Fish are picked for freshness, horses for their docility, and persimmons for their softness.
The summons had clearly been for all three of them, so why was she the one being singled out?
Dissatisfaction bubbled within Xiao Nanhui. She grunted, her feet seemingly nailed to the ground, refusing to budge another inch.
Logically, a withered old woman with one foot in the grave should have posed no threat, yet for some reason, looking at that decayed face sent an inexplicable chill down Xiao Nanhui’s spine.
It seemed humans truly feared the unknown more than they cared to admit.
Recalling the strange events they had just endured and the unsettling theories brewing in her mind, she swallowed hard. Just as she was searching for an excuse to avoid this confrontation, the man behind her suddenly stepped forward, shielding her.
"I will go first."
At this movement, Ding Weixiang could no longer sit still. He stepped forward two paces, positioning himself in front of his master.
"No, I shall go first."
Shen Yangyang knitted her brows, watching the trio’s bizarre behavior with undisguised disdain.
"My grandmother has attained the Divine Eye. She is merely going to take a look at you. Is all this truly necessary?"
*Of course it is.*
*You say it’s just a look, but is it ever just a look?*
Furthermore, there were plenty of people who met with disaster just by "taking a look." Take Assistant Minister Zhang of the Cavalier Attendant, who lived in the east of Que City; he had done nothing more than steal a few extra glances at Miss Qingqing of Wangchen Pavilion while riding past on his horse. Since the start of summer, he hadn't been allowed to set foot in his own home and was still crashing at a relative's place as of last month.
Xiao Nanhui shook her head repeatedly, grabbing Su Wei’s belt and pulling him back.
After tugging for a moment and realizing he wouldn't budge, she looked up only to meet his peculiar gaze.
"Though the hour is late, you needn't be in such a rush," he said softly. "After all, there are still many people present."
Her face flushed a deep crimson. Feeling a surge of indignation—as if her good intentions had been treated like dirt—she was about to scold him for his lack of appreciation when he suddenly opened his hand and clasped hers.
He had held her hand before, but never like this.
In an instant, Xiao Nanhui forgot her predicament and the terrifying old woman nearby. The blush that had just begun to fade climbed right back up to the tips of her ears.
*A calamity. This man is truly a calamity.*
In that moment of daze, the old woman’s clouded eyes swept past Ding Weixiang and settled upon the young nobleman behind him.
"May I ask the young master—what is that object on your left wrist?"
On his left wrist, he wore a string of Buddhist beads. His right hand, however, was currently holding hers.
His fingers lightly brushed against the back of her hand, yet his expression remained one of humble composure, like a most disciplined and refined scholar from an academy.
"An old heirloom passed down through the family. It is nothing extraordinary. There is no need for the Elder Madam to trouble herself over it."
The old woman was clearly dissatisfied with this answer.
"The sarira of a high monk... to obtain even one or two is a rare fortune. How can you say it is not extraordinary?"
A look of perfectly measured surprise appeared on the man’s face.
"The Elder Madam actually recognizes this? I have studied Buddhist teachings since childhood and only knew these beads could calm the mind and settle the spirit. I did not know what made them so 'extraordinary.'"
When someone is determined to play the fool, what can one do?
The old woman fell into a heavy silence, her withered lips pressing tighter together. After a long while, she spoke in a somber tone.
"Since the young master is inclined toward the Dharma, do you believe in the existence of ghosts and gods?"
"Having never seen them with my own eyes, I can hardly say whether I believe or not."
The old woman let out two huffs, though whether it was a soft chuckle or a sneer was unclear.
"Some things, even if they cannot be seen now, may well have existed in the past. As one bearing the surname Zhongli, the young master should understand this truth."
She clearly knew something. Knowing full well that the Zhongli clan had long since vanished from the world, she had deliberately brought up the past.
"Zhongli is indeed my mother’s maiden name. Unfortunately, she passed away early. I imagine there are many stories she never had the chance to tell me. If the Elder Madam is an old acquaintance, why not offer this junior some guidance? I would be eternally grateful."
