Chapter 228: Seeing the Late Autumn Leaf

The boat rocked violently in the middle of the lake, but soon stabilized.

Ning Changjiu and Zhao Xiang’er sat facing each other, their white clothes and white skirts reflecting, like snow clinging to a white wall.

Ning Changjiu held a valuable new sword. Its scabbard was made of lacquered ebony wrapped in white python skin. Copper plates adorned the plain white, round-scaled scabbard, with the bright copper sections subtly aged, creating a contrast of light and shadow.

The moment Ning Changjiu’s hand gripped the hilt, the iron sword in the python-skin scabbard seemed to come alive. It vibrated erratically within its sheath, as if a real white snake was struggling to shed its ancient skin and don new, razor-sharp, deadly scales. The smile vanished from the young man’s face as the sword energy surged. His black hair, blown by the lake breeze, also resembled a wild snake thrashing within its sheath.

The movement to draw the sword had begun. At the guard, the sword gleamed, yet the blade and scabbard remained perfectly interlocked, as if the drawing motion were merely an illusion.

Zhao Xiang’er didn’t look at his sword-drawing hand. She gently removed the silk cloth covering her red umbrella, one hand resting lightly on the canopy, the other gripping the handle. Her eyes and brows were serene, devoid of overt emotion, yet brimming with spirit.

At that moment, a breeze swept across the lake. She resembled a delicate maiden, about to unfurl her flower-like red umbrella to ward off the late autumn chill or the imminent rain.

Carp in the lake kissed the water and swam away.

Ripples shattered and dispersed.

The two remained seated. Between them lay the remnants of a messy meal: autumn perch, shredded eel with red ginger, and half a pot of unfinished wine.

Ning Changjiu’s actions seemed to be continuously drawing the sword, yet the blade never left its scabbard. It was like a carriage endlessly moving in place, its wheels turning thousands of times without the vehicle advancing an inch.

Zhao Xiang’er was the same. Her movements gave the illusion that she was about to open her umbrella at any moment, but perhaps because the rain hadn’t yet fallen, the motion to open the umbrella was ceaseless, yet the umbrella remained still.

Both were waiting for the other to draw their sword first.

The sword fighting of cultivators differed from that of martial artists. While martial artists prioritized speed, cultivators in a direct confrontation first vied for momentum. Both were cultivating their 'momentum' within their scabbards; the apparent calm was merely a facade. Turbulent undercurrents were already stirring unnoticed.

“In these past three years, you truly haven't disappointed me,” Zhao Xiang’er said, looking up at his hand gripping the hilt. “It's a pity your sword isn't good enough.”

Ning Changjiu’s gaze slowly swept over his own scabbard. He responded, “If you had reached this level back then, we wouldn't have been chased all the way by Lady Bai.”

Zhao Xiang’er replied, “Are you bringing that up suddenly to distract me? Heh, when I first met you, I thought you were a pure-hearted little Daoist monk. I never expected you to be so shameless.”

Ning Changjiu smiled faintly. “I wasn't trying to distract you; rather, I got distracted myself.”

Zhao Xiang’er stated, “When facing an enemy, you cannot be distracted for even a moment.”

Ning Changjiu said, “I came for an appointment, not for revenge. There's no 'enemy' involved.”

Zhao Xiang’er looked at the dish of cooling shredded eel soup and declared, “I won't go easy on you.”

The old fisherman listened to their conversation, utterly bewildered. The moment they began to draw their swords, he had been spellbound, as if a fishbone were stuck in his throat, unable to utter a word. It wasn't until the young woman's voice fell silent that he felt the boat rock again.

Ning Changjiu tightened his grip on the sword hilt, and Zhao Xiang’er twisted her umbrella handle.

Thousands of catties of sword intent materialized out of thin air, pressing the boat's bow downwards. However, most of this sword intent impacted the lake's surface, forcing the water to rise and paradoxically lifting the boat higher. The small fishing boat, like a carp leaping from the river, plunged back onto the lake amidst the old fisherman's strangled cries of alarm. It swayed incessantly, and the high-splashing water resembled falling rain.

