Yan Zi stood with arms crossed atop the tip of the banner pole, a space barely a few inches wide. The snapping of his sash in the wind mingled with the fluttering of the surrounding prayer flags; the harmony was so perfect that everyone present had overlooked his existence.
However, the ancient sword in his hand radiated an aura that gripped the heart. This presence was hidden within the sound of the wind; had one not personally traded blows with him, even the most elite martial artist might not have detected it.
The sound Xiao Nanhui had heard just moments ago was the sound of this sword leaving its scabbard.
Months ago, when she first crossed blades with this man, she had nearly died by his hand.
When had he ascended the sacrificial platform? Aside from her, had anyone else noticed this assassin who had infiltrated the ceremony?
The Changmi Platform was surrounded on all sides by narrow, steep stone steps. Climbing them would take at least a few moments, and by then, whatever was meant to happen would have already occurred.
Most importantly, there was not a single iron hairpin to be found upon the high platform today. The ritual officials nearest to the center held only vessels of gold and jade, and even the honored generals had received only short, brittle jade swords.
In that single moment of distraction, she looked back toward the top of the banner. The long sword in the purple-clad man’s hand, bright as snow, was already raised high.
To Xiao Nanhui, it did not look like a sword at all, but a reaping scythe raised against a field of green wheat.
The ritual official’s painstaking lecture on etiquette from earlier that morning was cast to the winds. She kicked aside the offering table and incense altar blocking her path, and in the same motion, she hurled the jade sword the Emperor had just bestowed upon her toward the Libo Bell hanging above Celestial Master Fu Qiu’s head.
The jade sword was unsharpened and its texture was hard yet brittle. It shattered instantly upon striking the ancient bronze bell, but the impact produced a crisp, resonant chime. The premature tolling of the bell vibrated across the Changmi Platform, drowning out all other noise.
This warning signal drew every eye on the platform toward the space above Fu Qiu’s head.
Fu Qiu, reacting late, slowly looked up.
Because of his unique vantage point, he first got a clear view of the purple-clad assassin’s wide trousers and the soles of his feet, and only then did he notice the sword blade slowly gathering momentum.
This was the first time Xiao Nanhui had seen Fu Qiu’s eyes truly open.
Those eyes, which usually seemed perpetually half-closed, were now wide as a bull’s. His legs, which supposedly could not manage stairs and required a palanquin’s service, suddenly found the vigor of youth. He leaped three yards into the air, and in the blink of an eye, he had scurried to the very back of the line of ritual officials. When he opened his mouth, his voice was as resonant as a great bell, comparable to the brawny men of Lingdong hawking flatbreads on Yanfu Street.
“An assassin! Someone, come quickly! Guards!”
This startled cry was like a massive boulder dropped into a deep pool, throwing the crowds inside and outside the Changmi Platform into total chaos—it was even more effective than the bell’s toll.
However, sound was not as fast as light. The sword in Yan Zi’s hand dove from mid-air like a beam of radiance, aimed straight for the center of the Emperor’s back.
Xiao Nanhui felt the clothes on her back instantly soak with sweat. She lunged toward the Emperor’s silhouette with all her might, yet she was still too slow to catch that streak of light.
At the critical moment, another shadow flashed out from beneath the altar where Fu Qiu had been sitting, meeting the purple-clad assassin’s blade.
Though she had long known this sycophantic guard was a master of martial arts, seeing him exert his full strength against an enemy today still left Xiao Nanhui in awe. Such saber techniques had already reached the pinnacle; were it not for the disadvantage of his weapon against the opponent's, he would likely find few matches in this world.
At last, she understood why the Emperor had only Ding Weixiang by his side.
One man was enough.
*Clang.*
White blades collided; the saber hummed and the sword sang.
The killing intent was halted a mere foot from the Emperor’s back.
The saber-wielder and the swordsman each retreated several yards, neither gaining the upper hand. Both were clearly surprised.
Ding Weixiang held the home-field advantage and seemed prepared. With a sharp whistle, the well-trained sentries of the Black Feather Camp closed in on the Changmi Platform from all directions. He did not rush to order an attack, instead carefully shielding the Emperor in a blind spot of the confrontation while warily observing the enemy’s style.
Yan Zi stood beneath the Libo Bell, steadying his breath. He knew that since his first strike had failed and his opponent was an equal match, continuing the struggle would only become more disadvantageous. Yet, he did not seem intent on leaving immediately.
By now, the panicked and disorganized ritual officials had finally regained their wits. Clutching their ceremonial vessels and dragging their long robes, they moved slowly toward the stone steps.
In a flash, Yan Zi suddenly lunged toward the back of the last official in the line.
Neither Ding Weixiang nor Xiao Nanhui had expected this move. A white light flashed, and the official’s silk sash was instantly severed, falling to the ground. The jade casket he had been carrying was gone.
A brilliant feint to lure the tiger from the mountain.
