintained this paper-thin barrier between them, neither willing to break through it, deliberately preserving it.

Until now, in her silence, he finally could no longer endure. Looking at the last trace of dark purple sunset through the window, he spoke: “There’s a fourth matter you’ll certainly want to hear.”

“No… no need to hear it.” Huang Zixia interrupted him. She looked up at him, showing a smile dimmer than the current sunset glow: “When spring warms and flowers bloom, it will be the perfect time to journey south to Shu.”

Wang Yun hadn’t expected her to agree so readily and was momentarily stunned.

Having spoken, she seemed to relax and continued slowly, as if talking to herself: “Yes, we were always meant to marry—sooner or later, what difference does it make? And if you can help the Prince of Kui escape this difficulty, it will count as repaying his kindness on my behalf. From then on, we’ll be… free of debt to each other, with nothing more between us.”

Wang Yun saw her distracted state, her gaze fixed on the sunset outside, those words seemingly spoken more to herself than to him. A strange pain welled up in his heart, but his face still showed her a gentle smile. He reached out to grasp her hand hanging limply in her lap, pulling her right hand away from those two red beans and said softly: “Fourth, the restlessness of the various military governors is our great opportunity. Soon there will be public opinion in the capital pointing out the fact that after the Prince of Kui’s death, the frontier regions will be much harder to control. At that time, if His Majesty moved against the Prince of Kui, it would be like destroying his great wall. I believe His Majesty will not disregard this matter.”

In Huang Zixia’s mind flashed Li Shubai’s words to her. Li Shubai had seemed to disapprove of this measure. But his main concern was that if their side released such rumors, it might allow others to trace the source, easily bringing trouble upon themselves. Since this time it was the Wang family, who had no significant connection to the Prince of Kui’s residence, the investigation would find no leads and be difficult to trace.

Therefore she only nodded, saying nothing.

Seeing her nod, Wang Yun lowered his head with a smile. He clasped both hands together, holding her hand in his palm, quietly holding it for a long time.

The last slant of sunlight was golden purple, too brilliantly gorgeous, as if about to scatter at any moment. Holding her hand while watching the sunset outside, he felt her hand cold and weak, lying quietly in his palm as if without an ounce of strength remaining.

That night, Huang Zixia sat in the candlelight and removed the gold-threaded red beans from her wrist, placing them in a silk pouch.

She put the pouch under her pillow and leaned back on the bed, staring blankly at the night outside her window. The severe cold of the first month turned breath to frost, and the stars and moon outside the window, immersed in the cold air, appeared even more piercingly bright.

Her gaze wandered around the room, stopping on the pair of small redfish on the table. The two fish, usually so quiet, swam excitedly back and forth today, circling a red bean at the bottom of the water.

As bright red and smoothly round as the two beans she had just removed from her wrist, it made her heart suddenly leap.

She got up and walked to the table to examine that red spot carefully.

It turned out to be countless tiny fish eggs gathered neatly together, stuck to the bottom of the crystal bottle, half the size of a grain of rice, like a small drop of fresh blood sunk in the water.

She stared blankly for a moment, then reached her hand into the water to touch the cluster of fish eggs. The Agashne fish was only as long as a finger joint, to begin with, and its eggs were extremely tiny. Like dust, they scattered with a single touch, and once scattered became even harder to find, like a trace of blood diffusing in the water, seemingly there yet not, seemingly gathered yet dispersed.

She recalled when Wang Zongshi gave her this pair of fish, he had told her these fish were extremely difficult to breed, and no one knew how to hatch the eggs, which was why they were so rare in the world. But since eggs were precious and she didn’t know the method, she should tell him when they laid eggs so he could collect them personally.

She lifted the crystal bottle and carefully examined the fish eggs settled at the bottom, her mind flashing to words she had overheard in Shu between Qi Teng and Yu Xuan. He had asked: Do you remember where my little red fish went?

That casual remark from then made her hair stand on end at this moment. These seemingly unconscious, self-sustaining little fish now appeared as if congealed from fresh blood, with something terrifyingly ominous about them that made her involuntarily set down the crystal bottle and back away several steps.

