That night, she slept so deeply that not even a dream visited her. Enveloped in a familiar scent, she finally settled her heart like a young beast returning to its den, letting her consciousness dissolve into the warm darkness.
If only she didn’t have to wake up.
She furrowed her brows, evading the cool, large hand gently patting her cheek. Hazily, she felt as if she were seven or eight again, unwilling to rise in the morning to practice calligraphy, her adoptive father coming to rouse her. She buried her head deep into the quilt to escape. Zhuoying, ever mischievous, would always yank the covers off with a flourish, making her sneeze three or five times. Half-asleep, Haishi smiled, instinctively clutching the quilt tighter, bracing for Zhuoying’s teasing. But after a moment, when nothing happened, the sweet, heavy drowsiness gradually faded. Time flashed by, and memories clung to her heart like a cold piece of jade. Even before opening her eyes, she felt a pang of sorrow. She was no longer the child with twin buns, and Zhuoying, the boy with dark golden eyes who had been her companion for ten years, would likely never return to play with her again.
She opened her eyes, squeezed them shut, then opened them again.
Zhuoying was gone. Only he and she remained here. Yes, this was his room. The bedding and curtains were simple and elegant, imbued with a faint scent of ink. His pillow, his marrow-jade waist pendant, the ancient sword Jingni he kept by the bed, and his warm, cool hand resting on her cheek. The room was bathed in clear, bright light, and on the window paper, snowflakes drifted down like flying catkins.
Haishi blinked her thick lashes. "It’s snowing." "Mm," he replied, attempting to withdraw his hand, but she held it fast, keeping it pressed against her cheek. Her touch was light, timid and awkward, as if afraid he might show the slightest displeasure, ready to let go and flee at any moment.
"I want to leave the military registry and stay in the capital." "Don’t you like the frontier?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I do," she glanced at him, then immediately lowered her eyes. "But the frontier is too far from you. Whether it’s the emperor or the barbarian kings, I’m not afraid of any of them. As long as I’m always by your side, and only me, that would be enough." He fell silent, his chest filled with a turmoil of ice and fire. The shimmer in her eyes at that moment, so tender and soft, actually made him fearful. She was growing day by day, and her androgynous beauty was becoming increasingly striking. Even though her skin had been tanned to a honey-gold hue, whenever she let down her hair, an unconscious radiance and charm emerged, unmistakable. On the battlefield, she was as decisive as iron, colder and steadier than any man, yet by his side, she always saw herself as a child, trusting him completely and indulging in the fleeting happiness before her. And the only thing he could do for her was to reach out and shatter this ephemeral, bubble-like happiness with his own hands.She suddenly lifted her face, her bright eyes sparkling with determination. "I've always been the best at martial arts since I was young. I won't hold you back." His hand resting on Haishi's cheek remained gentle, while the other at his side imperceptibly tightened into a fist. "The Emperor is going on the winter hunt today. Will you accompany me?" "Winter hunt?! Yes, I want to go!" At the mention of hunting, Haishi immediately perked up. She leaped barefoot from the bed and headed toward her own room. "I'll change my clothes!" "Your hand." "Huh?" Haishi paused in confusion, hesitantly extending a hand. A cold, heavy object dropped into her palm. It was a gold archer's ring inlaid with pale green glass, an heirloom piece whose luster was exceptionally warm and rich from years of wear. The inside had been newly wrapped with thick green silk thread. She tried it on her right thumb—it fit perfectly. She gave him a radiant smile, and he returned a faint one, though his eyes held unfathomable, shadowy depths.
The solar term was Major Snow.
Dark clouds gathered from all directions, and snowflakes danced in the air. Yet, Emperor Di Xu insisted on going hunting.
