Xiao Nanhui stared at the cloth bag on the table, then looked up at Yao Yi. "This is..."
Yao Yi did not look at her, his voice tinged with a hint of self-loathing. "Fifteen years ago, when the Marquis of Qinghuai built his manor, he commissioned Zeng Rong Ji in the west of the city to forge the keys. According to the records, a total of fourteen bronze keys, three silver keys, and one iron key were made for the new and old manors. They are all here."
Xiao Nanhui picked up the cloth bag, feeling its heavy weight in her palm. Her vision suddenly blurred.
In this life, it was not easy to have even a few friends who treated her with true sincerity. Others might not understand Yao Yi’s temperament and think little of this gesture, but she knew. Growing up in a place as complex and despised as Wangchen Pavilion, Yao Yi was actually a very selfish person. Even a tiny spark of warmth within that selfishness was precious, and she wondered what she had done to deserve his constant care.
Seeing the person before him suddenly on the verge of tears, Yao Yi’s expression shifted instantly. He twisted his body away, facing the wall behind him. "Don't put on that disgusting display in front of me. It’s an eyesore."
Taking a deep breath, Xiao Nanhui sniffed back the tears.
Yao Yi composed himself and spoke with a touch of awkwardness. "Since you are investigating the Marquis’s affairs, why not ask Xiao Zhun directly? Even if things are tense between you..."
Because Xiao Zhun did not know what Bai Yun had told her. If he knew, the relationship between the Marquis’s manor and the Emperor would likely become strained and precarious overnight.
Xiao Nanhui sighed despondently. "You wouldn't understand."
Seeing that familiar, love-struck expression on her face, the nameless fire in Yao Yi’s heart flared up again. He let out a cold sneer. "Is it that I don't understand, or that you don't? A clever person should know what to understand and what to feign ignorance about. A year ago, when you asked me about the Secret Seal, I warned you: some things cannot be accomplished by one person alone. Be careful not to let your cleverness overreach, or you'll throw your life away for nothing."
Xiao Nanhui stuffed the bag of keys away haphazardly and stood up with a grin. "I’ve never been a clever person, you know that. But I have a long life-line; I’ve survived all these years, and I won’t fail this time."
Yao Yi stared intently at the woman’s face, as if wanting to crack open her skull to see what was inside. "Blockhead. There will come a day when you regret this."
Before he could finish, she had already patted her seat and stepped out the door, humming a tuneless little melody.
As the sound of her footsteps faded, Yao Yi turned his gaze toward the window. Night had fallen, and a crescent moon hung from the branches. Something flashed through the darkness—perhaps an owl that had slept through the day, preparing for the hunt.
Yao Yi withdrew his gaze and stood to close the window facing the backyard.
Warm lamplight flickered to life, and the rhythmic *clack-clack* of an abacus once again echoed from the side room of Wangchen Pavilion’s backyard.
As the lanterns were lit and the air filled with soft whispers and warm sounds, the night on Yanfu Street was just beginning to boil with life.
Yet, several streets away, the palace walls stood silent and cold. Layers of rammed earth and armored guards protected an invisible throne. The hundred-pace-long Bright Corridor was visible from end to end, and the Yuanming Hall, where a hundred officials had stood during the day, was now empty.
Behind the main hall, only a single palace lantern moved.
The palace attendant hurried along, his footsteps silent. With his head bowed, he passed through the long, deep corridors and slipped into the Yuanhe Hall.
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows through layers of gauze curtains onto the high hall doors. The silhouette of the young Emperor was among them, half-illuminated and half-hidden.
"Your Majesty," the attendant called softly.
The figure behind the gauze paused and looked up. "Has she left?"
The attendant nodded. "She left just now, around the third quarter of the Rooster hour."
After this answer, the hall fell into a brief silence. The attendant was clearly accustomed to this, quietly replacing the incense in the cloisonné bronze burner.
The person behind the gauze never left the desk, which was piled high with mountains of scrolls and documents. He finished one and opened another, his speed so great it seemed to stir the air; even writing with his left hand showed no sign of sluggishness.
After a moment, the Emperor seemed to remember something and asked again, "Has Qu Mo not arrived yet?"
"In response to Your Majesty, news arrived from the post station the day before yesterday. It says that this time, the old patriarch of the Qu family is coming in person. The patriarch is nearly a hundred years old and has not left Wan City for ten years. Consequently, they have prepared extensively, and their carriage is moving much slower than usual. It is estimated they will arrive in ten days."
Su Wei did not speak for a moment, idly picking up a document from a jade box to flip through it. It was the detailed schedule for the Spring Hunt submitted by the Master of Ceremonies, including the departure date and various arrangements after arriving in Yu'an.
Shan Jiangfei observed the Emperor’s expression and asked cautiously, "Does Your Majesty wish to delay the departure and wait for the Qu family to arrive first?"