The old fisherman, still shaken, touched the cool lake water that had splashed onto his face. After focusing his gaze, he realized the newlywed couple was no longer on the fishing boat.

The instant the boat settled, the lake surface suddenly darkened.

It wasn't that the weather had turned cloudy; rather, all light was drawn away by the sword-rainbows that suddenly flared on the lake, converging at its center. These were two intertwined sword-rainbows, emitting incandescent light, like dragons rising from the lake. Simultaneously, the dispersing sword intent transformed into dozens of straight lines, cleaving the water and propelling waves outwards.

The fishing boat spun around in the sword-energy-splintered waves but miraculously remained unharmed.

Ning Changjiu still hadn't drawn his sword, nor had Zhao Xiang’er. The sword energy they unleashed forward was merely a projection of their minds, conjuring supernatural phenomena through their Violet Palace realm, seizing light to strike, like two pure crescent sword arcs.

The momentary darkening of the sky caused panic among the crowds around the lake. The sounds of reined horses and screams merged into a cacophony, and the guqin music from the pavilions abruptly ceased as people rushed to the windows.

“Did the celestial dog devour the moon?”

“Doesn't look like it… The lake! Is someone on the lake?”

“How could that be?”

Above the lake, Ning Changjiu and Zhao Xiang’er leapt high. Both were masters of the Violet Palace realm, already capable of soaring through the void. After their synchronized leap, they maintained the same height, then almost simultaneously reached out, crossing into each other's space, and grasped for the other's sword hilt.

Their forearms collided, bones vibrating like metal striking stone. Seemingly unfazed by pain, they backhandedly grabbed each other's forearms. With the force, their figures rapidly drew closer, on the verge of crashing into each other.

In a flash, they changed their moves simultaneously. Ning Changjiu’s sword-holding hand suddenly loosened, his fingers forming a sword-point, tipped with a divine light, striking swiftly and directly at a vital acupoint on Zhao Xiang’er’s chest.

Zhao Xiang’er showed no intention of defending. She thrust out a fist, seemingly without embellishment, yet upon closer inspection, a drop of lake water hovered at its tip. The water shimmered with iridescent light, as if containing an illusory world.

It was a punch, and also an illusory world.

The sword-finger and fist crossed paths. The sword-finger touched Zhao Xiang’er’s skin but made no true contact, like a mud sword sinking into the sea, vanishing in an instant. Meanwhile, Zhao Xiang’er’s pale fist struck his chest, activating the protective Asura Divine Record. Golden glows lit up beneath his white robes, resembling intricate meridians. This half-complete divine record absorbed most of the punch's force, yet the residual power continued to explode within his body.

After the first exchange, Ning Changjiu was more heavily injured, yet he made no sound. He sharply withdrew his finger and thrust it diagonally towards an acupoint on her waist. But this was a feint; he wanted to force Zhao Xiang’er to defend, seizing the opportunity to draw her sword.

Zhao Xiang’er didn't fall for it. Instead, she threw another punch within an inch. The gale that had been blowing towards them, diverted by her punch, changed direction and swept Ning Changjiu’s dark hair backward. After this punch solidly struck Ning Changjiu’s body, she transformed her fist into a palm, reached down, and likewise seized his sword hilt.

They didn't seem to be sparring; rather, they were engaged in a childish test of wills, as if whoever drew their sword first would lose.

They gripped each other's scabbards and abruptly drew their swords.

At that moment, they weren't so much drawing swords as moving mountains. The instant they gripped each other's scabbards, all the meridians in their hands bulged beneath their skin, and torrents of spiritual energy surged like electricity coursing through their bodies.

This electric glow illuminated their faces, making them appear pale.

Clang!

The sounds of the two swords being drawn from their scabbards overlapped.

