The voluptuous woman, petite in stature yet alluring in presence, drew out a string of finely crafted, brand-new keys. As she unlocked the courtyard gate and stepped inside with a smile, she murmured, "At last, I have a place to put my skills to use."
Catching sight of a chicken coop nestled in the corner of the wall, from which came the rustle of flapping wings, she paused, slightly surprised. "Still alive?" she mused aloud.
"Well, you have me to thank," she added lightly. "I found you such a good neighbor—peace among neighbors, harmony under heaven."
Quickly grasping the reason behind the noise, she turned her gaze toward the adjacent courtyard. Yet, owing to her height, she could see nothing beyond the wall. So she walked to the yellow earthen partition, rose on tiptoe, and peered over—only to find an empty, desolate yard. Disappointed by the lack of interest, she soon looked away and approached the main house. Producing another key, she unlocked the door, stepped over the threshold, and ran a finger along the table inside—spotless.
Her expression soured slightly, as if an outsider had taken the liberty of applying rouge to her daughter's face—no matter how pretty it looked, a parent would never be pleased.
Three attendants had followed her into the alley. The burly man remained outside, standing in the center of the lane with eyes closed in quiet repose. The white-faced, beardless old man stepped into the courtyard, while the sword-bearing woman alone followed her into the house.
The woman wandered alone into Song Jixin's former residence. Her eyes swept across the room—bed and desk still present. On the desk were a few refined scholarly trinkets, likely items the previous owner had chosen to leave behind rather than carry away.
Approaching the desk, she noticed three books stacked neatly in the center. Flipping through them casually, she found nothing remarkable—just the standard primers used by children across the empire: Elementary Learning, Rites and Music, and Guan Zhi, the classics of Confucian education in Great Li. Though worn, the books bore no trace of grime, their pages clean and well-kept. A certain figure surfaced in her mind. Shaking her head, she asked absentmindedly:
"Yang Hua, what's the market price of Elementary Learning in the capital these days?"
From behind the door came the crisp, cool voice of the sword-bearing maiden, respectful and precise:
"Replying to Your Grace: at most sixty wen, at least forty."
The woman let out a soft "oh" and tutted. "Seems the loftier the wisdom of the sages, the cheaper it sells."
She carefully returned the three primers to their place and gave the top volume, Guan Zhi, a gentle pat. A faint sneer tugged at her lips as she said coldly:
"Were it not for the efforts of the storytellers, tirelessly singing praises in great cities and humble alleys for centuries, willing to cast themselves as second-rate chroniclers, the Confucianists would never have secured their throne over the realm—much less held it steady."
From the courtyard, the old man gave a light cough and murmured a warning:
"Your Grace should speak cautiously. This is not a place to speak freely."
She chuckled. "No need to worry. After Qi Jingchun's death, an agreement was reached. No one watches this place anymore. Without him, this stagnant backwater of the Lishu Grotto—untouched by catastrophe for thousands of years—no longer warrants the attention of the great powers."
Still, the old man pressed, "Caution is always wise."
She smiled sweetly, her voice soft. "Alright, alright, I'll keep my grievances to myself."
Then she turned and teased, "Xu Hunran, you really should learn from Liang Song. He's far better at reading a room. That's why they say he has outshone his teacher. It's not just flattery."
"As for my uncle teasing you with that remark—'a student need not be inferior to his master'—don't take it to heart. He's just that sort. Hears a few scholarly phrases and starts toppling bookshelves."
The old man, Xu Hunran, could only laugh bitterly and sigh. No one offers comfort quite like Her Grace.
Yet when he recalled the narrow encounter with the prince on their southbound journey, his mood darkened.
At that time, Song Changjing had looked weary, like a man not yet recovered from a life-and-death battle. And yet, to raise the curtain of his carriage before Xu Hunran's very eyes—that boldness meant the man may have reached yet another peak on the martial path. Though unlikely to step into the legendary Tenth Realm, any movement at the pinnacle of the Ninth was enough to widen the gap between him and masters of the Seventh or Eighth by an entire realm's worth.
Xu Hunran—hailed as the foremost swordmaster in Great Li—was not a man easily rattled. In their world, the title of Master bore as much weight as Grandmaster did among the great schools.
The genius swordsman Liang Song, who had died by Song Changjing's hand, was his proudest disciple. Xu had raised him as his own, and the grudge ran deep.
Within his sleeve, Xu kept a sword called White Sparrow. Barely a few inches long, it was said to strike with dreadful swiftness, flitting a hundred miles in an instant—its victims often dead before the sword had even returned to his sleeve. Ruthless and unfathomable, its reputation was terrifying.
Back in the house, the woman sat on the bed, patted the planks lightly, and said with a smile,
"Hardly a life of luxury, but it seems comfortable enough."
The young woman with the sword murmured softly, "Your Grace's care for the prince runs deep—testing his will, tempering his body and soul."
The woman stood up, laughing. "That's far too flattering. The one who's truly suffered is the orphan next door. My dear Muer can't be said to have endured much hardship."
She stepped toward the wall, pausing in thought, and muttered,
"The Lu family of Fulush Street gifted us several ancient scrolls. The spells inscribed within are so old their origins can no longer be traced. They differ greatly from today's major talisman sects. I remember one page described a curious little technique… What was the incantation again? Ah, I've got it. Let's give it a try."
With her back to the sword-bearing girl, the woman smiled.
"Go wait in the courtyard next door. I'll open the door from inside."
She intoned softly:
"Heaven and earth entwined, mountains joined as one. Soft as almond blossom, thin as parchment. I point and pierce—open swiftly—by decree of the Three Mountains and Nine Lords!"
Though she lacked the crucial talisman, she simply recited the spell, pointed her finger forward, and stepped calmly through the wall—leaving behind a faint ripple in the air.
She emerged inside a barren, crumbling house. Looking around, she sighed,
"Some are born with fortune, no matter how they squander it. Others… are born to suffer. Choose the wrong womb, and who will hear your grievance? Even if you find the one responsible—would you dare speak up?"
She looked toward the wall, her voice low.
"Little one, when you one day learn the truth—before seeking vengeance, you'll need to deal with Yunxia Mountain, Zhengyang Mountain, and Book Lake. By the time you find me… who knows what year it'll be? That's assuming you survive long enough to leave the Great Li borders."
She glanced at the wall again, her tone curious.
"The Three Mountains and Nine Lords… who are they, truly? There's no such name among the ancient deities of Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent. Could they be forgotten immortals, lost to worship and divinity alike? Yet if that's so, why does this spell still work?"
She had no answer, only a vague intention to investigate upon her return to the capital—perhaps consult Cui Chan, since he was always within reach.
She made her way to the door, removed the latch, and tugged—only to find it still locked from the outside. With a bit of force, she snapped the brass lock clean off. Opening the door, she found the gate ajar.
Looking at the sword-bearing girl and the old swordsman, she asked,
"Did the two of you just break in like this? Is courtesy no longer a virtue? Make sure you find someone to fix it later—don't forget."
As she walked toward the gate, she added,
"Make sure the house door gets a new lock—identical to the one before."
Clearly, neither the old master nor the young girl found this out of the ordinary. The burly man in the alley merely furrowed his brow.
Just as the woman stepped out of the courtyard, she paused.
"Yang Hua, walk sixty-three paces to the right, using the stride my Muer had when he was seven."
The sword-bearing woman received her command and obeyed...