Chapter 53

Dense Fog

On the way back, Xie Sui’an’s steps faltered, her legs weak to the point where she could barely stand. She drifted out like a wandering ghost, her world unraveling and collapsing all around her.

Such a good young man—why did he have to die?

Did he suffer when he died? Did he leave any last words? Does anyone know where he is buried? Did anyone recite prayers to guide his soul for seven days? Does his spirit know the way back home?

She hadn’t seen him in three years. He had delayed their marriage again and again in pursuit of honor and recognition, until the chaos of the times left them no choice. She had hidden away his portrait, imagining how he might have grown more mature over the years. Would his features have become sharper? Would his martial skills have improved even more?

But no matter how skilled he had become, he always had to go easy on her during their sparring matches.

She had been waiting for him to tell her about his travels, the stories of his thrilling adventures.

She would rather have never learned of his death.

The moment she learned, he truly died for her. She mourned him, grieved for him, but in this world, there was no one left waiting for his return.

Grief overwhelmed her entirely. She relinquished control over her body, allowing her limbs to move numbly. Her body, devoid of will, carried her forward instinctively, weaving through the shadowy corridors of the night. She no longer knew where she was going.

As she turned a corner, Xie Sui’an unexpectedly ran into Xie Que’shan.

Xie Sui’an stared at him, her tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.

“Why?”

Xie Que’shan’s expression gradually grew serious. For something to make Xie Sui’an cry like this, there could only be one possible reason in the world.

“Why did you kill him?” she asked, clutching his sleeve. She lacked the strength to hate him at this moment. She begged him for an answer, desperate to grasp onto some clarity amidst the chaos in her mind.

“Who told you that?” Xie Que’shan demanded harshly.

It was as if she had been struck by lightning. Xie Sui’an instantly regained her senses—she had merely gone to the back mountain, and yet, she had learned of Pang Yu’s death. The identities of the people around the Ling’an Prince were kept strictly confidential. Not even her father would know, so how could he have told her about Pang Yu’s death?

“Who told you that?” Xie Que’shan asked again, his tone even sharper.

Xie Sui’an flinched. She had never seen Xie Que’shan question her so ferociously before. Her mind was a complete mess. It was her carelessness and loss of control that had caused everything to spiral into disaster.

How could she cover this up?

No—perhaps there was no need to cover it up at all.

He had killed Pang Yu, and she would perish alongside him.

Without warning, Xie Sui’an drew the soft sword at her waist and struck at Xie Que’shan with all her strength. Her attacks were unrelenting, almost brutal, but her movements were disorganized, leaving many openings.

Xie Que’shan dodged her strikes without countering. Though he carried no weapon, his movements were swift and precise. The two of them fought fiercely, from the corridor to the eaves, and then down into the courtyard. After exchanging several blows, Xie Que’shan found an opening, grabbed her wrist, and disarmed her by twisting her arm behind her back.

Though he had clearly gained the upper hand, a trace of hesitation and softness flickered across his face. Yet, the moment he eased his grip, the dagger concealed at Xie Sui’an’s wrist sprang out, and she continued her relentless assault, determined to fight to the death.

“Xiao Liu!” a voice called out anxiously from behind. It was Nan Yi, rushing to intervene, breaking the deadly tension between the siblings.

As Nan Yi rushed forward to pull Xie Sui’an’s hand away, she held Xie Sui’an by the shoulders, her face full of guilt. “I’m sorry, Xiao Liu. I didn’t tell you earlier… I was there when Pang Yu died. I was afraid you’d be heartbroken. Please don’t be mad at me, alright?”

With this single sentence, she subtly explained both how Xie Sui’an had learned of Pang Yu’s death and why the two of them had appeared one after the other.

With her back to Xie Que’shan, Xie Sui’an’s expression was laid bare before Nan Yi—her killing intent slowly faded, replaced by a dazed and grief-stricken look.

Xie Que’shan’s dark gaze swept over Nan Yi, weighing heavily on her, leaving her almost breathless.

Nan Yi felt uncertain, unsure how much Xie Que’shan might believe her, but this was the only excuse she could muster in such a desperate moment.

She had just come out of the kitchen when she overheard the confrontation between Xie Sui’an and Xie Que’shan. Connecting a few pieces of information, she could guess which important figure was hidden in the back mountain’s temple.

If Xie Que’shan discovered even a hint of this, it would all be over. Knowing the stakes, Nan Yi steeled herself to cover for Xiao Liu.

Xiao Liu was mad with grief, but even in her madness, she should know that Xie Que’shan could not be killed.

Xie Sui’an abruptly pulled her hand back and shoved Nan Yi away. “You’re just another accomplice of Xie Que’shan!”

Half genuine, half feigned, she could only follow along with Nan Yi’s story.

Her mind was a whirlwind. So many people had known about Pang Yu’s death, yet they had all hidden it from her. She felt as though she were splitting in two: one part of her trying to calmly grasp the situation, while the other drowned in sorrow, tears streaming uncontrollably.

A thousand thoughts surged to her lips, but in the end, only a single question emerged: “Before he died… what did he say?”

The corridor fell silent, broken only by the sound of the wind.