The scabbards resembled dark caves, and the sword energy, like fierce winds and bats emerging from deep within a cavern, instantly enveloped the young man and woman dueling in mid-air. Their white clothes and white skirts danced wildly in the wind, the spiritual energy-infused fabric seemingly stretched to its limits, emitting sounds like enraged thunder.

The water surface in the center of the lake collapsed, turning a snowy white. Then, this sunken water abruptly rose, like water dragons, and was sliced apart by sword energy near their figures, transforming into four pillars of water thrusting diagonally towards the sky.

They drew their swords almost simultaneously.

They had drawn each other's swords.

The bright blades emerged from their scabbards, like two pools of clear, green water. Their shimmering surfaces reflected their swaying, distorted figures. In the first instant after drawing their swords, it was Zhao Xiang’er who struck first. Her opening move was simple, like the most basic stance taught in martial arts schools. But unlike those, she repeated the same stance hundreds of times in less than half a blink of an eye, making this simple sword strike virtually flawless. The sword, moving at unimaginable speed, carved out a nearly perfect semi-circle.

Earlier, she had complained that this sword wasn't good enough, but now she had become its master.

Ning Changjiu, holding Zhao Xiang’er’s umbrella-sword, spent a moment after drawing it to negate the small-world-containing force of Zhao Xiang’er’s punch. In that brief moment, the crescent arc had already formed, cleaving down from the torrential water curtain.

Ning Changjiu’s gaze precisely locked onto the descending sword light. It didn't resemble a sword; rather, it was like a heavy saber. In comparison, the umbrella-sword in Ning Changjiu’s hand was as slender as a long iron needle. Yet, this umbrella-sword was no ordinary object. Ning Changjiu had confidence in it, so without a second thought, he blocked it squarely in mid-air.

The two collided, and the void beneath Ning Changjiu’s feet shattered. Zhao Xiang’er’s black skirt billowed in the wind, like a sea bird spreading its wings. Her lithe body, dragging an immense sword light, smashed towards Ning Changjiu.

The sword descended again. The seemingly delicate young woman wielded thousands of catties of force. The descending wind tore through the air, carving cracks in the void. The sword's edge emerged from the dark void, striking once more at Ning Changjiu’s eyes and brows. Ning Changjiu parried in mid-air with his sword, the immense pressure from his bones transferring downwards, and the already unstable void completely shattered. The two swords pressed against each other, pushing down on Ning Changjiu’s body, and Zhao Xiang’er’s face, with her dark hair flying, drew closer.

A faint smile floated on the young woman's beautiful face: “It seems you haven't made much progress in these past two years.”

Ning Changjiu was currently suppressed and being forced down towards the lake. Every word he spoke would drain a bit of his energy, yet he still managed to say, “I just don't like hitting women.”

Zhao Xiang’er sneered, “Then do I need to be gentle with you?”

Ning Changjiu looked at her white skirt and involuntarily recalled when they exchanged clothes, his expression displeased.

Ning Changjiu was pressed down onto the water surface.

The lake water erupted.

Yet Ning Changjiu did not sink. His toes skimmed the lake's surface, his sword supporting the young woman who pressed down like a mountain, maintaining a bizarre yet ingenious balance.

Zhao Xiang’er’s expression subtly changed.

In an instant, countless ethereal projections of profound Daoist techniques suddenly appeared on the surrounding lake water. These techniques resembled soaring pavilions or horizontal bridges built upon the water, interconnected like iron plates on armor. This was identical to how the Witch Lord once created a city on the lake with ancient scrolls, but unlike that, this was a pure Daoist formation.

When Ning Changjiu had first drawn the Asura Sword from his body, he had wondered what could be formed if those secret manuals, which were not sword techniques, were unleashed.

Today, he provided the answer.

This Daoist formation created a momentary micro-world. Within this micro-world, Ning Changjiu could briefly master its rules, becoming a deity capable of summoning wind and rain.

Thus, after his figure descended, the lake's surface tension miraculously held him up.

The situation reversed in an instant.