After a long while, she finally blew out the lamp on the table and retreated to her bed in the faint moonlight from the window. But the small fish in the crystal bottle remained extremely excited, stirring up waves in the bottle. Those rippling reflections scattered through the room, creating an eerie shifting light that made one increasingly uneasy.

Huang Zixia got up again to move the crystal bottle to a corner where moonlight couldn’t reach, before lying down with peace of mind.

She thought about her parents’ death, Yu Xuan’s death, the poison, Li Shubai’s talismans, and slowly curled up into herself, closing her eyes. She reached under her pillow to grip the silk pouch and pressed it against her face. The soft silk against her skin made it almost impossible to feel anything inside.

In her heart she thought, choose the simplest path. She had already involved too many people she couldn’t bear to part with, and she was too tired.

After all, however, one lives their life, it will be lived through completely.

Who accompanies you—what importance does that hold? As long as Li Shubai could have a different life, as long as the important people around her would no longer fall into tragedy because of her, what did anything else matter?

She lay quietly on her pillow and closed her eyes.

In her daze, she heard a gentle voice calling her: “Zixia, Zixia…”

She opened her eyes to see Li Shubai standing by her bed. He was leaning down, gazing at her, with moonlight backlighting him from behind, deeply etching his silhouette in her eyes.

She felt utterly weak and reached out her hand, softly calling “Your Highness,” then instantly burst into tears. He reached out to touch her, but his hand turned blood-red in mid-air. She was shocked to discover that the person standing opposite her, reaching out, was Yu Xuan. He called out “Axia,” blood gushing from his mouth, but before it hit the ground it transformed into countless jumping Agashne fish and eggs. Those jumping red fish instantly coalesced into a sharp blade, piercing into a chest—it was Prince E, Li Run, who stabbed the dagger into his own heart while laughing madly, transforming into a sky full of flames. It was the fire he had set in the Xiangluan Pavilion, rising and steaming upward, distorting the entire night sky, making everything become extraordinarily strange…

Huang Zixia’s whole body shuddered as she suddenly awoke. Outside the window, it was already bright daylight.

The silk pouch remained under her pillow, the small fish still in their crystal bottle.

A new day had arrived, and countless mysterious puzzles still awaited her. Even though she was too exhausted to want to get up, she still had to face it all, unable to find peace in hiding.

She put on her clothes and got up, took out a brush and ink to write a letter, addressed it to Elder Brother Zhou Ziqin’s residence, and had a young servant deliver it.

By the time she had finished washing up and was having breakfast, Zhou Ziqin had already rushed over, sitting across from her, seeming to have something to say but holding back.

Huang Zixia ladled him a bowl of porridge and handed it to him. Zhou Ziqin held the bowl while looking at her, then hesitantly asked: “In your letter to me, you said… you want me to look after Dicui?”

Huang Zixia nodded and said: “I’m very worried about her. I’m afraid someone might harm her, and even more afraid she might harm herself.”

Zhou Ziqin looked at her with difficulty, hesitated for a moment, then said: “Dicui, she…”

“What happened to her?” Huang Zixia’s heart jumped, and she asked immediately.

“I originally didn’t want to tell you, afraid you’d be upset… but yesterday when I went to the southern charity cemetery to pay respects to Second Brother Zhang, I met Elder Brother Zhang who had come to identify the body. He… he was completely broken, crying that his brother was dead, his father was dead, and even Dicui had disappeared…”

Huang Zixia urgently asked: “How did she disappear?”

“Well… after Old Master Zhang secretly left home, Second Brother Zhang’s sister-in-law and Dicui went looking for him together. They found him under the city tower, but Dicui had vanished somewhere… Anyway, she never came back,” Zhou Ziqin held his forehead, looking anxious. “I went asking around early this morning, and Elder Brother Zhang said Dicui hasn’t returned…”

“Hasn’t returned…” Huang Zixia was silent for a moment, then asked, “Have you inquired at the various government offices?”

After Dicui’s father committed his crime, the Emperor personally decreed her death. Though the Court of Justice had only perfunctorily posted a few wanted posters at the city gates for several days, she was still officially a wanted criminal. Now that she had suddenly disappeared, the situation looked grim.

“No! I’ll go ask right away,” Zhou Ziqin said quickly.

“Remember to avoid mentioning Dicui’s identity, first discreetly ask if there have been any lone women found,” Huang Zixia instructed him.

