The scorching monsoon winds blowing in from the southeastern sea had dried considerably by the time they traveled thousands of miles to reach the imperial capital, blasting hot against the face and bringing neither rain nor coolness. The common folk of the capital region called these winds the Foehn. Once the Foehn began to blow, the bitter summer of Tianqi had arrived.
Haishi and her party crossed the Mingluo Mountains southward. Before they could clearly make out the outline of Tianqi’s walls through the dusty haze, a mighty wind surged through the Qiyue Pass.
“The weather this year is unusual—there’s actually moisture in this wind,” Haishi remarked, taking a deep breath while steadying her restless, snorting mount.
Fu Yi laughed. “Not at all, it’s just the usual Foehn. If anything, this year feels even drier than before.” “But…” Haishi wore a puzzled expression. Though the wind could hardly be called cool, it unmistakably carried a hint of moisture, and as it brushed against their skin, long weathered by wind and sand, she could feel her pores tingling and opening up.
“We’ve come from Huangquan Pass. No matter how dry the Foehn winds of the Eastern Continent are, they always feel moist and pleasant to us. Lord Fang, you were born in the capital, right? That’s a bit better. When soldiers from the coastal counties first arrive at the pass, some suffer nosebleeds, others get chapped skin—it usually takes them half a year to a year to adjust,” Tang Qianzi turned his head, raising an eyebrow.
“This humble general’s ancestral home is by the coast in Linjie County, but I grew up in the capital,” Haishi replied respectfully.
As they spoke, they rounded the pass and began descending the slope. The horses broke into a brisk, lively trot. Haishi carefully controlled her mount and let out a soft exclamation of awe. Though the pass was still twenty li from Chengji Gate, from their bird’s-eye view, they could already see a massive stream of troops and banners slowly converging outside the outer walls, assembling before Chengji Gate. It was the very parade ground where the three major camps had gathered for inspection before their rotation and deployment last summer. The army, clad in red armor and bearing red flags, was well-trained. Every 2,500 soldiers that arrived formed a square formation of fifty rows and fifty columns, with three zhang between each formation. They moved in orderly ranks, rising, sitting, and turning with precision, guided by command flags. Dozens of formations had already arrived, yet troops continued to stream around the city from the south—a magnificent sight.
Beside the dragon flags and the banners of the capital garrison on the city walls, crimson horned banners rose—the flags of the Chengcheng Camp stationed at Jun Pass.
“Those monkeys from Jun Pass have beaten us to it,” Tang Qianzi shook his head, addressing the staff officers behind him. “Let’s halt here and tidy up our formation. We mustn’t give those monkeys a reason to laugh at us.” Haishi turned to look. As the Foehn swept past, the lush green vines covering the mountains withered into a desolate yet brilliant golden hue. The mountain path snaked with troops in indigo armor, resembling a river flowing through the landscape. She ordered the signal flags to relay the command, and a powerful, unified response surged from behind, echoing farther and farther north, resounding for three to five li. Every summer following a rotation at the pass, veterans returning from the three major camps were required to assemble at the parade ground outside Chengji Gate for inspection and to hear imperial decrees. The commanders of each camp also had to attend court to report on their duties. Behind them, they led a force of forty thousand troops.At the foot of the mountain, smoke rose as a rider dashed upward with agile grace, gradually revealing his figure and features. Haishi spurred her horse forward, breaking from the ranks, and waved, calling out, "Zhuoying, Zhuoying!" Before her voice faded, Zhuoying was already before her. Dressed in lightweight black attire without a military cap, he carried a long bow on his shoulder. It seemed he had heard that the Third Battalion, returning from the rotation, had reached Chengji Gate and had ridden straight from the imperial guards' training ground to the mountain pass. Zhuoying's deep-set eyes brimmed with laughter as he gazed at her for a moment, then remarked, "Oh no, you haven't grown taller, but the wind has carved wrinkles all over your face." His features were strikingly handsome and robust—had he been fair-haired and blue-eyed, he might have passed for a tribesman. Yet, with his jet-black brows and eyes and long residence in the Eastern Continent, people simply saw him as an exceptionally handsome man. Haishi was momentarily speechless, simply studying him from head to toe before suddenly exclaiming in surprise, "When did you advance from the Thousand Cavalry to the Ten Thousand Cavalry?" She pointed to the waist token hanging at his belt, adorned with gold zouyu patterns and a purple tassel—clearly the insignia of a Ten Thousand Cavalry officer. The rank of imperial guard officers was two levels higher than that of regular military officers of the same grade; a Ten Thousand Cavalry officer in the imperial guards equated to the third rank, subordinate only to the imperial guard commander and the four Ten Thousand Cavalry captains, and held the same rank as Tang Qianzi, the commander of the Huangquan Battalion.
