Splashes of color swept across the evening clouds, surging like the rise and fall of ocean waves.

Whitecaps crested and broke against the towering hull of the great ship.

Out on the open sea, far from the mountain shore, the sound of the waves had taken the place of wind through pines, spiraling through broad, spread sleeves.

Fu Xuanmiao reclined half-prone on a luohan bed carved from a single block of agarwood, his eyes lightly closed, his expression still and composed. His slender right hand, pale as flawless jade, rested against the pale blue ice-silkworm silk.

A sea breeze drifted in through the half-latched window, stirring his ink-dark hair. His lashes trembled faintly, but the rest of him did not move at all.

Yanhe entered the cabin with a stack of name cards, tiptoeing quietly. He set them down as softly as he could, and had just begun to turn and withdraw when the figure on the bed suddenly spoke:

“How many pledges of allegiance have come in?”

Yanhe stiffened at once, dropping to one knee without delay.

“In reply to Young Master — forty-two name cards and letters in total.”

Fu Xuanmiao propped himself up on one hand and asked quietly, “…And who are they?”

Yanhe reported the names on each card and letter one by one.

Fu Xuanmiao’s eyes did not open throughout.

When Yanhe finished reciting the names, the cabin was silent for a long while, filled only with the sound of waves breaking against the hull outside.

“Still no word from Yufeng?”

“…He has still not made contact.”

Fu Xuanmiao opened his eyes and sat upright on the luohan bed. The pale blue silk ribbon slid from his body and fell away like a drifting shadow.

His expression remained unmoved, and he asked with cool detachment, “Any word from Yangliu’s side?”

“Nothing.” Yanhe bowed his head. “…Their last carrier pigeon came from Xuzhou.”

“What is Yangliu doing?”

“I heard from the attendants that Yangliu called for a physician to visit yesterday… she seems to have fallen ill.”

“Fallen ill?”

“…Yes.” Yanhe studied his master’s expression with caution. “Young Master… do you wish to go visit her?”

The bow of the great ship rang with the continuous, languid strains of music, while the cabins at the stern sank deeper into the darkening night.

Yangliu was half-reclined in her bed, leaning against a soft pillow, her snow-white undergarment making her pallid complexion appear even more delicate and frail.

The rocking of the berth worsened her discomfort. She curled her hand into a fist, bringing it to her bloodless lips as she coughed softly.

The maidservant attending her hurriedly offered up a cup of hot tea. Yangliu shook her head and pushed the teacup away.

“Has the evening banquet begun?” she asked, her voice low and hoarse.

“It started the time of one incense stick ago,” the maidservant said.

“The Young Master…” Yangliu coughed before she could help herself, then said, “Has the Young Master attended the banquet?”

The maidservant hesitated briefly. “The Young Master… does not appear to have attended.”

Yangliu said nothing. It was the maidservant who spoke, anxious that she might overthink it, hurrying to add: “The Young Master values you greatly, Mistress. Since he has not gone to the banquet tonight, perhaps he will come to visit you before long—”

“Even when the Young Master does not attend the banquet, there are many matters awaiting his judgment.” Yangliu gave a self-mocking smile. “My station is so low — how could I dare hope that the Young Master would stoop to visit someone like me?”

“Mistress, you…”

“There is no need to comfort me. What manner of person I am — others may not understand, but surely you know full well.”

The maidservant fell silent, a flicker of sympathy and compassion crossing her eyes.

“I have long since grown accustomed to it…” Yangliu began to cough again.

“The medicine the kitchen is decocting should be ready by now. This servant will go fetch it for you, Mistress—”

The maidservant tucked Yangliu’s blanket snugly around her and hurried out of the cabin.

Yangliu coughed until the blood in her chest settled. A sickly flush crept onto her pallid cheeks. She gazed at the moonlight pouring through the window and murmured in a voice no louder than a gnat’s hum:

“Tainted and wilted — I dare not aspire to the moonlight…”

Faint footsteps sounded from beyond the door. Yangliu paid them no mind and said, “Xing’er, did you forget something?”

“It is I.”

A tall, willowy figure draped in cool blue stepped into the cabin, carrying with him the clean chill of moonlight, pure as jade cut from the Kunlun mountains.

Yangliu’s heart lurched, and a sudden surge of joy welled up within her. She struggled out of bed and fell to her knees on the cold, damp floor. “Yangliu pays her respects to the Young Master—”

He swept the spare and elegant cabin with an impassive gaze and said, “Why are you here alone?”

“Xing’er has gone to fetch the medicine and will be back shortly.” Yangliu wanted to rise, then remembered she had not yet received Fu Xuanmiao’s permission. She shuffled forward on her knees two steps toward him. “Young Master, is there something you need? Yangliu is glad to serve—”

She could not help coughing again.

Fu Xuanmiao seemed only then to notice she was still kneeling on the floor.

“You are still unwell — rise.”

“Yes!” A look of deep gratitude crossed Yangliu’s face. She braced herself against the side table nearby and at last managed to stand.

Her complexion was wan, and her slender frame swayed on the gently rocking floor as if she might collapse at any moment.