On the day of the imperial winter hunt, the two main avenues, Yong'an and Yongle, as well as the Chengji Gate, were, as usual, closed to commoners. All food stalls and shops along the roads were shut down. Along the fifty-li snow-covered avenue, brocade curtains ten feet high stretched continuously on both sides. To prevent the imperial carriages from slipping, the road had been sprinkled evenly with fine sea sand, making it broad, straight, yellow, and clean, as if paved with pure gold. On Yong'an Avenue, the procession of officials in their five-colored robes formed distinct square formations, advancing in succession. For a moment, banners and canopies blotted out the sky.
The Great Zheng dynasty revered five colors: black, gold, vermilion, blue, and purple. Black with golden dragon patterns was reserved for the emperor and empress's ceremonial robes, while the other colors were assigned according to rank and official status. Even in winter, when fur cloaks were worn over robes, no one was permitted to exceed their designated color. As this was a hunting expedition, all officials were dressed for riding and archery. They had removed their official headdresses, slipped the left shoulder of their court robes off to reveal inner robes of the same color, and tied the long front and back flaps at the right waist. Over this, they wore fur cloaks in their assigned colors. Haishi seldom wore fur and, in her haste, could not find a blue sable cloak in her color. She had to make do with a silver fox fur, which made her particularly conspicuous among the military officials. Soon, a fellow officer approached to strike up a conversation. Haishi introduced herself, stating her name and origin. Upon hearing the name Fang Haishi, the officials immediately recognized her as Fang Zhu's adopted son and exchanged uneasy glances before falling into silence. Haishi said no more and urged her horse forward alone.
When they reached the intersection of Yong'an and Yongle Avenues, a young eunuch came forward with a message, ordering the civil and military officials to halt temporarily. By then, a half-li gap had opened between Emperor Di Xu's procession and the officials. A contingent waiting on Yongle Avenue moved into this gap. At the head of this group rode a young man draped in an exceptionally long and vibrant red fox fur cloak, his face hidden by a wind hood. Beneath the hem of his cloak, exquisitely crafted purple-gold stirrups were visible. Vermilion was the color reserved for imperial relatives, so the young man could only be Prince Chang. Prince Chang reined in his horse and turned his face toward the officials, though it was unclear whom he was looking at. After a moment, he swept his wind hood back casually and turned forward. Prince Chang's features were more delicate than Emperor Di Xu's, and he usually appeared listless. Yet, in that brief moment, his expression was unusually sharp and severe. Though some might have been startled by that glimpse, they would soon doubt their own eyes—for Prince Chang then let out an unabashedly loud yawn toward the sky before leading his retinue of guards forward, closely following Emperor Di Xu's procession.Wanshi Period, First Year. The imperial procession arrived at the hunting grounds. Qiyue Hunting Ground lay beneath the Qiyue Pass, encircled on three sides by the Tianzhu Mountain Range. It was the nearest royal hunting park to the capital. For over 670 years since the founding of the dynasty, the Great Snow Winter Hunt ceremony had been held here annually, interrupted only for eight years during the Yi Wang Rebellion. The original purpose of the Great Snow Winter Hunt was to divine the fortunes of the coming year based on the quantity and variety of game caught. The hunt was expected to yield leopards, sables, sparrowhawks, and rabbits, each symbolizing wealth, warmth and sustenance, favorable weather, and prosperity. Over time, it evolved into a ceremonial winter hunt, where the four animals were released one by one before the imperial carriage for the emperor to symbolically capture or shoot, serving as offerings to heaven, earth, and the mountains during the Great Spring Sacrifice.