"No need. Everything proceeds as planned." Su Wei placed the document back into the jade box and picked up his vermilion brush again.
"There is one more matter..."
"Speak."
"A report from Shaofeng Pass says that three days ago, Mr. Zong passed the gate and is heading toward Que City."
The hand holding the vermilion brush paused. A drop of rich red cinnabar fell from the tip onto the documents, leaving a circular spot as startling as blood.
"What is he coming for?"
"It is said the Prince Xuan-Yuan’s manor has a new little prince, and they are holding a one-month celebration."
"A fine excuse," he chuckled, the mirth not reaching his eyes. "Since my father passed, he has been away from Que City for over a decade. Now, he chooses this specific time to return."
"Your Majesty means...?"
Su Wei lowered his gaze and reached out to gently wipe away the cinnabar on the desk. "Let him be. After some time has passed, the truth will reveal itself."
***
Just past midnight, a figure moved stealthily through the backyard of the Xiao Manor.
Xiao Nanhui wiped the sweat from her forehead and stopped in the side courtyard. She truly disliked feeling like a thief, yet she constantly found herself in such situations.
Xiao Zhun had not returned to the manor today. Bailao had been busy all day and was sleeping like the dead. Dujuan and Uncle Chen’s hearing was far inferior to that of a martial artist; as long as she was careful, she wouldn't disturb anyone.
After searching the old manor on Yukun Street, she ultimately had to search the Marquis’s manor once more. Most of the old items from the Xiao family’s former residence were piled in the side rooms where Aunt Dai lived. That area was the most remote and least frequented, making it a safer place to look.
Feeling the bag of keys in her bosom, which had grown warm against her skin, Xiao Nanhui felt a surge of excitement, her hands trembling slightly.
The keys Yao Yi had given her could be roughly categorized by their style. After narrowing them down, she tried them one by one and soon opened the door to the side room.
The smell of stale dust mixed with a musty odor rushed out. She was fairly certain that in the past decade or so, not even Dujuan had stepped foot in here.
After a thought, she picked up the oil lamp she had left by the door and entered the open wooden doorway alone.
Under the thin moonlight stood rows of massive wooden crates covered in dust. The crates were still sealed, looking as though they hadn't been opened since the moment they were tossed inside. It was understandable; who would want to remember those past events?
Xiao Zhun had abandoned many things when he left the old manor; those he chose to bring to the new manor must have held some unusual significance.
Xiao Nanhui did not rush to rummage through the crates. Instead, she observed carefully, eventually fixing her gaze on a flat lacquer box in the corner. The box was locked—the only item in the room that was.
Sensing something different about it, she hesitated for a moment before walking over.
The bronze lock was of a common design but also the hardest to pick. She thought for a moment, selected the only iron key from the set Yao Yi had given her, and carefully probed the keyhole.
With a faint *click*, the bronze lock sprang open and fell to the floor.
She carefully brushed the dust off the box, steadied her nerves, and opened the lid.
To her surprise, the contents did not look particularly special. There were only a few women’s hairpins of simple design, and beneath them lay a green silk robe.
She took hold of the garment and lifted it with both hands, shaking out the green fabric.
In an instant, Xiao Nanhui gasped.
The back of the robe was almost entirely blackened—a stain formed over years by blood that had soaked through the fabric. Over the bloodstain was a tear that had nearly sliced the garment in two. Even after many years, the danger of that day was still evident.
The coolness of the silk slowly seeped through her fingertips into her body. The early spring night wind actually made her break into a cold sweat.
An answer suddenly surfaced in Xiao Nanhui’s heart; she knew exactly what was in this box.
This was Aunt Dai’s clothing. The clothes she had worn on the most terrifying day of her life.
Just then, a long, thin object fell from the garment and landed on the floor.
Xiao Nanhui’s gaze slowly moved down until she saw the cord. She picked it up and examined it closely in her hand. It was a plain, hand-woven hemp cord.
Wait.
Fragments and images suddenly flashed before her eyes.
In all these past years, why had Aunt Dai been so obsessed with weaving cords every day? She had once thought that on the day of the incident at the Xiao Manor, Aunt Dai might have been weaving cords for the younger generation, and because her memory was frozen on that day, she repeated the same action.
But... what if that wasn't it? What if the memory of the cord was actually buried deeper in Aunt Dai’s mind, so that after her mind became clouded, weaving cords became her only obsession?
The one she held now had no colored threads; it was as plain and coarse as a mourning band used at a funeral. She knew Aunt Dai’s taste; she would never weave such a cord. Aunt Dai loved colorful things, and her silk threads were always bright.
Perhaps this wasn't Aunt Dai’s cord.