What a joke. If he truly didn't know the weight of the name Zhongli, he wouldn't have proactively introduced himself as such in front of Shen Yangyang earlier.
Watching from the side, Xiao Nanhui felt both impressed and amused.
Following his earlier rogue-like behavior, the most noble Emperor of Tiancheng had now deployed a tactic that could only be described as shameless.
The old woman evidently did not know the man’s true identity. She could only inwardly curse this exasperating nobleman who was as impenetrable as a stone wall.
"I am old. Many things have slipped my mind."
The old woman finally withdrew her vacant gaze and moved toward Xiao Nanhui.
Perhaps she, too, had realized that among the three, this one was the "softest persimmon."
But having witnessed the previous round, Xiao Nanhui was no longer as nervous as she had been upon arrival.
She thought back to everything she had experienced in the Cave of Parting Dreams at Mount Se.
So-called ghosts and gods were nothing more than that. She had already seen what the most terrifying hell on earth looked like. Even if there truly was something here, she could endure it.
However, before she could say a word, the woman reached out a hand from beneath her cloak.
That hand was powerful and gnarled, like an old vine, and it lunged straight for her head.
*Wait, why didn't she touch the others, but resorted to a direct facial assault with me? Isn't this just bullying!*
A martial artist's instinct made her flinch back, but the old woman’s arm seemed to extend like a spring, snapping forward with lethal precision to clamp down on the crown of her head.
It was a dry, skeletal hand. Xiao Nanhui could almost feel the protruding knuckles and the hard, aged nails scraping against her scalp.
A wave of coldness crawled from her brow across her entire body. It took every ounce of Xiao Nanhui’s willpower not to wrench herself away, allowing the hand to "ravage" the top of her head.
After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the hand finally pulled away. A raspy voice sounded before her.
"The girl has quite a large head."
Xiao Nanhui froze.
Was all that groping and prodding just to find out how big the head on her neck was?
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, feeling increasingly bewildered by the situation.
"What exactly is the Elder Madam doing?"
The old woman didn't speak. Instead, she gestured for Xiao Nanhui to hold out a hand while she reached into the bamboo basket on her back.
Xiao Nanhui noticed a stick inside the basket. It was long, looking less like an axe handle or a woodcutter's blade and more like a staff or crutch, though its top was covered by a patterned cloth, hiding its full appearance.
The basket was deep. After rummaging for a long time, the old woman slowly withdrew her hand. She picked up a piece of malt candy and placed it gently in Xiao Nanhui’s palm, her toothless mouth stretching into a grin.
"Eat some candy."
Xiao Nanhui forgot to pull her hand back for a moment.
From childhood until now, she had never been given candy by an elder.
Others had grandfathers and grandmothers; she only had Dujuan and Bailao.
Her previous resentment vanished, replaced by a touch of being overwhelmed by the favor. Just as she was hesitating over whether to eat the candy, the person beside her wordlessly took the candy and tucked it into his sleeve.
She turned to look at him, but he wasn't looking at her.
"Has the Elder Madam finished counting exactly how many of us have come?"
The old woman remained half-bent, her frightening face slowly drooping until it was partially hidden in the shadows.
"When one reaches a certain age, one becomes old, blind, and suspicious. Many things must be personally confirmed before one can rest easy. I hope the young master does not take offense. The hour is late; please follow me to the guest rooms to rest. You may meet the Head of the House tomorrow."
Having spoken, the old woman signaled for the grey-clad guard holding the torch to lead the way, while Shen Yangyang bowed and quietly withdrew.
Ding Weixiang followed immediately. His master was about to move forward when he realized the woman beside him hadn't moved.
He turned back to look at her, seemingly sensing nothing amiss.
"What is it?"
Xiao Nanhui looked down at the hand still holding hers, then up at that fair, innocent face. She desperately wanted to remark: *You weren't like this before.*
But in the end, she chose the path of moderation.