He nodded, then remembered something else, looked around and asked her in a lowered voice: “Have you seen His Highness recently?”

Huang Zixia hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a soft “Mm.”

“Is His Highness well?” he quickly asked.

Huang Zixia said softly: “He’s alright.”

“Alright? Not alright at all!” Zhou Ziqin interrupted her, his face full of anxiety. “Recently the capital has been in an uproar, all saying that the Prince of Kui is… is going to die!”

She gently pressed her lips together and asked: “Why?”

“Do you remember the matter of welcoming the Buddha’s relics?”

She nodded slightly.

“When they were originally planning to build stupas to welcome the Buddha’s relics into the capital, His Highness strongly opposed it. Later they reduced the number before proceeding. People in the capital are all saying it was because the Prince of Kui was possessed by evil spirits!”

“Didn’t they still build seventy-two along the way?”

“The common people say that one hundred and eight would be enough to suppress all evil spirits in the world, while seventy-two can only ward off disasters. The Prince of Kui interfered to reduce it by thirty-six—it was to save his own life!” Zhou Ziqin pointed toward the wall outside, his face full of anxiety, “Now these rumors are getting more and more intense, spreading through every street and alley! Add to that Prince E’s death before, and the deaths of Second Brother Zhang and his father yesterday—I heard… last night over a hundred elderly people from more than ten wards jointly submitted a petition, requesting the court need not follow legal procedures anymore. To appease Prince E’s spirit in heaven, they must swiftly execute the evil spirit!”

Huang Zixia took a deep breath and slowly asked: “So… this joint petition should be in front of His Majesty by now?”

“Probably… just don’t know how His Majesty will handle it in the end,” Zhou Ziqin pressed his palms together in prayer. “I just hope His Majesty will ultimately remember the Prince of Kui’s many years of service and not believe those absurd ghost stories, still letting the Court of Justice or Ministry of Justice handle this case.”

“Let’s hope so.” Huang Zixia murmured. In reality, she knew this was impossible. The Emperor had already decided to kill the Prince of Kui, and this petition would only add fuel to the fire—perhaps even the reason these people submitted the petition was pre-arranged. She shook her head but only said: “The Court of Justice, Ministry of Justice—who would dare to investigate this case? Minister Cui or Minister Wang, who would dare to take on this hot potato?”

“Lord Wang! Isn’t he investigating this case in the name of the Imperial Clan Court? And aren’t you helping him investigate? Isn’t that right?”

“The Imperial Clan Court isn’t a judicial office of the court after all. Currently, I’m investigating alone, without any support, and already facing numerous difficulties. Moreover, this case involves two princes, with court factions deeply entangled, creating obstacles everywhere. Where can we even begin?”

“I’ll help you! We… we’ll start with that ink-removal method!” Zhou Ziqin sat up straight and said, “Last time when I went to corner that Master Yi, demanding he teach me that ink-removal method, he didn’t want to teach me. I rolled around begging at his place for an entire day before he finally said it was his secret technique, only taught to his formal disciples.”

“Then what happened?” Huang Zixia knew his ability to pester was unmatched in the world—there was nothing he couldn’t accomplish.

Sure enough, he immediately leaned closer and said: “I immediately prepared the six ceremonial gifts, then knelt to serve tea and kowtow as his disciple. By that afternoon, I had extracted the secret method!”

Huang Zixia didn’t know whether to admire or despise this and finally chose to lower her head and silently drink her porridge: “Then why didn’t you tell me about it before?”

Hearing her say this, Zhou Ziqin’s face showed some disappointment: “Don’t mention it—the method I finally got doesn’t work on that talisman.”

“Tell me about the method?”

“It’s like this: to remove the cinnabar from a talisman, you need to lightly heat the cinnabar-stained paper by the fire. When the drawing becomes warm, continuously dab the paper with a soft cloth dipped in white vinegar while maintaining a gentle heat to steam it, avoiding making the paper too wet and ruined. It works better with thick paper—thin paper is completely hopeless. To thoroughly draw out the cinnabar from a thick paper without damaging it, you usually need to dab intermittently for a day and night. After removing all the color, then brew tea indoors and steam it for another day to remove the vinegar smell from the paper.”

Huang Zixia pondered: “So it takes at least two days and one night?”

