The escort wound its way along the long street, torches flickering shadows across the blue stone slabs. The night wind carried dust, stinging eyes as it passed.
I was wedged in the middle of the group, too wary to glance around, yet something felt off. Until we came to a dark alley, and from the edge of my sight —huh? Where was my big brother?
He had walked to my left-front the whole way, but now that familiar figure had vanished, as if swallowed by the night itself.
My heart lurched, almost letting out a shout, but when I turned, Perfect Li still sat astride his horse, calm as ever. His eyelids didn’t even flicker, as if he hadn’t noticed anyone missing.
Was he blind? Or had he failed to count properly? Or… was it deliberate?
I swallowed the question pressing at my lips and tried to gauge Hua, Shangguan Fengliu, the Deputy Envoy, and even Lian—each of them acted as if nothing had happened. Not a word, not a glance, not even the twitch of an eyelid.
This over-precise coordination made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Silently, through the flickering torchlight, we arrived at the front of the government office.
The gates opened extremely slowly in the night. The stone steps glimmered faintly in the torchlight. The corridor was so empty that every footstep echoed sharply.
Prefect Li led the way. With a lift of his hand, his guards positioned themselves on either side of the screen, hemming us in completely.
“Please.”
He gestured politely, a simple invitation.
Shangguan Fengliu’s smile lingered at the corner of his eyes, yet his steps slowed—not hesitation, but a composed awareness of the outcome, as if he had long guessed who was hidden behind the screen.
The moment we stepped into the rear hall, the lights flared, and a few palace lamps illuminated the carved table at the center with perfect clarity. Behind the table sat a woman, in plain robes, hair neatly arranged. Her features were not sharp, yet she carried a chill in her bearing, a quiet detachment in her gaze.
Shangguan Fengliu’s steps faltered ever so slightly in front of her.
“My lady.”
The voice was low, as if not daring to disturb something delicate.
The woman’s eyes were calm: “Shangguan Fengliu, long time no see.”
Not “Fengliu,” not “husband,” but the full name—creating a chasm between them that could not be crossed.
I stood aside, too fearful to make a sound.
Prefect Li spoke methodically: “Madam, you have requested their presence to assist the court in the suppression of the cult.”
The words fell like a pebble in still water, sending ripples across the hall.
I instinctively glanced at the woman behind the table—her plain robes and calm gaze belied the subtle tremor at her sleeve, betraying an inner unrest.
Shangguan Fengliu raised an eyebrow, a faint smile touching his lips: “You flatter me, Prefect Li. My lady has never meddled in Jianghu affairs; best not to spread idle tales.”
Prefect Li merely smiled, saying nothing, gently pushing an unsealed letter across the table. The edges bore the faint smear of wet ink.
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Shangguan Fengliu’s eyes lingered on the handwriting. He knew it all too well.
He lifted his gaze to his lady, a flash of disbelief crossing his eyes, swiftly replaced by a shadowed gloom.
Yet his voice remained steady: “Even if this letter is truly from my wife’s hand, she must have been forced, or someone has forged her name.”
The lady lowered her eyes slightly, fingers curling gently in her lap, saying nothing.
Shangguan Fengliu’s gaze remained fixed on her, as if trying to pierce through her calm to the truth beneath. After a long moment, he shifted his eyes, a faint smile returning—cool, almost indifferent:
“Regardless, she is my wife. No one shall speak of her without my leave.”
The lady’s eyes lowered, her voice as even as still water: “I only wish to see no more innocent lives lost to your quarrels.”
Shangguan Fengliu raised an eyebrow, voice even: “The Blood Lotus Sect does not slay the innocent. You should know this better than anyone.”
I glanced nervously at Lian. He merely flicked his sleeve, showing no acknowledgment, no hint of complicity. My mind raced—could it be true that he never kills innocents? Or… perhaps he simply never appears when it happens?
The lady lifted her gaze, staring straight at Shangguan Fengliu: “And all for the people? Do you still remember why my father died?”
The air grew thick, as if pressed down by invisible weight; even the cicadas outside seemed distant.
I saw Shangguan Fengliu press his lips, silent for long moments, only staring into his wife’s eyes with fathomless depth.
She waited, a trace of cold amusement curving her lips: “Had you not collected my father’s crimes for the court, how could my family have fallen apart?!”
Shangguan Fengliu finally spoke, his voice low and measured, resonant like a bell in still air.
“Too many complaints reached the court, accusing your father of bribery, corruption, and cruelty. I did not wish to believe them, yet the evidence left me no choice. As for the documents… I did not deliver them myself.”
A sharp glint flashed in the lady’s eyes, though a faint, almost casual smile lingered on her lips.
“Not you? Yet without your investigation, how would the evidence exist? Whether it was delivered or not was never yours to decide. You admit it—so be it.”
Her words fell like unseen chess pieces sliding across the board—soft, almost whispering, yet loaded with hidden intent.
Shangguan Fengliu’s expression remained calm, gentle, as if he understood the unspoken currents behind her words. He did not argue. After a long pause, his voice returned, steady and unflinching.
“Whether you believe it or not, that day the only thing I could save… was your life.”
Her gaze stayed lowered, her fingers curling slowly within her sleeve.
I felt a chill run through me—this couple spoke with blades between their words, each motion precise, each pause concealing a depth I could not plumb.
I stole another glance at Lian, wondering if he, too, kept mental accounts, waiting for the right moment… and whether I might be the one to pay the price.
Prefect Li smiled, as if observing a drama unfold before him.
“No matter your arguments, today not one of the Blood Lotus Sect leaves this hall.”
He turned to Lian. “You are famed throughout the Jianghu for cunning and ruthlessness—and yet today, you yield?”
Lian offered only a faint, unreadable smile. He unbuckled the long whip at his waist; with a soft snap, it struck the stone floor.
“If the prefect requests, I shall comply.”
He stood straight and calm, as though conceding—but the glimmer in his eyes hinted at depths no one could guess, a storm ready to break.
Hua and the Deputy Envoy exchanged glances, stepping back and laying down their weapons.
“If the prefect seeks to detain us, we shall follow,” Huasaid lightly, yet the tilt of his smile and the sharp arc of his eyes betrayed no true surrender.
I felt a cold twinge of dread—were these three truly submitting? Impossible. Lian’s composure, Hua’s smirk, the Deputy’s silence—they all radiated a calm defiance, as if they feared nothing at all.
Prefect Li’s smile deepened. “A wise choice.”
He turned to Shangguan Fengliu. “And you, Master Shangguan?”
Shangguan Fengliu did not move, his eyes narrowing. “Prefect Li, who stands behind you, to give you the courage to swallow us whole?”
Prefect Li said nothing, only cast a deliberate, provocative glance at his wife.
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she remained silent.
“Go.” Prefect Li commanded.
We were escorted from the rear hall toward the dungeons.
The corridor stretched empty before us; torchlight leapt and danced along the walls.
I felt a tense unease settle over me—too quiet, too measured—like the heavy stillness before a storm.
Lian’s gaze seemed to wait for something unseen. Hua’s faint smile never faded. And the lady… her eyes lingered on Shangguan Fengliu’s back far longer than etiquette demanded. I could not read that look.