"My palm is sweaty."
Yet the moment she spoke, she realized her voice had become incredibly soft and thin.
If Yao Yi had heard it, he would have suspected she was possessed by a female ghost.
Ding Weixiang, walking ahead, clearly heard it too. His silhouette quickened its pace, pointedly creating distance between them.
Seeing the others drawing away, the man finally released her hand.
Xiao Nanhui let out a long sigh of relief. she opened and closed her fingers, trying to rub away the lingering coolness he had left in her palm.
"Let's go, quickly."
But "quickly" was easier said than done.
Not just in the Shen household, but in any estate of high standing, one did not rush.
She rarely spent time wandering through such rule-bound residences, but counting the Zou Manor, the Prince of Kang’s palace, the Prince of Xuanyuan’s estate, and the Feather Forest Villa, she had gained some experience with this kind of winding, labyrinthine architecture.
Though the night was dark, she estimated that they weren't being taken to the inner courtyard of the Shen family; they hadn't even passed the second gate yet.
The old woman walked slowly, leading them through a section of craggy rock faces and winding paths before finally entering a covered corridor.
At the end of the corridor was a floral-pendant gate. Just as they were about to pass through, a young woman dressed in plain clothes emerged from the inner courtyard leading five or six small children. Upon seeing the old woman, she hastily offered a respectful bow.
The children were all as delicate as carved jade and dressed exquisitely. However, they looked timid and dazed at the sight of strangers, lacking the liveliness and boldness typical of children from great families in the capital. More notably, there was none of the mischievous noise expected of children their age.
They were too refined, too quiet—like dough dolls from a high-end pastry shop at the Jade Palace Gate. Even the blush on their cheeks looked as though it had been meticulously painted on.
Xiao Nanhui frowned slightly.
*Where are they taking these children in the middle of the night?*
The children followed the woman, bowing quietly. Suddenly, a pudgy figure came rushing from around the corner—a little girl who had fallen behind.
This last child was chubby, her hair tied in a single bun. Her fat little hand was surreptitiously stuffing an apricot into her mouth. Startled by the sight of strangers, she tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face.
Xiao Nanhui stared at the child, then instinctively stepped forward to help her up.
The girl looked up, the corners of her mouth stained bright yellow with apricot juice. Her eyes were hollow and vacant.
Before Xiao Nanhui could get a closer look, the chubby girl thrust the object she was holding into Xiao Nanhui’s hand, turned, and wiggled her bottom as she ran off.
Xiao Nanhui looked down to find a small horse woven from straw in her palm.
"Why are you holding that? Throw it away."
Xiao Nanhui stood up to find the old woman already before her. The woman’s hearing was remarkably sharp; even that slight sound hadn't escaped her.
Yet, subconsciously, Xiao Nanhui didn't want to discard the item.
"It’s a child’s toy. It looks quite interesting." She paused, then asked, "Those children... are they all members of the Shen family?"
"Strictly speaking, they do bear the surname Shen. But they cannot be considered true members of the family." The old woman rolled her lifeless eyes, finally letting them rest on Xiao Nanhui’s palm. "Does the young lady know what a 'straw dog' is?"
*Chu Gou*—a dog made of straw.
An ancient sacrificial offering.
It turned out the straw animal wasn't a horse, but a dog.
"Woven from straw to be a dog, used for sacrifice, placed in an ornate box, and wrapped in embroidered silk. Yet once the ritual is over, it is discarded and trampled. Passersby step on its head and spine, and only the wood-gatherer will pick it up to burn for cooking fire."
"The straw dog is to the ritual what you all are to the gods—roughly the same. Used and then discarded, without a moment’s hesitation or pity. This is the cruelty of it, and also its most awe-inspiring aspect."
Thinking of the sacrificial altars drenched in black oil on the stone walls and the group of wooden-faced children they had just encountered, a surge of profound shock and anger rose within her.
"Since you firmly believe that humans possess souls, how can you believe that people, like straw dogs, are existences to be used and discarded?!"