“Yes, but you mentioned before that the Prince of Kui said that the talisman changed color several times in less than half a day—it couldn’t possibly have been done using this method.” Zhou Ziqin held his head in frustration.

“Moreover, the Prince of Kui has an exceptional memory. How could he not notice if the talisman had been manipulated like this?” Huang Zixia frowned slightly, fell silent for a moment, then slowly said, “Perhaps we’ve been thinking about this backward all along.”

“What’s backward?” Zhou Ziqin quickly asked.

“Perhaps there’s no need for any method to erase the talisman at all, there might be an even simpler technique…” As she spoke, she furrowed her brow tightly, “But without being able to see the Prince of Kui’s talisman now, I can’t be certain of my theory for the moment.”

“Where is the Prince of Kui’s talisman now?”

“It should still be in the prince’s residence, in the Yubing Pavilion. But now the Prince of Kui is in the Imperial Clan Court pavilion in Xiuzheng Ward and can’t return to his residence to retrieve things.”

Zhou Ziqin thought for a moment, then slapped his forehead and said: “I could take my box, secretly swap it with the Prince’s box, then bring it to the Prince—wouldn’t that work?”

Huang Zixia found it somewhat amusing: “Why sneak around swapping boxes? That talisman isn’t important anymore now. Why not just have someone ask the Prince for a note to retrieve items from his residence? Wouldn’t that be better?”

“Oh… that’s true.” Zhou Ziqin left as soon as he spoke, immediately standing up and walking out. “Then it’s settled—I’ll get that talisman and bring it to you to examine.”

Huang Zixia watched him run toward the door with some helplessness. For this Zhou Ziqin who came and went like the wind, she could only call out: “Be careful!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she suddenly froze, as if something in her mind made her think of something for an instant, but it was vague and elusive, seeming impossible to grasp.

She murmured to herself, repeating Zhou Ziqin’s words: “Take one’s box, to swap with the Prince’s box…”

She suddenly jumped up and shouted: “Zhou Ziqin!”

Zhou Ziqin had already walked outside, and was startled by her voice, quickly turning back: “What is it?”

“Wait a moment.” As she spoke, she pulled out the hairpin from her hair and began drawing on the table. Zhou Ziqin was completely puzzled, but knowing this was her habit, he could only lean against the door, watching her draw chaotically, though with very light strokes that left barely any marks on the table. He watched for a long time but couldn’t make anything of it, so he gave up.

Huang Zixia had already put her jade hairpin back into its silver sheath and stood up to tell him: “Let’s go.”

“Where to?” Zhou Ziqin asked.

“Liang’s Woodworking Shop, to find Master Sun.”

Though the first month was typically the slow season for woodworking shops, Liang’s was still doing brisk business, with several courtyards piled full of high-quality timber. People chatted while working: “Who’s this for this time, making such a big production?”

“It’s the Langya Wang family preparing for a wedding—that’s the Empress’s cousin, Minister Wang’s son, the Right Commander of the Imperial Guards, Wang Yun. I heard he’s marrying the daughter of Lord Huang, who was originally Vice Minister of Justice before being transferred to serve as Prefecture Governor of Chengdu.”

Everyone immediately nodded in approval: “Oh, a perfect match of equal status, a match made in heaven!”

Zhou Ziqin immediately turned a shocked gaze toward Huang Zixia.

Huang Zixia hadn’t expected to encounter this matter here today. Hearing these people discuss her marriage to Wang Yun, she didn’t know what to feel, only turning her back, feeling overwhelmed with shame and guilt.

Zhou Ziqin leaned in closer, whispering: “So you came to look at your dowry?”

Huang Zixia’s face instantly turned red. Both embarrassed and upset, she glared at him before turning to enter the shop to find Master Sun.

Zhou Ziqin heard people still discussing behind him: “But usually, the dowry is prepared by the bride’s family, so why is the Wang family making it now?”

“Ah, Lord Huang’s family only has this lone daughter left—who else could prepare it for her? Isn’t it better that the Wang family prepares everything, then sends it to join the wedding procession outside the city, so she can have a grand entrance into the Wang family?”

“Though this Miss Huang has faced hardships, she’s truly blessed to find such a family to marry into!”