Zhao Xiang’er faced more than one enemy. The pavilions, bridges, and upturned eaves here were all her adversaries; this world did not welcome her! What she truly faced was the rules of this Daoist formation world.

Ning Changjiu, wielding the slender umbrella-sword and imbued with the formation's power, forcefully parried Zhao Xiang’er’s sword. Simultaneously, his left hand, held behind his back, beckoned, drawing water from the lake. The water transformed into swords, which darted towards Zhao Xiang’er’s position.

Zhao Xiang’er watched the Daoist formation manifestations pressing down like armored cavalry. Far from retreating or avoiding their edge, she gripped her sword with both hands and lunged at Ning Changjiu.

Ning Changjiu was currently constructing a world.

By chance, the Vermilion Bird’s authority was 'world' – a law far more profound than space itself. And she possessed some of it inherently.

On the lake surface, the sword light flared again. This time, it resembled not a moon, but a brow—Zhao Xiang’er’s brow.

Ning Changjiu, immersed in the world he had constructed, was naturally fearless. He watched the swift young woman approaching like lightning. With a shake of his long sword, he created illusory formation-like projections in all directions. The moment Zhao Xiang’er drew near, these projections shattered, converging at the center. Ning Changjiu’s slender sword, imbued with sword shadows, instantly grew hundreds of times thicker. And with this single strike, he also severed the entire Daoist formation, which resembled a micro-world.

This was a technique he had hidden for a long time, but he couldn't stand Zhao Xiang’er’s arrogance and wanted to use it to directly intimidate her.

The entire Daoist formation was like hundreds of majestic lions, baring their fangs and claws, letting out furious roars at Zhao Xiang’er, who was trapped within.

Their figures intersected. The sword lights they unleashed were like chaotic, dancing willow catkins. In the instant after their blades clashed, they lightly struck each other hundreds more times, like the rapidly vibrating wings of a dragonfly. If this were a blood-stained sword, it would be cleansed of all blood in a flash, shining like new.

Sword energy unfurled from their center like a blizzard and gale, and the entire lake surface was renewed after this single strike.

The rapid vibration of the swords also ceased at a certain moment. The two swords collided and pressed against each other, and the two figures slowly drew near. They could see each other's pupils, and then their own reflections within those pupils. All the sword energy and power were like a massive, continuously contracting ball of fire that violently exploded after reaching its limit.

Boom!!!

In the white light, a hurricane seemed to erupt between their swords, violently pushing them backward.

Lake water rose into the sky, then fell as fine rain.

Ning Changjiu, relying on his incomplete Asura physique to resist, still dropped to one knee. He plunged his sword into the water, using pure and immense spiritual energy to forcibly halt his backward slide of several dozen feet.

The instant the sword energy exploded, Zhao Xiang’er opened her red umbrella.

Ten thousand thin swords and dozens of Daoist formations simultaneously slammed onto the umbrella's surface, similarly making her grip unsteady. The umbrella canopy flipped backward, slipped from her hand, and fell distantly onto the lake, floating like a small boat.

Zhao Xiang’er continuously wielded her sword, chopping the encroaching fragments of the Daoist formation as if swatting mosquitoes. Amidst the furious hurricane, her figure deftly spun in the air before gracefully landing on the umbrella's handle.

The red umbrella floated on the water like a boat, its slender handle rising straight from its ribs. Zhao Xiang’er balanced steadily on the umbrella handle with light taps of her toes. The lingering embers of the storm ruffled her delicate hair, and her billowing white skirt resembled an unwavering wisp of smoke.

In this round, they had each concealed their full capabilities; it was almost a pure clash of blades.

Ning Changjiu, leaning on his sword, slowly rose in the middle of the lake.

He touched his forehead; there was a line of blood.

The falling lake water obscured their figures.

Most of the people by the lake were witnessing a battle between immortals for the first time. Although their eyes couldn't possibly track the invisible speed of these immortal figures, the terrifying momentum was undeniably evident. The timid scattered in all directions, while the bold clustered around the lake's railings, shouting loudly.

