“What you’re describing sounds like camphor,” Bolao said, then sniffed vigorously at the air. She apparently couldn’t detect any faint lingering trace of the scent, and after a moment of assessment — satisfied it was neither poisonous nor harmful — she dismissed the matter without much concern. She gave Xiao Nanhui a meaningful look, reminding her with a glance that walls have ears, and spoke through a yawn: “All right, all right — what a day we’ve had. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
But Xiao Nanhui could not clear this from her mind. The news of the Secret Seal had quietly leaked out, and it was inevitable that every kind of force would begin moving the moment the wind changed. She had come from the Marquis Mansion — a position that was plainly visible to all — and could not begin to compare herself to those shadowy powers who never showed their own hand, operating instead through the intermediary of others.
And how many layers of shadow were there? The first, naturally, was the Emperor of Tiancheng’s own trusted operatives. After all, whether the Secret Seal was genuine or not, should it fall into the wrong hands, someone would certainly find a way to make use of it.
The second was the Bai clan now entrenched in Bijiang, who had long harbored ambitions to reverse their fortunes and seize control. If they could obtain the Secret Seal’s endorsement, it would be a mandate from heaven — enough to win over the several factions currently maintaining a neutral stance, and perhaps enough to change the dynasty’s master altogether.
As for the third, it was the various local powers still scattered across the land who had yet to submit to Tiancheng. Chief among them was the Shen clan, who held Huozhou — the northern city closest to the northern marshlands — and who maintained kinship ties by marriage to the former Qiu clan. Huozhou’s land was barren and its agriculture underdeveloped, yet it was rich in iron ore and commanded a formidable military force. Since the Su clan established Tiancheng, Huozhou had never paid tribute, yet it had maintained frequent trade relations with Tiancheng, coexisting in uneasy peace for nearly a hundred years. Even so, the delicacy of that balance could be upended overnight — and the matter of the Secret Seal was precisely the kind of variable that could do it.
Last of all — though the Niexuan dynasty had been gone for a hundred years — she always had the feeling that the Qiu clan might not be entirely extinguished. Even now they might be lurking in some dark corner, watching and waiting for what had once been theirs.
Had her encounter with those people at Yongye Temple been a coincidence? Had her identity been exposed? How many in this small inn tonight were harboring hidden motives — and when would they finally reveal themselves?
Xiao Nanhui turned the matter over and over in her mind, heavy with worry.
On the other side of the wall, the long-robed gentleman reclined against the headboard. His narrow, elongated eyes no longer held that composed restraint — they now shone with a sharpness entirely unlike calm. His left hand moved slowly over the prayer beads at his wrist, and his thoughts were unreadable.
Ding Weixiang was checking the doors and windows, examining nearly every crack and gap.
“Weixiang.”
Ding Weixiang collected his attention and bowed his head in response: “Master, please rest early. I will keep watch tonight.”
But the man on the bed shook his head: “No need to keep watch tonight. These past few days you haven’t slept properly — rest well tonight. There will be things to attend to in the days ahead.”
Ding Weixiang didn’t quite understand, and persisted: “Your subordinate—”
“Enough. When I tell you to sleep, sleep.” He paused, and the corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly upward. “Tonight, someone is keeping watch for us.”
Outside, the night rain fell in unbroken curtains. The temperature seemed to have dropped, and fine particles of sleet mixed into the rain, clicking against the roof tiles in a scattering, brittle rhythm.
Xiao Nanhui lay awake the entire night, snapping alert at the slightest sound. Now she pressed her ear to the wall to listen; now she crept to the window to peer out. By dawn, dark circles had formed beneath her eyes. Bolao, on the other hand, slept soundly and woke only when morning came.
After half a month of continuous rain, it had finally stopped — though a heavy fog now hung over everything. In the early morning hours, Xiao Nanhui, exhausted from a sleepless night, at last surrendered to fatigue and dozed off — when a faint, soft knock sounded at the window frame. She was instantly awake. She scrambled up, only to find that the adjoining room was already empty — whoever had been there was long gone, the lamp dark. She hurried to the window to look.
On the window frame was a small, fresh nick — the kind left behind by something like a pebble. Looking out the window, the fog had reduced visibility to no more than six or seven zhang. As far as she could see, there was no suspicious figure, and not another sound.
Bolao had gotten up too, and after a careful examination reached a conclusion: “Whoever threw that stone has got far worse aim than you.”
She saw it differently: “Poor aim at throwing stones doesn’t mean the person isn’t skilled. Bear in mind that in weather like today’s, being able to make out your target clearly at all is no easy task.”
Bolao blinked: “He throws a pebble and then disappears — what does that mean?”
She shook her head, and stretched her hand out the window to confirm the rain had indeed stopped.
“Pack up your things. We’re going to the ferry.”
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