Her words were laced with fury, but they seemed to cause not even a ripple in the old woman’s ears.
"From the strength in your voice, young lady, you must come from the military. Since you have served, you should understand that war follows the same logic. When those in power make decisions of life and death, when have they ever considered the survival of a single pawn?"
Xiao Nanhui was silenced by the question. The straw dog in her hand was squeezed out of shape.
Not far away, the man stood beneath the floral-pendant gate, looking back at her as if silently asking why she had stopped.
The old woman lowered her face again, as if she had never spoken those terrifying words.
"Young lady, let us not delay."
****** ****** ******
The hour of the Tiger was nearly over. The sky had not yet brightened; neither stars nor moon were visible.
On the eastern section of the official road leading to the capital’s outskirts, several soldiers from the Guangyao Camp stationed at the post house were tossing mugwort into a fire to ward off mosquitoes.
The hour before dawn is when people are most exhausted. Armies often choose this time for sneak attacks. However, as this was not wartime, the soldiers on the rotating shift were somewhat lax, yawning openly even in front of their superior.
The officer on duty tonight was Zhao Youshan, a squad leader of the Ding-6 Battalion. He had patrolled the capital’s outskirts for over a decade and had stood night watch countless times; he could keep things running smoothly even with one eye closed.
The semi-dry mugwort burned, sending up plumes of blue smoke. He stared blankly at the smoke until, after an unknown amount of time, he reached out and slapped the drowsy subordinate beside him.
The soldier, struggling out of a fog of sleep, took a moment before he heard the faint sound of a carriage at the end of the road.
Zhao Youshan signaled for him to check the chevaux-de-frise and the fences to ensure no one could force their way through the checkpoint, then waited for the arrival.
Before long, a dark silhouette emerged from the end of the road.
It was a very dilapidated carriage, pulled by a skeletal horse. The carriage behind it looked ready to collapse. The driver wore a bamboo hat draped with black gauze, and his exposed hands were covered in coarse cloth gloves.
This attire was by no means typical for a driver traveling in the heat of summer.
Zhao Youshan led a few veterans forward, his right hand appearing to rest on his belt but actually gripping his scabbard.
"Halt. Where are you from? Where are you going?"
As the carriage came to a steady stop, the hatted driver coughed twice. When he spoke, his voice was as raspy as if he hadn't drunk water in three days.
"Replying to the officer, this lowly one is a farmer from Shili Village outside Jiaosong County. I am heading to Dawei Town to seek refuge with relatives."
Dawei was a small town east of Que City. It didn't have many residents, but relatives from other counties often visited.
Zhao Youshan gave a look, and a subordinate handed over a torch freshly dipped in pine oil.
"Take off the hat. Let me have a look."
The driver stiffened for a moment before slowly reaching up to remove the hat.
Zhao Youshan held the torch close, wanting to see the man’s face clearly. Suddenly, a foul stench hit him, causing even these veterans—accustomed to blood and slaughter—to recoil several steps.
Under the firelight, the driver’s face appeared sallow and dark, looking utterly exhausted and filled with a trace of misery.
"This old man has no land and no home. My wife and daughter passed away the year before last, leaving only my son and me to depend on each other. Who knew that a few days ago, the wealthy family in the village would take my son’s life while he was working as their groom? At first, they refused to tell me. They only sent him back when the body began to rot and they could no longer hide it. Poor old man that I am, I don't even have a decent coffin. I have to find my relatives to help, hoping to find a place for him to be buried."
Zhao Youshan’s gaze shifted to the back of the carriage. There was indeed a large wooden crate cobbled together from planks. Perhaps due to the haste, the top plank hadn't been nailed shut, revealing a layer of unpainted wood.
The other soldiers on watch were already unwilling to step forward; only Zhao Youshan remained composed.
He stepped back a few paces into a corner and pulled out a portrait hidden on his person, carefully comparing it to the man on the carriage.
The person in the portrait was Lu Songping, a Lieutenant of the Black Feather Camp who had been missing for several months.