The old fisherman frantically paddled away, only stopping when he reached the river. He adjusted his straw hat, his expression complex: “So they were immortal lovers… but their temper is just too volatile. Good thing His Majesty is in charge of Zhao, otherwise ordinary mortals would suffer again.”

Thinking this, he pulled out the silver ingot and bit it, fearing it might be an illusion conjured by immortals.

As the heavy rain fell upon the lake.

Zhao Xiang’er lightly leapt down, grasped the umbrella handle with a backhand, and held it up. She walked to Ning Changjiu’s side and said, “Let's go.”

Ning Changjiu nodded faintly.

By the time all the lake water had fallen, their figures had vanished.

The next moment, they simultaneously appeared on a deserted street. The water on their clothes had dried, but their faces were pale, and their exhaustion was undeniable.

“As expected, Lady Xiang’er’s swordplay is still so sharp,” Ning Changjiu said, suddenly taking her umbrella handle and pushing the slender sword back into her umbrella.

Zhao Xiang’er likewise slowly returned the sword to his scabbard.

“When I achieved immortality, you hadn't even entered the Profound Realm. Now you can match me in a single sword strike; you are truly remarkable,” Zhao Xiang’er praised sincerely.

Ning Changjiu replied, “I was just putting up a front. If you delivered another strike, my bones would probably fall apart.”

Zhao Xiang’er glanced at him, the corner of her mouth curling slightly: “Playing weak doesn't work on me.”

Ning Changjiu asked, “Where to next?”

Zhao Xiang’er replied, “Let's just stroll for a bit, then I'll beat you up later.”

Ning Changjiu smiled calmly. The Asura Divine Record rapidly healed his external injuries, while the Yin-Yang principles he had previously comprehended repaired his internal ones. He was confident his injuries would heal faster than hers. He had no intention of indulging this girl; the moment he recovered, he would strike without hesitation.

Zhao Xiang’er held her umbrella, her expression calm. Her fingers subtly moved within her sleeve, as if silently calculating the timing for her next move.

Thus, the two, each with their own secret intentions, truly walked like a newlywed couple, holding an umbrella and slowly strolling down the quiet street.

Suddenly, shouts echoed from down the street.

“Quick, go see! I heard something happened at Qingjing Lake.”

“What happened?”

“It seems immortals were fighting. They almost shattered the entire lake. The commotion was so loud, I heard it all the way from here.”

“Immortals? What kind of immortals? How dare they cause trouble when His Royal Highness is in charge? Are they trying to rebel? Were there any casualties?”

“I heard no one was hurt, but half the lake's fish were killed… Fancy catching some fish?”

Zhao Xiang’er watched them leave from the corner, remaining silent.

Ning Changjiu, smiling, said, “I heard His Royal Highness is planning a rebellion?”

“Yes, go report me to the authorities, or you'll be accused of complicity,” Zhao Xiang’er retorted mockingly. “But a rebel like you, if caught, would be branded and paraded through the streets.”

Ning Changjiu chuckled, “Then will His Royal Highness come to intercept the carriage and rescue me?”

Zhao Xiang’er said coldly, “You can write a letter to the Sword Heaven Sect and ask Lu Jiajia to rescue her dear husband.”

Ning Changjiu sniffed, then touched the tip of his nose. “Why is there a strange smell?”

Zhao Xiang’er scoffed, “I wouldn't get jealous just because you're my fiancé.”

Ning Changjiu realized, “Oh, so it's the smell of jealousy.”

Zhao Xiang’er’s expression stiffened. Ignoring him, she turned a corner and walked into a deserted street.

“There are very few people here,” Ning Changjiu remarked.

Zhao Xiang’er explained, “This is the west side of the city, mostly abandoned houses, with a few elderly residents scattered about. Officials were sent to renovate them a while ago, but I don't know how that turned out. We could check on the people's conditions while we're here.”

The two continued walking.