The officials permanently stationed at the hunting grounds were known as hunters, numbering around a hundred. When they came out to greet the procession, they had all removed one shoulder of their court robes, tying up the hems to assume a riding and archery attire, forming a separate column to the left of the five-colored official ranks. Haishi observed the hunters, each with their specific duties: some held eagles and sparrowhawks, others carried rabbit cages, and sixteen were specially tasked with transporting leopard cages. Among them, two young women stood out particularly, draped in cloaks of mottled gray squirrel fur. Their appearances were merely average, and their demeanor was neither that of palace maids nor of noblewomen. Both had black hair cascading over their shoulders, unadorned and unstyled, their squirrel fur cloaks wrapped from neck to ankle—an attire that was highly disrespectful and offensive in the presence of the emperor, yet everyone seemed to ignore it. As if sensing Haishi’s gaze, one of the young women turned her head and glanced back, her eyes innocent and timid, like the white rabbit in the cage beside her. Just then, the civil officials ahead made way as a eunuch announced that the leopard was about to be released, ordering all military officials to form ranks and step forward to guard the emperor. Haishi followed the main group, leading her horse on foot through the civil officials’ ranks, and spotted the soldier who had ridden "Wind Steed" to deliver the message to Chishan among the forest of imperial guards. Prince Chang and Emperor Xu were surrounded by a throng of blue-clad imperial guards and military officials, their fox-fur and sable robes gleaming like the finest tribute satin, standing out as the two most vivid splashes of color amidst the sea of snow-white and stone-blue. Fang Zhu concealed himself among the eunuchs, clad in the same sable outer robe, his wind hood shading his eyes, yet his posture and bearing remained striking. Many military officials had already taken notice of him, whispering speculations—was this the legendary Chief Steward Fang, who never left the palace? A slight stir rippled through the crowd ahead—the leopard had been released from its cage.
The leopard was a clouded leopard raised since cubhood in the imperial park, familiar and affectionate with the hunters who tended to it, its claws trimmed daily by them. As long as one did not approach too closely, it was merely a safe, ornamental creature. Fresh out of its cage, the leopard’s paws were adorned with tinkling golden bells. It took a few bewildered steps, leaving plum-blossom prints in the snow, then spotted the familiar face of a hunter among the crowd and bounded lightly and joyfully toward them.A sharp shout erupted through the crowd, carrying a surge of murderous intent that sent chills down the spines of all who heard it. Emperor Xiu casually tossed his black sable fur cloak behind him and, with a swift motion of his hand, sent a gleaming arc slicing through the air. The clouded leopard let out a pained roar, thrashing and clawing wildly, its movements jingling the golden bells attached to it and kicking up clouds of powdery snow. The imperial guards rushed forward, using their military staves to restrain the beast. It took nearly twenty men to finally pin the leopard to the ground. When the onlookers focused their gaze, they saw a finely crafted steel axe, thrown by Emperor Xiu, embedded squarely between the leopard’s eyes—a fatal blow.
After the ritual officer stepped forward to complete the prayers, the imperial guards moved the leopard aside. The assembled officials then prostrated themselves, shouting, "Long live the Emperor!" in praise of his martial prowess. Emperor Xiu retrieved the black sable cloak he had earlier removed from the hands of a young attendant and cast a weary, indifferent glance over the hundreds of civil and military officials, resplendent in their ceremonial robes and jeweled belts, kneeling before him.
By the time Haishi looked up, all she could see was Emperor Xiu’s retreating figure as he draped the cloak over his shoulders. The heavy sable fur billowed behind him like a pair of ominous black wings.
“Where are the sable maidens?” The Emperor’s clear voice held a hint of amusement, like a willful youth anticipating a cruel game.
Almost imperceptibly, the officials shifted their gazes toward the line of hunters on the left. Two young girls, wrapped in mixed gray-and-silver squirrel fur cloaks, hesitantly stepped out of the formation. They exchanged a glance, their shoulders trembling involuntarily.
Snap. A soft sound broke the silence as Emperor Xiu lightly tapped the handle of his whip against his palm, a gesture of impatience.
The two girls stiffened instantly, their faces expressionless. Only their bloodless, delicately rounded lower lips betrayed an uncontrollable, almost imperceptible tremor. Two hunters approached, unfastened the clasps at their necks, and tugged at the backs of their cloaks. The warm, thick fur slid silently from their bodies. With a forceful shove from behind, the girls were pushed into the snow, still stained with the vibrant blood of the clouded leopard, exposed to the gazes of hundreds of men.