Zhou Ziqin turned silently, seeing Huang Zixia appearing not to hear, walking toward Master Sun who was busy with his ink markers and chisels. He quickly caught up to follow behind her.

Huang Zixia’s gaze, like last time, swept across Master Sun’s woodworking bench where axes, planes, wood chunks, and sawdust lay scattered—hard to imagine that such exquisite boxes and vessels came from here.

Master Sun immediately recognized Zhou Ziqin and quickly greeted him: “You’re here! What would you like made today?”

Zhou Ziqin glanced at Huang Zixia, seeing her standing woodenly silent, and said: “Today I’m mainly here accompanying her to look around.”

“Oh, is that so?” Master Sun said, rubbing his hands together with a smile. “Young master, how is that box you bought from me last time working out?”

“It’s fine,” Zhou Ziqin said casually.

“That’s right—my master used to tell me, master a craft well and you’ll have mountains of gold and silver. Of course, I wouldn’t dare dream of making a fortune like him, I’m just grateful to have enough to eat thanks to my customers’ patronage.”

Hearing him speak this way, Huang Zixia asked: “Though your master was a famous woodworker in Chang’an, with money rolling in naturally, but still, as a craftsman, it must have been quite hard work, right?”

“How could it not be? The old man worked hard his whole life, always just getting by, then three or four years ago finally bought over ten mu of land in his hometown, and a large house. He told me he was done, going home to live a good life…” He sighed, shaking his head, “But sadly, the master wasn’t fated for it. On the way back home, he encountered bandits and his whole family… Alas!”

Zhou Ziqin asked: “What about the land and house?”

“Probably divided up by his clan members, I’m not sure anymore.”

Huang Zixia said quietly: “What a pity—over ten mu of land and a large house, more than an ordinary person could earn in a lifetime. He suddenly had it all, but ultimately wasn’t blessed enough to enjoy it.”

“Yes, perhaps it was master’s life savings… though I never noticed before.” As Master Sun spoke, he looked at Zhou Ziqin with an ingratiating smile. “Would the young master like another box like that one?”

“No thanks, what would I want such a complicated box for? That box takes forever just to unlock—it’s only suitable for people with exceptionally good memory. I could never manage it smoothly,” Zhou Ziqin said dismissively.

Huang Zixia looked around the shop’s layout and asked: “Master Sun, do you still have any of your master’s belongings?”

Master Sun shook his head, saying: “He was preparing to leave the capital—what would he leave behind? He just gave me all his tools, saying he’d never use them again.”

Huang Zixia asked: “May I see your master’s tools?”

“Oh, sure, though some have worn down over the years, and I’ve thrown some away…” He led them to the back, crouched down to open a toolbox, and began taking items out one by one, laying them on the ground.

Huang Zixia’s gaze swept over the worn carpenter’s square, ink marker, cotton string, and other items, finally settling on several pieces of beeswax: “Do carpenters use this?”

“Yes, the master used it—I found it strange too, and it wasn’t even very sticky beeswax, seemed to have sawdust mixed in,” Master Sun explained. “When I first started learning, master told me some carpenters with poor skills make loose tenon joints, and to deceive customers, they fill the joints with beeswax. It seems secure when customers first take it home, but after a while, the beeswax loosens, and the tenon becomes unstable in the mortise—at best the furniture wobbles, at worst it falls apart. My master proudly said he’d never used beeswax in his thirty years since becoming a master!”

Huang Zixia lightly poked the beeswax with her finger. After many years, and now in the severe cold, it had frozen into hard black lumps, with lots of sawdust mixed in, looking quite ugly.

Zhou Ziqin commented from the side: “Looks like your master’s skills weren’t so great after all—he ended up using it after all these years.”

Master Sun said indignantly: “That’s not true! My master’s craftsmanship was exceptional, absolutely no problems! Perhaps he used it for something else!”

“What else could it be used for? With all this sawdust, it’s been used on the workbench,” Zhou Ziqin retorted.

Master Sun’s face reddened, but he couldn’t respond. Huang Zixia broke off a small piece of beeswax, wrapped it in oiled paper, and stood up saying: “Thank you, Master Sun. I think your master was a famous craftsman, so there must have been some other use for this, certainly not the common purpose.”

“That’s right…” Master Sun said sullenly.