The path was lined with phoenix trees. In autumn, palm-sized phoenix leaves drifted down one by one, covering the entire road.

At the end of the road, Zhao Xiang’er caught a falling leaf. She looked at the tree and said, “In less than half an hour, all the leaves on this tree will have fallen.”

Ning Changjiu shook his head. “I don't believe it.”

Zhao Xiang’er smiled faintly. “How about we check back in half an hour?”

Ning Changjiu asked, “What are we betting?”

Zhao Xiang’er replied, “You name it.”

Ning Changjiu said, “How about we bet a slap?”

Zhao Xiang’er knew he was subtly referring to the time Lady Bai had slapped her in Linhe City, and he had saved her then.

However, he was delusional to think he could disrupt her Daoist heart with such past embarrassments.

“As you wish,” Zhao Xiang’er said, completely unperturbed.

The two continued forward, but simultaneously stopped when they passed an empty house.

Zhao Xiang’er looked at the crack in the tightly sealed gate of the house, frowning. “Something's wrong here,” she said.

“Yes, there's a murderous aura,” Ning Changjiu nodded.

In the courtyard within the manor, six beautiful dancers in red skirts knelt gracefully on the ground. They bowed their heads, each holding a thin steel blade of moderate length. Standing before them was a black-clad man in armor.

“Your back is too straight; it will make people suspect you're hiding blades. When it's time to perform, you must conceal your murderous intent well, even convince yourselves that you are merely musicians. Then, at the peak of the performance, reveal your blades and kill that woman, understood?”

The burly black-clad man's admonishing voice was cold and stern. With his hands clasped behind his back, he held a long whip studded with barbs. The kneeling dancers were silent as cicadas in winter, daring not to speak.

“Understood…” the reprimanded woman replied timidly.

The black-clad man, holding the whip, lifted the dancer's chin, looked at her face, and said, “I know what you're thinking. Don't you believe this assassination is impossible and meaningless?”

No one dared to respond.

The black-clad man continued, “You women are still too short-sighted. Don't think Zhao is quiet now, but once they make their move, all of you will become slaves of a conquered nation, sold into the Zhao army camps as camp followers! Only then will you understand what it means to live a life worse than death! Obey now, and you and your families will have a chance to live!”

“Yes, Sir.”

These dancer-assassins knelt obediently and responded in unison.

They were well aware of this black-clad man's prowess. Rumor had it his strength was even on par with the once-famous Ghost of Colorful Robes. And after the Ghost of Colorful Robes died, this black-clad man merely dismissed him as someone who “fished for fame.” Now, they had found a way to infiltrate Zhao, buying this courtyard to prepare for an assassination at the upcoming state banquet.

The black-clad man looked at the six attractive women. He knew they were dead the moment they entered Zhao, because they couldn't possibly succeed in the assassination. Their role was merely to create chaos; the ultimate killing blow would be his own.

“Continue practicing,” the black-clad man said.

The six courtesan-dancers knelt and assented. Their figures dispersed; two sat facing each other with a guqin and a pipa, while four stood in the center, striking graceful dance poses.

The music and dancing began.

The black-clad man remained motionless.

The girl playing the guqin sensed something amiss. She looked towards the black-clad man, and a moment later, she screamed.

The black-clad man, who in their eyes was like a rakshasa, had a blood-stained knife tip protruding from his chest. Thick blood was smeared on his black clothes, and though it wasn't clearly visible, the pungent smell of blood assailed their noses.

As the girl's scream echoed, the burly black-clad man toppled straight over.

Screams erupted in chaos in the courtyard.

“Someone really is trying to rebel,” Ning Changjiu said, gently shaking his head as he looked at the fallen black-clad man.

Zhao Xiang’er stated, “This isn't rebellion; this is suicide.”

Ning Changjiu chuckled, “I suppose you've been in the deep palace for too long; these people have forgotten your majesty.”

They spoke softly, yet their words clearly reached the ears of the six women. How could they not understand the meaning? Each was struck as if by lightning, their blood seemingly frozen into ice shards, unable to move at all.