Any ordinary man would have found it difficult to look away without concern.

Fu Xuanmiao seated himself in the armchair, picked up the teapot from the small table to his right, and lifted the lid of the teacup on the tray.

“Young Master, let me—”

“You are still unwell. Allow me.”

Fu Xuanmiao gently moved aside the hand Yangliu reached forward, poured a cup of hot tea himself, and let his calm eyes travel past the floating tea leaves, past the wisps of rising steam, past the half-open latticed window — without once looking at Yangliu directly.

A feeling of unease rose within Yangliu’s heart, and her weakened body swayed more visibly.

“Young Master… have I done something wrong to displease you?” she asked in a fragile voice.

“You are unfailingly loyal — how could you have done anything wrong?”

Fu Xuanmiao’s all-seeing gaze finally settled on Yangliu’s face, and a chill ran down her spine as she instinctively dropped to her knees.

“Young Master, this servant is guilty—”

“Of what guilt?”

“This servant… this servant has displeased the Young Master — that is the gravest guilt of all…”

“Yangliu, you have been at my side since the age of thirteen.” Fu Xuanmiao held out the cup of tea he had prepared to Yangliu where she knelt on the floor, his expression unchanged. “If I truly disliked you, would you have remained by my side for so long?”

“Young Master…”

Yangliu received the teacup with trembling hands held high.

“Yufeng has gone missing. Are you aware?”

A single dispassionate remark from Fu Xuanmiao was enough to make the teacup in Yangliu’s hands jolt.

Scalding tea sloshed out and poured over the web of her hand. She did not dare let go, enduring the piercing pain with rigid composure.

“Did not the Young Master receive a letter from his sworn elder brother just a few days ago? How could he have suddenly gone missing?” she said, keeping her voice deliberately steady.

“The last reply I received from Yufeng was ten days ago. The last carrier pigeon you received from Yufeng was seven days ago. As for the question of how he could have suddenly gone missing…” Fu Xuanmiao’s expression was placid as still water. “Shouldn’t that be something I ask you?”

The teacup slipped from Yangliu’s hands. Scalding tea drenched her from head to toe. She endured the burning pain across her thighs, heedless of the tea now pooling across the floor, and prostrated herself in a frantic bow.

“Young Master—”

“A sworn brother working abroad, a sworn sister keeping watch at home, anxious for his welfare and exchanging messages of reassurance — that is perfectly natural.” Fu Xuanmiao lifted the second teacup and began to pour hot tea into it.

His calm gaze followed the silent stream of water as it fell, and he said: “I only find myself somewhat puzzled. Why is it that in every single letter, Yufeng reported to you on the progress of the search for the Princess of Yue?”

“Young Master…” Yangliu knew that any attempt at justification was useless before this man. She opened her mouth and found no words — only tears that rushed forth one after another.

“Are you not puzzled, wondering why after a whole year of wandering, Yufeng has obtained not a single piece of useful information?” Fu Xuanmiao smiled faintly. “Because when I sent him out, my true intention was to test you. How could I possibly give him intelligence that was truly useful?”

Fu Xuanmiao set down the teapot with a gentle click and held the freshly poured cup of hot tea out to Yangliu once more. Yangliu accepted it with hands that would not stop trembling.

“In your thirteenth year, I redeemed you from the music hall. Your mind is keen, your understanding of human nature sharp — you have gathered intelligence for me in every direction and won people’s hearts and allegiances. I always believed you to be utterly loyal to me. Have I been wrong about that?”

“How could the Young Master have been wrong?” Yangliu shook her head desperately, her face drained of all color. “Yangliu would walk through fire and water for the Young Master. Even if the Young Master commanded me to die here this very moment, Yangliu would not hesitate for even an instant!”

“How could I bear to have you die here?”

Had any other person said those words, they would have been tender enough to entangle the heart.

Every word was gentle — and yet they were spoken in Fu Xuanmiao’s cold, clear voice. He looked down at Yangliu kneeling on the floor, tea stains yellowing her white undergarment, her frail body trembling slightly — and he remained unmoved, his expression blank.

He spoke gentle words with a merciless expression.

“Yangliu, I need you,” he said. “Do not disappoint me again.”

“Yes… Yangliu will never again disappoint the Young Master!” Yangliu nodded over and over, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Stop crying,” Fu Xuanmiao said softly. “When you cry, you do not look well. They will not find it appealing.”

Yangliu’s body gave a faint shudder.

“Yesterday you did not attend the banquet, and the military governor of Langwen asked after you.” Fu Xuanmiao said quietly. “We will be disembarking in another day. If we wish to gather intelligence and win over these military governors, tonight is our only opportunity. Ganlu has prepared a new performance of the Sogdian Whirl dance and suggested taking your place on stage. But I wished to come and ask you first — are you willing to let her take your place?”

To be replaced — those two words terrified Yangliu more than any punishment ever could.

Fu Xuanmiao never lacked for new faces at his side. The ranks of his shadow guards changed every month. If one Yangliu left his household, there was always a Ganlu waiting to fill the vacancy. If one Yufeng disappeared from among his guards, a Yanhe emerged to take his place. To be replaced once was to risk being replaced forever.

