Xiao Nanhui couldn’t sleep.
She was rarely sleepless — in her days with the army, she never was. The moment the back of her head touched the pillow, she was out.
But ever since hearing what Su Pingchuan had said, sleep had become utterly impossible.
The moment she closed her eyes, grim images cycled through her mind without cease — as though at first light Akuang would drag Xiao Zhun in before her and crow over her in triumph.
A spy had infiltrated the army. Judging by the extent of that person’s knowledge, they likely held no small position — and they were probably in the Suibei Camp at this very moment. How could she possibly sleep?
With that thought, she climbed out of bed, threw a blanket haphazardly around her shoulders, and stood in the courtyard until dawn.
Wu Xiaoliu woke early and went to fetch water, only to find the woman standing there like a statue, frost settled across her hair.
Something must have gone wrong with the prisoner last night.
“What happened?” Wu Xiaoliu asked, though he already had a suspicion.
Xiao Nanhui glanced at him but couldn’t bring herself to answer.
There was no way to answer, really — Wu Xiaoliu didn’t even know her true identity. The only person here who knew even a fraction of her story, who was guaranteed to stand on her side without question, and who was healthy and fully capable, was Hao Bai.
Just as she was working through it all, Hao Bai drifted out of a room on the other side, his hair in total disarray. A layer of frost had settled on the withered yellow grass, and he nearly lost his footing and went down.
Xiao Nanhui cast her face skyward and let out a long, clouded breath.
One fat man, one wandering quack, and a wounded soldier laid out in a cell. She would have liked someone to count on — but there was truly not a one of them worth counting on.
“So the Chief was up early after all. Had I known, I would have come and reported this sooner.”
A voice rang out from the courtyard gate — someone from her own village, she knew. She didn’t rush.
“What is it?”
“Master Akuang and his brothers left early this morning.”
“What? He’s gone?” That was unexpected. Then a thought struck her and she tensed at once. “Was the Tiancheng soldier taken with him?”
“No, not him. He left from the western side. When he passed the guard post he told the men there was something urgent — probably to do with the fighting in the north again.”
She let out a partial breath of relief, but a spreading unease immediately took its place.
Something was wrong. This departure had come without warning. And there was no way he would have just left Su Pingchuan behind.
Had she given herself away and aroused suspicion? Or was it Su Pingchuan’s identity that—
Countless possibilities flashed through her mind, not one of them offering the slightest comfort.
Xiao Nanhui threw the blanket to Wu Xiaoliu and retrieved her recurve crossbow in one swift motion, speaking low and close: “I’m going out. Sundown is my limit. If I’m not back by then, do as I told you. Understood?”
Wu Xiaoliu looked faintly dazed, as though he hadn’t expected this day to come so soon. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know yet.” Xiao Nanhui checked the dagger in her boot. “But it’s likely nothing good. What I told you to do — do you have it all clear?”
Wu Xiaoliu nodded, and glanced instinctively back at Hao Bai.
Hao Bai’s color was none too good either, but uncharacteristically, he said nothing. He simply turned and went back inside to attend to whatever he was doing.
By the time Wu Xiaoliu turned back around, Xiao Nanhui had already vanished without a trace.
---
Akuang knocked the ash from his smoking pipe and lit another brazier to warm his hands. He shifted positions under his heavy outer robe, grumbling darkly to himself.
The coldest time in Bijiang wasn’t the dead of winter but right now. A forest that had endured a killing frost like this was particularly good at gathering cold — it could strip away every last bit of warmth from a person’s body.
He had been waiting here for over an hour. He watched the sun travel from its high point toward the west, and still the person he was waiting for had not come.
If not for the need to show deference to the backer behind that person, why would he need to suffer out here? In all his years of work for the Bai Family — a thousand tasks if not ten thousand — even the business of orchestrating the assassination of Prince Kang had passed through his hands.
The corner of his mouth curved upward. Then he thought of the way Prince Kang had looked in death, and a chill crept up the back of his neck before he even realized it, and he shuddered.
Enough. If he had to wait, he would wait.
“Sir, the person seems to be coming.”
His subordinate was quick and perceptive, well aware of his impatience, and had been scanning in every direction. As soon as a silhouette appeared, he hurried back to report.
Akuang kicked a scattered pile of fruit peels and ash to the side of the path, summoned every last trace of alertness, and fixed his gaze on the direction from which the person was approaching.
A small round fruit core wobbled left and right down the slope and came to rest against a clump of red willows.
Xiao Nanhui looked down at the fruit core and pressed her dry lips together.
This stretch of terrain was flat and offered little cover. She had followed the group’s tracks to the vicinity, and looking around, found only two rocks that could be put to any use. Using her crossbow she had hoisted herself up between the two outcroppings, carefully shifting her legs every hour to keep from going numb. Half the day had passed without a drop of water — hands and feet numb with cold, far worse off than Akuang with his fruit and hand-warmer.
It had not been for nothing. She adjusted her position and found an angle that allowed her to observe Akuang’s group without being seen, then held perfectly still.
Half a cup of tea’s worth of time passed — though it felt to her like far longer.
At last, a cluster of grey figures emerged from the intertwining thicket, moving so soundlessly that beyond a faint scrape of sand and pebble, they came on like a cloud drifting into the forest.
She shifted her gaze slowly, letting it fall on the figure at the front.
It was a slight, slender form — not dressed in the Southern Qiang manner. The robe was exquisite and costly, but looked far too large on the wearer. He walked very slowly, as though taking the measure of Akuang’s group.
Akuang’s reaction, however, was one of thorough deference — his back bowed low, almost cringing with submission.
One step short of where Akuang stood, the figure finally stopped. He lingered for a moment, then slowly turned to face outward.