Beneath their cloaks, they wore almost nothing—only a thin, sleeveless white satin tunic that offered meager coverage. Their small boots had been removed, and their skin, suddenly exposed to the cold, took on a delicate, rosy hue against the snowy backdrop.
“Move forward,” a cold, elegant voice commanded. “Separate and walk ahead.” The girls’ tender bare feet trod across the snow, the biting chill of the frozen ground making their steps unexpectedly light and swift, as if they were dancing on flames.
“Stop. Stay where you are,” Emperor Xiu called out. The two girls halted in the open snowfield ten zhang away, two solitary white figures, their shoulder-length black hair fluttering in the northern wind. The hunters opened the sable cages, releasing twenty-four black sables. Freed from their confines, the sables scattered, avoiding the crowd and darting across the snow into the woods. A few, however, curiously circled the girls’ feet before coiling around their ankles and settling comfortably on the tops of their feet.
The crowd held its breath unconsciously. The sable hunt was the most precarious part of the winter hunting ceremony, and no one dared bear the responsibility for any mishap.That day's snowfall was the heaviest since winter began. The sky churned with a dense white haze, snowflakes falling like willow catkins upon the sable maidens' shoulders, melting into trickling streams upon contact with their body warmth. Soon, the maidens' skin lost its warm, soft luster. The snowflakes ceased to melt, and fresh snow continued to drift down, layering thicker and thicker. Like a branch snapping under the weight of ice, one sable maiden knelt forward and then collapsed, motionless. The dark sable at her feet circled in confusion, sniffed her face, and then lifted its head to emit a plaintive cry. Haishi took a sharp breath, forcing herself to lower her eyes.
After a moment, another sable maiden’s slender frame swayed slightly before she stiffly toppled backward, like a withered tree falling into the snow. The massive royal procession watched them in silence. The wind grew fiercer, sweeping loose fresh snow into tiny silver waves. The maidens’ dark hair was soon buried, leaving only a pristine, silvery world before their eyes.
Haishi heard a faint, crisp sound—the crack of knuckles clenched tight. She shifted her gaze and saw the person to her left. The fist emerging from the blue fox fur was tightly clenched, the knuckles white. The person to her right held a whip, thumb anxiously picking at the cured leather wrapped around the handle. The person in front of her let her hands hang at her sides, tapping her thigh lightly with a forefinger as if in idle ease—had it not been forbidden to carry swords in the imperial presence, that would have been where her longsword usually rested. They remained silent; she could not see their faces. Haishi lifted her head and looked around blankly. The orderly, vibrant five-colored formations remained perfectly aligned. In this vast, opulent, silent procession, what was everyone thinking? A faint cry came from the woods, timid at first. The two dark sables beside the fallen maidens immediately raised their heads and called out urgently. Another answering cry joined from the woods, and two glossy, pure-black sables poked their heads out of the thicket, nimbly darting into the snow to join their companions. They timidly sniffed the maidens, whimpering as they rubbed their bodies against the maidens’ cheeks. Rustling sounds emerged from the bushes as one sable after another emerged, utterly disregarding the hundreds of humans just thirty meters away. They flocked to the maidens’ sides, forming two dark, furry clusters in the cold whiteness, like living sable blankets, tightly shielding against the biting cold.Dozens of hunters spread a net four zhang wide, treading cautiously toward the sable herd. The dark sables neither fled nor dodged, occasionally emitting one or two soft cries, but instead huddled closer around the sable girl, pressing tightly together until they were all captured in the net. A hunter leader then presented the drawstring of the net to Fang Zhu, who in turn offered it to Emperor Xu, symbolically handing over the dozens of ensnared sables. Wearing leather gloves, the hunters reached into the net and began extracting the sables one by one. Only then did the creatures grasp their plight, frantically scratching and letting out sharp, infant-like wails. As the net gradually emptied, the sable girl was revealed sitting dazedly amidst patches of crimson. Through the mesh, her bewildered eyes shifted, and after a long moment, she let out a piercing shriek. The sound cut through the net like a cold blade, sending a chill down the spine of every person present in the same instant.