She was the longest-serving person at Fu Xuanmiao’s side, and yet she could be replaced at any moment.

There were countless women younger than her, more beautiful than her, more fiercely ambitious than her — all waiting for the chance to rise.

She could not let her guard slip for even an instant. She had to sell whatever she could sell, in exchange for a fleeting moment of Fu Xuanmiao’s attention.

For that fleeting moment, she was willing to sell everything.

Yangliu swallowed back her tears and said, “Ganlu grew up in a pleasure house and is not well-acquainted with the habits and temperaments of these frontier governors. If she were to act carelessly, she might risk offending important guests. Though Yangliu is of modest appearance, I have had dealings with several military governors before. If the Young Master wishes to err on the side of caution, it would be better to entrust this matter to Yangliu.”

“I naturally trust you more — but your health…” Fu Xuanmiao’s cold gaze fell upon her.

Yangliu gathered a fold of her undertrousers, concealing the faint yellow tea stains within her palm.

She bowed her head. Her voice was hoarse yet resolute. “Yangliu is unable to sing and dance tonight, but my hands are still capable. I can offer a new composition to lend festivity to the banquet.”

“Very well,” Fu Xuanmiao said. “…The tea has gone warm. Drink it.”

Yangliu closed her tear-bright eyes and drank every last drop of tea in the cup.

“It is still too sparse in here,” Fu Xuanmiao said, rising and casting a glance over the cabin, which could only be called spartan. “If you are lacking in people or furnishings, go and acquire them. Do not give others reason to laugh.”

“Yes…”

Fu Xuanmiao was just about to leave when his gaze was suddenly caught by something on the table.

His expression changed abruptly. In a single swift stride he crossed to the writing desk and, with unerring purpose, picked out one particular piece of floral notepaper from among the scattered sheets — one painted with wild ducks frolicking on water.

“…Whose is this?” Fu Xuanmiao kept his voice controlled, yet his eyes were locked unwaveringly on the notepaper in his hand.

“It is a set of floral notepaper my sworn elder brother sent along with a letter when he passed through Xuzhou. He knew I had a fondness for such little things. There is no other significance.” Yangliu rose in a panic. “…I will burn it immediately.”

“This is the Princess of Yue’s handwriting.”

Fu Xuanmiao’s single sentence left Yangliu rooted to the spot as though struck by lightning.

“Mistress, I have brought the medicine—”

The maidservant’s words died in her throat the moment she saw Fu Xuanmiao standing in the room. She gave such a start that her hands jerked, nearly dropping the medicine bowl.

“Young Master…”

Fu Xuanmiao paid no attention to the maidservant now scrambling to kneel. He called Yanhe, who was waiting outside.

“Young Master, what are your instructions?” Yanhe dropped to one knee.

“Find and bring me the remaining floral notepaper, as well as all correspondence between Yufeng and yourself.” Fu Xuanmiao said.

Yangliu rose in a daze, moving like a marionette on strings, doing exactly as Fu Xuanmiao had directed.

She handed over the correspondence and notepaper. Yanhe took them from her hands, and Fu Xuanmiao turned without a moment’s hesitation and walked out of the room.

Yangliu stared after his retreating figure as it disappeared through the doorway, her mind utterly blank.

“Mistress… what has happened?” The maidservant grasped her arm, her voice filled with worry.

Yangliu murmured in a daze: “That which has been searched for with broken iron shoes and never found — why would it appear at a time like this? Could it be that no matter how carefully I have calculated… I truly cannot outmaneuver the will of Heaven?”

Along the broad passage on the side of the great ship, two figures strode forward at a swift and purposeful pace.

Yanhe, clutching a pile of letters, stole furtive glances at Fu Xuanmiao’s expression from behind, his heart full of trepidation yet not daring to speak.

Fu Xuanmiao had barely set foot inside the study before he asked in a low, steady voice: “Where was Yufeng last seen?”

Yanhe replied promptly: “In response to Young Master — after our people tracked him to Xuzhou, Yufeng appeared to have sensed he was being followed and took a side road to shake off the surveillance. We know only that he entered Xuzhou, but not which county he made his way to.”

“This is the floral notepaper Yufeng sent from Xuzhou. The handwriting on it belongs to the Princess of Yue.”

Yanhe looked down at the notepaper in his hands in astonishment. To his eyes, it was simply a sheet of notepaper with above-average artistry. Yet Fu Xuanmiao had been able to identify the Princess of Yue’s handwriting at a glance.

No wonder the Young Master was so shaken.

“Yufeng vanished in Xuzhou, and the notepaper also originated from Xuzhou — it cannot be ruled out that the two of them encountered each other, and something has gone wrong.” Fu Xuanmiao’s expression was troubled. “Mobilize our people immediately and set out for Xuzhou at once. Bring back the Princess of Yue unharmed — at whatever cost—”

“Yes!” Yanhe clasped his fist to his chest and accepted the order with a resounding declaration: “This subordinate departs at once!”