Xiao Nanhui finally understood Yan Zi’s true objective. His apparent assassination attempt was merely a cover to steal the Secret Seal, which left the palace only once a year.
The moment the item was in his grasp, the purple-clad swordsman wasted no more time. He leaped across the temporary pillars set up around the altar, using them as springboards to head toward the outer perimeter of the Changmi Platform.
However, in the time it took him to rise and fall, the Black Feather Camp sentries had already readied their bows. At Ding Weixiang’s command, a dark cloud of arrows flew toward the shadow.
Yet Yan Zi was able to flip in mid-air to dodge. He burst forth with incredible strength despite having no solid footing, his white blade dancing into a shield of light so dense that not a drop of water could pass through. In an instant, he struck down the black-feathered arrows fired from the heavy two-dan bows.
Just then, a faint sound of bells rang out from the southwest.
The purple-clad swordsman used the sound to gauge his position and instantly found a weak point in the Black Feather guard. With a single leap, he was thirty feet away. The ordinary guards were no match for him; the perimeter, which had not yet been fully tightened, was instantly torn open. Yan Zi departed with his sword, moving as if he were passing through an empty field.
Such audacious behavior required the confidence of superior skill, but what Xiao Nanhui cared about more at that moment was the sound of the bells she had heard amidst the noisy crowd.
The bell sound had come from the spectators. It was extremely faint and muffled, but not impossible to trace. It sounded like an ordinary courier bell or an ornament worn by a lady, but a careful ear could distinguish the difference.
Most importantly, she had heard that exact sound when she fought those Puhuna in Se Qiu.
On the other side, Ding Weixiang had already set off in pursuit of Yan Zi. Xiao Nanhui couldn't worry about anything else. She sprinted down the Changmi Platform toward the approaching guard units, snatched a saber from one of the soldiers in passing, and turned to chase the direction where the bell sound had originated in the crowd.
The people on the outskirts did not yet know what had happened at the front. Many were still immersed in the festive atmosphere, their eyes fixed on the high platform and their words full of excitement. She alone moved against the current, struggling through the crush of bodies.
The moment she reached level ground and entered the district of buildings and shops, Xiao Nanhui flipped herself onto the roof tiles, searching for any suspicious moving figures.
Sure enough, in a deep alley among the residential houses not far away, a figure flashed past in a hurry.
At this time, the crowds of onlookers were all squeezed into the main streets, leaving the alleys empty. It was the perfect moment for a pursuit.
She dropped down and locked onto the figure, chasing them deep into the maze of alleys.
After a short chase, she began to feel the strain.
Jiaosong was a small place. The walls and eaves in the residential districts were much lower than those in Que City, and the passages were cramped. Some alleys were even cluttered with firewood and thatched sheds for winter fuel. Not only was it impossible to run at full speed, but even walking quickly was a struggle.
Turning a corner into a narrow lane, she collided head-on with a fortune teller carrying a tattered sign. Both of them stumbled back a few steps.
Though it was only a moment’s delay, by the time she hurriedly apologized and looked up again, the mouth of the alley was empty. It was as if no suspicious person had ever been there.
Amidst her frustration, Xiao Nanhui quickly realized something and grabbed the fortune teller.
“Did you see someone pass by just now? Which way did they go?”
The fortune teller, having been bumped, was feeling disgruntled. Seeing Xiao Nanhui’s desperate need for help, he began to act difficult.
“Didn't see 'em, didn't see 'em.”
Xiao Nanhui was anxious to find the person’s whereabouts and refused to give up. She pressed further.
“I am on urgent business. I saw that person come through this alley, which is why I was running so fast. Sir, did you truly not see anyone pass? Did you not see their face?”
“This old man is lame and blind. What could I possibly see?”
This time, Xiao Nanhui finally caught the underlying meaning.
He clearly wasn't blind, yet he claimed to be. This was a form of self-deprecation intended to invite further questioning—and a bribe.
Just as they were at a standstill, another figure dropped down from the other side. It was Ding Weixiang.
Ding Weixiang glanced at Xiao Nanhui, then at the fortune teller, whom he promptly ignored.
“Where is he?”
Xiao Nanhui didn't bother with pleasantries. “Lost him.”
Seeing the grim look on his face, she knew he had also lost Yan Zi. She took the initiative to call a truce.
“I’ll let you off with my words this once, so don't you start lecturing me. Besides, I saved your master’s life again on that platform. We’re even.”
Ding Weixiang gave a cold snort. He didn't bring up their past grievances, but instead coldly sized up the fortune teller.
The fortune teller couldn't tell what Ding Weixiang’s background was. He was stroking his two thin whiskers, intending to continue haggling with Xiao Nanhui.
“This gentleman here can be the judge. It’s not that this old man is unwilling to help, but because of this ceremony, more than half the people in Jiaosong have cleared out. I haven't had a single customer; I haven't had a grain of rice in my belly for days. My head is spinning and my brains are all muddled. I really didn't notice any suspicious person.”