Once a sable’s fur is damaged or stained, it loses its value. Thus, capturing them with blades or traps is forbidden, for even if lured into a snare, they would tear at each other in frenzy, shredding their rare pelts to pieces. The method of using a sable girl as bait, introduced from the northern kingdoms, preserves their fur to the greatest extent. For these innocent, gentle creatures, the sable girl is the perfect lure, minimizing the risk of mutual injury.
Emperor Xu indifferently tossed aside the net’s drawstring, which a young eunuch promptly retrieved, while another attendant presented him with a bow and arrows.
The sable girl sat within the net, gazing down at her hands. From her face to her limbs and torso, crimson scratches from sable claws crisscrossed densely. The cold had failed to numb the pain; a tear traced from her eye to her fingertip, tugging at every wound, until it finally fell, splashing a stark crimson dot upon the snow.
Across the icy plain, it was as if two clusters of untimely wild sparks had bloomed in the distance. Haishi’s eyes lost focus—mere red and white before her, yet it felt as though an endless expanse of blue had abruptly unfurled. A heavy, stagnant blue surged and crashed over her, stealing her breath. Steel-gray shark fins, tangled azure locks, radiant pearls, the fierce faces of soldiers—memories shattered and collapsed into sharp fragments. A salty tang spread between her teeth, and a dull ache throbbed in her right palm. Haishi looked down at her hands; there were no wounds, yet she gradually discerned the shape of that pain.
She lifted her gaze, frantically searching the crowd for his figure. Among thousands, she could spot him at a glance—like a lone fir standing tall in the forest, not exceptionally burly, yet carrying an innate, unyielding dignity that set him apart from the rest, even beneath the weight of disgraceful titles. Both he and Emperor Xu had shed their fur robes, handed to a young eunuch, revealing their riding attire beneath. He held a ceremonial eight-foot bow in one hand, his demeanor as gallant and noble as a young aristocrat.For over six hundred and seventy years of this dynasty's history, fifty-three emperors of the Chu lineage have reigned, among them no shortage of tyrants and incompetents. The common people's survival strategy boiled down to one word: endurance. The most massive upheaval in those six centuries occurred twenty-two years ago, during the reign of Emperor Xiulin—a ruler known for his diligence and strict enforcement of laws. Yet paradoxically, the eras under foolish sovereigns often saw greater peace and stability. This nation was too vast and intricate; even left unattended, it could manage itself and endure for many years—but emperors were always mortal. A human lifespan spans mere decades, and foolish or cruel rulers often met even shorter ends. In the eternal struggle between the masses and their monarchs, the emperor was the perpetual loser. Yet Emperor Xu instilled fear in them. Among the populace, whispers persisted that he might have been temporarily misled by treacherous ministers. But court officials knew he was neither foolish nor ignorant; he understood the principles of heavenly order and benevolent governance, and he deliberately cast them aside. When he killed, his eyes remained wide open, unflinching before his sins. Even someone as ruthless and formidable as Fangzhu was but an extension of his will. What was terrifying was that fourteen years had passed, and neither man showed the slightest sign of aging or decay. Everyone knew that immortal tyrants could not exist, yet common sense could never stem the tide of dread.
As if seeing through layers of fur to those pensive hands, Haishi could almost hear the suppressed voices around her, silently questioning again and again.
Why haven't these two died yet? The profound silence of the hunting grounds made the sound of each six-petaled snowflake landing distinctly audible. Yet those mute, leaden words seemed frozen in the air, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.
Emperor Xu casually plucked his bowstring, the sharp sound tearing through the veil of silence. In response, a chaotic flurry of wings erupted as dozens of raptors burst from the treetops on all sides, soaring skyward. There were twenty-four eagles, symbolizing the twenty-four solar terms, and among them mingled a single white-feathered, blue-backed sparrowhawk, representing the harmony of heaven and earth and favorable weather. The emperor had to identify it and shoot it down personally with the ceremonial eight-foot-long bow. Afterward, the imperial relatives and officials of the second rank or above were to shoot all twenty-four eagles, leaving none alive.