A voice rose in Xiao Nanhui’s heart, startling even herself. If this wasn't Aunt Dai’s, then there was another possibility.
This was something left behind by the person who tried to kill her.
On that rainy spring night, someone had stained this silk robe red with the blood of the Xiao family. Before the woman fell into the abyss of despair and pain, she had frantically grabbed something from the assailant. She narrowly escaped with her life but was so traumatized that she forgot many things—except for the last thing she saw before falling into the well.
She had etched it into the depths of her mind, reviewing it over and over again. She hoped that one day, if she met that person again, she would recognize them at a single glance.
Unfortunately, she had long since forgotten her original purpose.
Who was it that Aunt Dai had seen?
Xiao Zhun had kept these items, which meant he might have investigated the matter back then, but the result was obvious.
Xiao Nanhui stared blankly at the cord in her hand, falling into a boundless sense of dread.
***
The third quarter of the Ox hour—the time of the wild rooster. The Yu Gate in the south of Que City had already been closed.
In the wilderness, the insects had not yet awakened. Massive torches burned atop the city gates, the dripping pine resin crackling in the darkness. Aside from that, the world was silent.
Old Guo, the gate guard, had just brewed a pot of tea and was about to warm up the two flatbreads his wife had packed for him when he suddenly heard a noise. He paused, listening suspiciously, and determined that the sound was someone knocking on the city gate.
Who would want to enter the city so late? Likely a drunkard.
However, remembering the Black Feather Camp officers who had been moving in and out frequently of late, Old Guo had to maintain some vigilance.
Old Liu, who was on watch with him, had gone to the barracks for the handover, and the shift change hadn't arrived yet. Old Guo grabbed the fire tongs leaning against the wall and cautiously approached the side door next to the main gate.
Pulling back the iron shutter on the side door, he looked out and saw an elderly man with a slightly hunched back standing outside the gate.
The light outside was dim; he could only see that the man wore a heavy, floor-length brown cloak. Beneath the coarse texture of the cloak, hints of silvery hair and beard were visible.
*Ah, why does it have to be an old man?*
"The gate is closed for the day. Find an inn nearby to rest for the night and enter the city tomorrow morning." Old Guo cleared his throat, calculating how to persuade the man to leave politely.
"Very well." The brown-clad old man was surprisingly agreeable. He turned and limped away, appearing not the least bit dissatisfied or frustrated by his failure to enter the city.
Old Guo was stunned.
One had to ride a horse for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense to reach the nearest inn, and the sky was currently as black as ink. Even the official roads were difficult to travel.
Turning to close the iron shutter, Old Guo felt a twinge of pity. He had been a guard at the Yu Gate for many years; Que City was the capital, after all—what kind of people hadn't he seen? If the man had been unreasonable or arrogant, he would have felt quite satisfied right now. But the man was elderly and seemed honest and submissive, which inevitably stirred Old Guo’s sympathy. They were all just poor folk; why make things hard for one another?
Making up his mind, Old Guo pulled the iron shutter open again, intending to call the old man back. But as he looked out, there was not a single soul to be seen on the pitch-black ground outside the gate.
A hundred paces away, atop the capital’s city wall, a dark, cloaked figure moved silently.
His movements were slow, yet they defied logic. The steep walls of Que City were nearly vertical, yet he walked upon them as if strolling through a courtyard.
Dozens of steps took him to the top of the high wall, and dozens more brought him down inside. The city walls, dozens of feet high, seemed like a joke before him.
The streets late at night were empty; no one witnessed this eerie sight.
The brown-clad old man lightly dusted his hem, as if he had merely descended a few steps, and continued hobbling forward.
The night wind caught his wide cloak, revealing a hidden corner beneath it.
Thick or thin, long or short, new or old.
Countless cords woven of plain hemp, like the roots of a living tree, were tangled and coiled together.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 曾荣记 | Zeng Rong Ji | A shop/blacksmith name. |
| 元明殿 | Yuanming Hall | A hall in the palace for official business. |
| 元和殿 | Yuanhe Hall | A hall in the palace, likely the Emperor's private study or residence. |
| 瞿墨 | Qu Mo | A character name. |
| 晚城 | Wan City | A location name. |
| 雨安 | Yu'an | A location name, site of the Spring Hunt. |
| 单将飞 | Shan Jiangfei | The full name of the palace attendant/eunuch. |
| 劭丰关 | Shaofeng Pass | A strategic mountain pass or border crossing. |
| 宗先生 | Mr. Zong | A character name/title. |
| 烜远王 | Prince Xuan-Yuan | A noble title (Prince of the Blood). |
| 昱坤街 | Yukun Street | A street in the capital. |
| 圉门 | Yu Gate | One of the gates of Que City. |
| 荒鸡之时 | Time of the wild rooster | Refers to the early hours of the morning (approx. 1-3 AM). |
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