The commander who distributed the arrest warrant had specifically warned them that this Lieutenant Lu was highly skilled. Forget capturing him alive—even killing him in one strike would be difficult, and one had to be prepared to die in the attempt. To this end, every camp had offered a bounty. Even the stingiest camp, the Wild Goose Wing Camp, had bled some silver, placing their hopes on some nameless hero.
However, bounty was one thing; throwing one's life away was another.
Everyone knew that gold and silver were easy to earn but hard to spend. Aside from those greenhorns who had just joined the military and were desperate for merit, any veteran with a rank who had survived in the army for a while wanted to stay as far away from this task as possible. If they saw someone carrying a weapon or riding a horse from a distance, they would question them from fifty paces away.
Zhao Youshan was one of those veterans.
He had already decided that even if he found something suspicious, he would never strike on the spot. Survival was the priority. He would wait for the person to leave before reporting the sighting. At worst, he’d take a few strokes of the military cane later; that was better than having his head removed and ascending to heaven prematurely.
However, tonight clearly hadn't reached that point.
Zhao Youshan breathed a small sigh of relief, carefully tucked away the arrest warrant, and nodded to his subordinates.
Several soldiers stepped forward to push aside the chevaux-de-frise, clearing the path.
Seeing this, the driver thanked them repeatedly.
"Thank you, officers. Thank you, officers."
Zhao Youshan waved him off, only wishing for him to drive that stinking carriage away as quickly as possible.
Long after the carriage had departed, the night wind finally began to disperse the terrible odor.
The soldiers returned to the fire, throwing on several more bundles of mugwort.
And there, on the fence where the mugwort was temporarily stored, was another portrait.
Because it had been posted for a long time, the portrait was covered in dust, and its corners were frayed.
But if one looked closely, they would discover that the person in the portrait bore a seventy to eighty percent resemblance to the gaunt man who had just driven the carriage. It was just that the driver looked more haggard and withered, his complexion dark and sunken, as if he had been dead for many days.
The night wind blew, revealing the bottom half of the portrait that had been folded over. Beneath the image were three small characters—Zou Sifang.
The summer heat was oppressive and the night long. The soldiers on watch began to doze off again. Zhao Youshan stared at the fire, suddenly realizing something.
The direction the carriage had taken just now... it didn't seem to lead toward Dawei Town. Instead, it was heading toward Shuxi Mountain in the suburbs.
*Country folk. Can't even recognize the road. They'll have to struggle a bit.*
Of course, these were not things he needed to worry about. If he had to worry about such things for the few copper coins he earned each month, wouldn't he just be looking for trouble?
Zhao Youshan let out a yawn. The day's exhaustion flooded his body. He laid his saber across his waist and fell asleep leaning against the fence.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 天眼通 | Divine Eye | A Buddhist term (Abhijna) referring to clairvoyance or the ability to see things beyond the physical realm. |
| 刍狗 | Straw Dogs | Sacrificial objects made of straw used in ancient Chinese rituals, famously mentioned in the Tao Te Ching. |
| 钟离 | Zhongli | A surname; in this context, the maiden name of the Emperor's mother. |
| 舍利 | Sarira | Buddhist relics, often pearl-like beads found among the cremated ashes of spiritual masters. |
| 垂花门 | Floral-pendant gate | A traditional Chinese architectural element, an inner gate separating the outer and inner courtyards. |
| 光耀营 | Guangyao Camp | A military unit. |
| 黑羽营 | Black Feather Camp | A military unit. |
| 雁翅营 | Wild Goose Wing Camp | A military unit. |
| 枢夕山 | Shuxi Mountain | A geographical location near the capital. |
| 邹思防 | Zou Sifang | A character name. |
| 鹿松平 | Lu Songping | A character name. |
| 队率 | Squad Leader | A low-level military rank. |
| 拒马 | Chevaux-de-frise | A defensive obstacle used to block paths (literally "horse-resister"). |