Huang Zixia turned to leave, with Zhou Ziqin following behind, asking: “What do you want with that stuff?”

“Nothing much,” Huang Zixia said quietly. “Perhaps this is the secret to opening that box.”

“What? Beeswax can open that box?” Zhou Ziqin exclaimed in surprise.

Huang Zixia nodded slightly.

Zhou Ziqin followed her through the busy courtyard full of woodworkers, seeing her walk straight ahead without looking back. He anxiously asked: “Chonggu, tell me, what’s going on?”

But Huang Zixia said nothing more, just quickly walking out of the large courtyard. Standing in the cold early spring wind, she let out a long breath, then turned to look at him: “Ziqin…”

Zhou Ziqin quickly moved closer, almost wagging an imaginary tail: “Chonggu?”

“Do you remember that case we solved in Shu last Mid-Autumn Festival? The one with the konghou musician?”

“Eh? You mean the case where the apprentice Yu Li killed her master Bitao?” He couldn’t make sense of why she suddenly brought up a case from Shu.

She gazed at the clouds on the horizon and nodded: “At that time, we noticed a fresh scratch on Bitao’s hand and determined something must have been removed from it, right?”

“Yes, it was that gold armband from that man, which led to the tragedy between master and apprentice. Ah, what a pity—both women were quite beautiful.” Zhou Ziqin’s focus inevitably landed on lamenting the fate of beautiful women.

“Actually, in this world, if you look for them, you can always find corresponding traces, right?” Huang Zixia turned to look at him, the sunlight behind her, her eyes particularly bright in the backlight, making her whole person seem to glow. “For instance, whether it’s a craftsman’s randomly placed eighty small copper pins, or the Prince of Kui’s casually arranged eighty chaotic characters—if one is determined, they can all leave traces, isn’t that so?”

Zhou Ziqin thought carefully, looking at her somewhat bewildered: “So… you mean, the key point is the beeswax?”

She nodded, saying softly: “Yes, and then, I need to verify one last thing. If this proves true, then everything can end.”

As she spoke, her expression was impossible to read as either joy or sorrow, but her eyes were covered with a thin layer of mist.

In the weak winter sunlight, Chang’an appeared dim and decrepit, with leafless trees standing listlessly along the streets—it seemed her face alone held any radiance in the entire world. The unwavering determination in her eyes made Zhou Ziqin feel both familiar and strange, generating feelings of both reverence and pity in his heart, yet he couldn’t express them, only silently watching her, saying: “If it ends… that would be good.”

After seeing her home and bidding farewell, he walked alone through Chang’an’s streets, looking at the dim, half-clouded sky.

He suddenly realized why Huang Zixia’s look had seemed familiar.

One winter, he and a group of close friends from the Imperial Guards had arranged to go hunting in the distant suburbs. On the winter plains, they galloped on horseback, driving deer herds into their encirclement, then shooting them down. Panic-stricken spotted deer fell one by one as they ran, unable to escape the fate of arrows piercing their bodies.

Their circle grew smaller and smaller, until finally, one last deer remained among the bodies of its companions, eyes wide, staring at all the mounted hunters approaching.

The deer’s eyes were clear and bright, appearing especially large beneath long thick lashes—one could almost clearly see the reflections of drawn bows and arrows within them.

Moved by some emotion, Zhou Ziqin slowly lowered his bow, staring blankly at the deer.

Among the bodies of the herd, its slender limbs and beautiful four-pointed antlers stood out distinctly. More than ten people had their bowstrings drawn, all aimed at it.

In that final moment before death, it leaped with all its might, jumping over all its dead companions, and sprinting forward. Two arrows grazed its body, leaving its beautiful fur streaked with blood, but it disappeared into the mountain ravine with its wounds, never to be seen again.

Only those eyes remained in Zhou Ziqin’s memory.

Just like Huang Zixia’s eyes—that unwavering determination even when facing despair.

For a moment he felt dazed, as if everything in the world was far away from him, seemingly impossible to draw near again. He could only lean against a tree behind him, standing quietly for a while.

In his heart, he wondered if she could be like that deer—making one final desperate leap, ultimately breaking free from the encirclement, running toward her world.

And that wounded deer that had fled into the forest—in the end, had it survived?