With keen eyes and swift hands, Emperor Xu drew his bowstring taut in an instant. The arrow shot forth like a meteor, piercing straight through one of the sparrowhawk's white wings. The bird let out a piercing shriek of pain, veering erratically as it glided toward the forest. Frowning slightly, the emperor swiftly loosed a second arrow that pierced its heart and emerged through its back. Instantly, the sparrowhawk stiffened its wings and plummeted like a stone. The ritual officer loudly proclaimed an auspicious year, and Prince Chang along with the high ministers raised their bows and arrows in unison—Fangzhu among them. As if sensing Haishi's gaze, he turned his head and cast a fleeting glance toward her in the crowd.
Watching his lean, composed face, she finally felt a measure of calm. From the moment he had lifted her six-year-old self onto his shoulders, she had believed that in this bustling world, he alone was her steadfast support. Even though he was such a reserved and detached man, knowing she held a place in his heart was enough to content her.
His gaze lingered on her face for a moment before shifting slightly to the side. Haishi followed his line of sight and turned to look, spotting the soldier who had delivered the message to Chishan City standing not far behind her, his eyes fixed intently on her. Eagles pierced with arrows fell one after another from the sky. The officials craned their necks in admiration, while the imperial guards busied themselves retrieving the golden rings from the eagles' talons and handing them to the ritual officers. No one had time to spare for anything else. She watched as the soldier drew a small leather pouch from his chest and took out a struggling, writhing creature—a young eaglet, no more than a month old, with sparse, soft gray feathers and a delicate yellow beak and claws. It looked pitifully fragile in the man's large palm.
His hand slowly tightened. The eaglet strained its neck, emitting faint, desperate cries. In an instant, a massive shadow descended from the sky—the mother eagle, folding her wings, diving furiously toward the soldier's head. Haishi, seeing this, cried out without thinking, "Be careful!" The soldier turned his gaze to her, his eyes filled with a clear, knowing pity. His gaze seemed to pass through her form and features, settling somewhere behind her, as if discerning a fate even she could not unravel.
Haishi felt as though her heart were like that eaglet, clenched tightly by an icy hand in the void, crushed into a bloody, indistinct pulp. She abruptly turned to look and saw Fangzhu drawing his bow, aimed at her.
"Xiaozi, move!" "Chen Xiaozi!" The imperial guards, wanting to rescue their comrade but lacking bows and arrows, could only shout in frustration.
And Fangzhu had already drawn his bow. The three of them were aligned in a straight line. It wasn't so much that she happened to stand between Fangzhu and the soldier named Xiaozi, but rather that Xiaozi had deliberately positioned himself behind her, luring the mother eagle. To others, it seemed Fangzhu was holding his shot, waiting for the precise moment to save Xiaozi. But she knew—he was waiting for something else.
She faintly understood what he intended to do.
She should have known all along—happiness would not come so easily. What kind of heartless, faithless man was he? How could she hope for his sincere devotion to her alone? He had so easily abandoned Zhuoying; why would he not abandon her as well? Strangely, though, she felt neither anger nor sorrow. For many years, his pupils had seemed to hold a mirror, isolating his inner self, coldly reflecting everything from the outside world. But in that instant, a crack split the mirror's surface. She saw deeply and clearly into the depths of his eyes—a turbulent, profound darkness boiling and churning within those elegant, elongated eyes, yet fiercely restrained, unable to burst forth.
A slight kick of her heel to set her mount trotting a few steps, or bending to hide beneath the horse's belly—avoiding the arrow would not be difficult. But he was the only archer in the world who could wound her. If this was his will, she would not evade. Right here, she would wait for him to personally bury her life.