Nan Yi looked up at Xie Que’shan. His eyes were dark, like rain-polished stones at the bottom of a deep pool.

She knew Pang Yu had said something to him before his death, but she had been too far away to hear.

Finally, he spoke in a low, obscure voice: “He said he never broke the oaths of his youth.”

That was Pang Yu’s entire life: loyal and unwavering. He had made few oaths in his short life, but each one he fulfilled with his utmost effort. He swore to serve his country faithfully, to honor his parents, to remain steadfast in his love for Xiao Liu, to entrust life and death to his friends, and… to face the traitor Xie Que’shan in a fight to the death.

Hearing those words, it was as if something seized her breath. Xie Sui’an found herself unable to breathe, overcome by a wave of sorrow that enveloped her entire being.

Xie Que’shan quietly observed his sister. The sins he had committed had finally come back to haunt him. If there was any opportunity in his lifetime, he would atone for them all.

But not now.

He turned and walked away, his robe sleeves vanishing into the night, like mist spreading across a vast sea.

________________________________________

Nan Yi stayed with Xie Sui’an, helping her back to her room and recounting the events of that day, with certain embellishments and adjustments to her story. She claimed she had been on a mission to steal intelligence from Xie Que’shan when she encountered Pang Yu. Pang Yu, sacrificing himself, had concealed her identity and allowed her to deliver the information to Lidu Prefecture.

Xie Sui’an cried until her eyes were so swollen that no amount of rubbing could soothe them. In the end, Nan Yi had no choice but to instruct a maid to prepare a bowl of calming, sleep-inducing broth to coax Xiao Liu into drinking it.

As Xie Sui’an drifted into a dazed sleep, she still clung tightly to Nan Yi’s sleeve, murmuring faintly.

Nan Yi leaned closer to listen. All she heard was a vague whisper: “The things Pang Yu didn’t finish… I’ll finish them for him…”

Even as she slept, her voice was resolute.

Her relationship with Xie Que’shan was now beyond repair.

Though, in truth, this had little to do with Nan Yi, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness. Her feelings toward Xie Que’shan were complicated. At times, she thought he wasn’t entirely evil, but everyone around him—and even his own actions—constantly reminded her that he was far from a good person.

Stepping out of the room, she looked up at the night sky beyond the eaves. To her surprise, the dark expanse revealed a faint milky-white glow.

The long night passed just like that.

________________________________________

Outside the small thatched hut in Jiangyue Fang, two Qi soldiers stood guard.

Their task was to keep an eye on Song Muchuan until the next day when the government offices opened, at which point they would escort him to take up his new post at the Maritime Affairs Bureau.

Inside the thatched hut, the candlelight burned for most of the night, accompanied by the soft rustle of pages turning. If one were to say scholars were pedantic, this was proof enough—he showed no sign of slacking off, even when working for the Qi.

Only as dawn approached did the candlelight finally extinguish. Song Muchuan seemed to tidy up and then prepare to sleep. The two guards glanced inside and saw him lying with his back to the window, his blanket puffed up. Yawning with fatigue, they paid no further attention.

By that time, however, Song Muchuan had already slipped away, walking through a secret passage connecting the hut to the operations base of the Candlelight Division. The frail scholar had transformed into the enigmatic leader of the Candlelight Division.

At the end of the secret passage, an operative was already waiting with a letter in hand.

“Sir, this is the reply from the Minister of the Central Secretariat.”

Earlier, Song Muchuan had sent a letter to the Minister, reporting on his plans after assuming office and posing one additional question—regarding the identity of “Yan” (the Wild Goose).

After combing through all the records of the Candlelight Division’s operatives, he discovered the existence of a mysterious operative known by the code name “Yan.” This operative was not under anyone’s direct command, and a specific team within the division was assigned solely to assist him.

Yet no one had ever seen Yan in person. He had a prearranged method of exchanging intelligence with the division: the intelligence arrived, but the man never appeared.

It was this very “Yan” who, following the death of Xie Hengzai, orchestrated the plan to escort Prince Ling’an into the city and arranged for them to be hidden in the temple at the rear of the Xie family estate.

To say Song Muchuan wasn’t curious would be a lie. There were tens of thousands of people in Lidu Prefecture—any one of them could be a hidden master of disguise.

Who could possibly possess such immense capability? Song Muchuan asked the question outright in his letter.

However, the Minister’s reply was simple: The time is not yet right.

This response didn’t surprise him. Matters like these, shrouded in secrecy, would cease to be the realm of spies and intrigue if everything were laid bare.

Understanding this, Song Muchuan calmly held the letter over the candle flame and burned it. Then, he took a slip of paper from his sleeve and handed it to the operative waiting for him. It was a list he had painstakingly written while burning the midnight oil.

“These items on the list—have people procure them from various places and transport them into the city,” he instructed.

The operative glanced at the list and was visibly startled.

“Sir, this is…”

“Like ants moving a nest: transport in small quantities and in multiple trips. Do not alert the enemy,” Song Muchuan said coolly.

“Yes, sir,” the operative responded, bowing as he accepted the task, not daring to say more.

“The ships the Qi plan to build,” Song Muchuan remarked coldly, “will become their own graves.”

His voice was icy and resolute.