This… this white-clad young woman, could she be Her Majesty the Empress of Zhao?

Such an absurd scene unfolded like a nightmare. The previous nightmare had already fallen to the ground, becoming a corpse, and the true nightmare had silently arrived, dressed in a pure white skirt.

“Mercy, Your Majesty!” The woman holding the guqin was the first to kneel, kowtowing heavily. Her forehead struck the coarse sand on the ground, bleeding profusely.

The others also reacted, frantically kneeling and kowtowing repeatedly, begging for mercy.

Zhao Xiang’er ignored their pleas for mercy and merely said calmly, “Continue practicing.”

After saying this, she bypassed the women and walked into the house behind the courtyard. The room was full of dust and cobwebs, containing only a long bench and a wobbly table.

Zhao Xiang’er pulled the long bench to the table and sat down, leaning her back against the table as if it were her throne.

Ning Changjiu understood her meaning and sat down beside her.

The dancers with blood on their foreheads exchanged glances, at a loss.

“I told you to continue,” Zhao Xiang’er said.

As soon as she finished speaking, the dancers knew they were surely doomed…

They sat down, utterly dejected.

Wistful guqin music, accompanied by the pipa, emanated from the room, like a dirge.

The dancers' steps were also stumbling and lacked any grace, their pale faces streaked with tears of despair.

Zhao Xiang’er watched quietly, her expression calm.

The women felt the last moments of their lives. The girl playing the guqin seemed unwilling to die; she desperately plucked the strings until her fingers were raw and bleeding.

In the lingering echoes of the guqin, the two women playing it tremblingly drew straight swords from behind their collars, while the dancers pulled knives from the sides of their thighs beneath their skirts.

They held their knives but walked in tremblingly, as if marching to their execution. One woman stumbled on her skirt, almost accidentally stabbing the back of the person in front of her in her lurch.

Clanking sounds echoed in the humble room.

The floor was covered with shattered blades.

“Go to the imperial palace, find the Night Watch Division. If you can survive for one year and emerge, you will be worthy of being my swords. If you try to escape midway, you will be executed without mercy.”

Zhao Xiang’er said slowly.

The Night Watch Division was Zhao’s assassination organization, extremely stringent. Many officials and generals of Jin State had died by their hand.

After saying this, Zhao Xiang’er closed her eyes and slowly opened them only after the dancers had dispersed.

“Why did you let them go?” Ning Changjiu asked.

Zhao Xiang’er was silent for a moment, then slowly began, “When I was very young, I had many sisters in the Qianyü Palace…”

She paused, then continued, “I only learned when I grew up that they were all sworn followers my mother had prepared for me. Three years ago, after the imperial city fell into chaos, they…”

She did not continue.

“Hm?” Ning Changjiu was slightly puzzled.

Zhao Xiang’er closed her eyes and softly said, “I'm a little tired. I want to sleep for a bit.”

With that, she turned onto her side and rested her head directly on Ning Changjiu’s lap. One hand was pressed under her cheek, the other rested on her chest, her long, slender legs slightly curled and folded on the bench.

Her Majesty, the Empress of Zhao, truly fell into a peaceful sleep in this dilapidated room.

Ning Changjiu looked at the young woman resting on his lap and gently ran his hand over her hair.

Zhao Xiang’er breathed evenly, lying still, as docile and soft as a kitten.

Ning Changjiu’s expression softened.

Half an hour later, she slowly awoke.

The young woman got up as if nothing had happened.

Ning Changjiu left the courtyard with her.

They returned to the previous street.

In the bleak late autumn, fallen leaves covered the ground.

Ning Changjiu and Zhao Xiang’er simultaneously looked up at the tree they had made their bet on earlier.

The phoenix tree stood ancient and bare, its leaves completely shed.

“You lost,” Ning Changjiu said, however.

Perched on the bare trunk was a single sparrow.

It was the tree’s last trace of life before winter arrived.