Though it was only a moment, countless thoughts surged and broke through like a flood.
The arrow left the string.
With a sharp whistle, the arrowhead grazed the top of Haishi's head and plunged deep into the body of the mother eagle, which had nearly reached Xiaozi's skull. The force of the long arrow remained undiminished, pinning the fluffed and furious eagle to a nearby poplar tree.Only then did Haishi feel a chill at the crown of her head—her meticulously coiled and concealed raven-black hair was now flying high in the air. The long arrow had torn through the embroidered silk headscarf that bound her hair mid-flight, and her tresses cascaded like a dark, fragrant waterfall down to her waist, so breathtakingly beautiful that it stole the breath of onlookers. From the disheveled strands of her hair, she lifted her face, her bright eyes and crimson lips radiating a dazzling brilliance.
Her elusive beauty was like a reflection in water—never quite clear, yet impossible to look at directly, dazzling and unmistakably the bloom of youth.
She did not see the stunned admiration of the officials, nor the thunderous expression on Prince Chang’s face, nor even Emperor Xu’s raised left brow and intrigued expression. Her gaze was fixed solely on him.
Her face, usually untouched by worry or fear, now bore a strange expression—one he could not describe. It was like a desert traveler gazing at a mirage, or a child chasing river lanterns during the Lantern Festival. It was the look of longing for an unattainable illusion, knowing all the while it could never be grasped. A faint tremor at the corner of her lips gradually widened and lifted, almost crumbling, yet finally piecing itself together into a sorrowful smile. On that smiling face, two lines of tears fell abruptly, crystallizing into ice in the frigid air.
You need not have gone to such lengths, plotting so meticulously step by step. If you had only wished it, no matter how difficult, I would have done it for you. Her eyes seemed to say.
He did not evade her gaze this time, meeting it openly, his brow marked by a mix of relief and sorrow.
The clamor around them gradually subsided, and the colorful banners and officials parted to create a path as someone leisurely guided a horse toward her. The man was dressed entirely in noble black, his sleeves and raised front hem densely embroidered with golden thread depicting nine dragons. As he drew near, she could see his sharp, striking features, strikingly similar to Prince Chang’s, though his expression was weary and lazy, the faint smile at his lips sending a chill down one’s spine.
“Ah, it’s you,” came the mellow, elegant voice, now tinged less with impatience and weariness than with a hint of amusement. Haishi recognized that voice—the one always shrouded in shadows, like a bolt of faceless brocade—the man on the throne. Emperor Xu.
Before Haishi could react, she felt herself lifted lightly from her saddle. Emperor Xu had reached out, encircled her waist, and effortlessly drawn her over, placing her in front of him on his horse. He casually discarded her silver fox fur cloak and wrapped her in his own black sable. The sable’s fur was soft and thick, its jet-black surface interspersed with evenly spaced white guard hairs—what was commonly called “hidden needles in ink.” The fur grew warmer in the wind, its touch like flame, impervious to water, and any snowflakes that landed on it would instantly melt away.
Posing as a man to take the military examination was an act of deceiving the sovereign, a crime that warranted severe punishment. Seeing that Emperor Xu showed no intention of pursuing the matter, the officials naturally refrained from stirring trouble or offering stern admonitions to uphold the law, though unease lingered in their hearts. Since the death of Empress Zizan, Emperor Xu had rarely indulged in female company, leaving the rear palace largely empty. Aside from Consort Shurong, Tilan, there were only one or two concubines and palace attendants, seldom summoned throughout the year. Emperor Xu’s actions were capricious and unpredictable, and with this precedent set, there was no guarantee that the long-discontinued selection of palace consorts would not be revived.The hunters stood respectfully by the roadside with lowered eyes and bowed heads. At their feet, dozens of lifeless black sable corpses lay piled in nets, their necks snapped. The sable woman had already been taken away, her whereabouts unknown.
The soft black sable fur brushed against Haishi’s cheek, and Emperor Xu tightened the wrap around her once more.
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