Xiao Nanhui felt as if she were looking at a version of Wu Xiaoliu several decades into the future.
Unfortunately, this man wasn't fat. When he tried to be clever, he lacked that touch of honest simplicity, making him look particularly irritating.
She was about to resort to her old tricks, but before she could draw her weapon, Ding Weixiang, who had been watching silently, already understood the situation. He drew his blade before she could.
With a *shing*, the bamboo pole of the fortune teller’s sign was split in two, and even the yellow fox-fur hat on his head was given a new "skylight."
However, Ding Weixiang’s control was impeccable. The man only felt a chill on his scalp as two stray hairs drifted down.
Ding Weixiang spoke expressionlessly, “Official business for the Yanchi Camp. We saw a thief pass this way. If you do not cooperate, I will have to take you back for a detailed interrogation.”
The harsh words Xiao Nanhui had been about to say were swallowed back down. Feeling that one shouldn't be too ruthless, she added a follow-up: “If you cooperate, you won't lack for silver. Just don't be too greedy.”
In the end, it was the word "silver" that worked. The fortune teller instantly beamed, looking much more submissive.
“It is this old man’s honor to solve the troubles of the officers. That person did indeed pass right in front of me. I saw him quite clearly.”
“In that case, come back with me now to go through the process.”
For some reason, Ding Weixiang seemed in a hurry to return to his master’s side and insisted on taking the man back to the Black Feather Camp for questioning. Xiao Nanhui refused to yield.
“Draw it now. The man appeared only a short while ago, so his memory is still fresh. If we wait until tomorrow, he’ll remember fewer details. If he starts playing tricks then, won't we have paid him that silver for nothing?”
Ding Weixiang frowned. “There is no artist here. Who do you expect to draw it? You?”
Had Xiao Nanhui ever painted? Of course she had. But before she could show off to Xiao Zhun, Dujuan had thrown the painting out, mistaking it for some unidentified occult talisman.
“That...” She struck a profound pose, not yet sure how to respond, when the fortune teller gave a chuckle, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
“In my younger years, this old man traveled for a living and used to draw portraits for people. I still have some skill.”
As he spoke, he took the brush tucked into his hat brim, licked the tip to moisten the ink, and pulled a piece of yellow paper used for writing talismans from his robe. After a moment of thought, he began to draw.
After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the fortune teller put down his brush and presented the paper to the two of them.
“Please look, officers.”
Ding Weixiang only gave it a glance. Seeming to find it too crude, he turned his head away.
Xiao Nanhui looked more closely. She thought to herself: *This fortune teller actually has some skill.* With just a few strokes, he had captured a vivid likeness; even the mole beneath the lip was placed with great precision.
She pointed at the mole, her voice skeptical. “He passed you in an instant. How could you remember a mole on his face so clearly? You didn't just draw this randomly, did you?”
The fortune teller chuckled again. “How could I? Every trade has its secrets. I read faces and tell fortunes; I’m most practiced at noticing the height of brows, the path of wrinkles, and where moles are placed...”
The fortune teller began to ramble, but Xiao Nanhui was no longer listening. Her eyes were fixed on the portrait, her mind drifting.
“Don't you think... this looks like someone?”
Ding Weixiang, who had been standing aside with his eyes closed, looked at the talisman paper again upon hearing her words.
The person in the portrait had gaunt cheeks and triangular eyes, looking like someone without much luck. Yet his forehead was high, suggesting a certain degree of authority. This authority was marred by the mole beneath his mouth, giving the entire face a gloomy air.
The person in the portrait gradually merged with a shadow in their memories. Ding Weixiang’s expression slowly turned to one of disbelief.
“How could it be him?”
“But...” Xiao Nanhui’s voice also became strained.
Ding Weixiang already knew what she was going to say. “But Zou Sifang is already dead.”
More than half a year had passed since the journey to Huozhou. If not for this portrait, in another year or so, the name Zou Sifang and that unremarkable face might have slowly faded from their memories.
But no one expected that at this time and place, the name would suddenly leap out again.
The events at the Zou estate regarding the Secret Seal were still vivid in their minds. Xiao Nanhui had seen with her own eyes Zou Sifang sink into the marshes of Baiyao Pass. How could there be any mistake?
The dead cannot return to life. Could it be that the ceremony on the Changmi Platform truly reached the gods and ghosts, summoning Zou Sifang’s soul? Or was someone using this opportunity to deliberately play on the supernatural?
But why Zou Sifang?
The mysterious guest who had rung the bell in the crowd to guide Yan Zi—was he just a stranger who looked like Zou Sifang, or was it that Zou Sifang... had never actually died?
What was his connection to this entire affair? Was he the "Master" An Lü had spoken of? What was his purpose in manipulating the Puhuna to repeatedly attempt assassination and the theft of the seal?
Xiao Nanhui stared at the portrait in her hand and fell into silence.
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