Zhuoying merely smiled without answering, instead unfastening a clasp on his left shoulder and retrieving a crescent-shaped silver flask from under his arm. The flask was slim and discreet, hidden beneath his clothing; if he wore an outer robe or armor, it would be completely undetectable. Haishi took it, drank a mouthful, wiped her lips briskly, and laughed, "Truly a drunkard's delight! With such a cleverly concealed flask, you can enjoy fine wine wherever you go." She added, "Foster Father has been holding back a jar of Sanhua brew, refusing to open it until you returned. Now there's finally hope." Zhuoying's dark golden eyes gazed warmly at Haishi.
Haishi let out an almost imperceptible sigh. That man, always with a faint smile, still saw her as a boy. The thought brought an unconscious trace of loneliness to her face.
Zhuoying brought his horse alongside hers and ruffled her hair. "I asked Zheliu from the Weaving Workshop to make you a new set of clothes. I've hidden them under your bed—go try them on when you return." "I'm not a child anymore," Haishi forced a smile, lowering her eyelashes with a somber expression.
Zhuoying chuckled, "Tonight, both Foster Father and I are on duty at the Golden City Palace and can't get away. You should rest at Jifeng Hall for the night, and tomorrow we'll welcome you properly." With that, he spurred his horse and rode down the mountain.
Haishi watched his figure vanish into the misty grass with a sense of melancholy, then suddenly felt something amiss. Scanning the area, she noticed Fu Yi turning his head, his gaze sharp and fixed on Zhuoying as he swiftly passed by. She recognized that look—it was like the brilliantly colored carp lurking beneath the lotus leaves in the Jifeng Hall pavilion, eyeing a dragonfly resting lightly on the water's surface.
Haishi averted her eyes, concealing her startled expression—on the Piluo Mountain path, Fu Yi had also seen the new Left Pudu King of the Huku. Fu Yi's intense gaze subtly softened, his face dark and unreadable, betraying no emotion.
Less than half an hour after the Huangquan Battalion had encamped outside Chengji Gate, the Wuwei Battalion also arrived from Mohe Pass, and the three great battalions assembled beneath the city walls to await orders. According to protocol, each battalion of forty thousand troops would assign one deputy general and twenty thousand elite soldiers to remain in the capital to reinforce the Jingji Battalion, while the rest would be discharged and return home. The deputy general from the Huangquan Battalion assigned to the Jingji Battalion was Fu Yi, nearly fifty years old.
Word came from the palace: the commanders of the three great battalions were to attend the morning court the next day to report on their duties, and Deputy General Fang Haishi of the Huangquan Battalion was also summoned for an audience.
That night, Haishi took leave and returned to Jifeng Hall.In the third year of Tianxiang, Emperor Xu bestowed the Zhaoming Palace—formerly the residence of the late Emperor Xiu's third son, Shuyun—upon Fang Zhu, the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court in the inner palace. The palace was stripped of its imperial name and renamed Jifeng Hall, signifying its separation from the royal family. Fang Zhu's adopted sons, servants, and other associates were also permitted to reside there, with the unique privilege of riding horses within the palace grounds.
Before the Rebellion of Prince Yi, no one had heard of Fang Zhu in the palace. Throughout the eight years of turmoil, there were no records of any achievements by him. How could a eunuch of obscure origins rise to such prominence and power? Whispers of suspicion spread like wildfire among the common people and court officials alike. Emperor Xu’s neglect of state affairs surely had a reason. How could such a wise and astute ruler, who had fought tirelessly for eight years without a single defeat and handled government affairs with meticulous care—even remaining steadfastly loyal to his late empress, who did not live to see the capital restored—suddenly lose his will and sanity? Though the Black-Clad Imperial Guards’ covert pursuit of the restoration heroes remained largely hidden, traces of their actions gradually surfaced. These shadowy warriors were mere puppets, and the intricate web of strings controlling them all led back to one man: a eunuch. Resentment swiftly turned toward Fang Zhu, the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court.
Fang Zhu, however, did not engage in disputes. Memorials filled with bitter admonitions poured in from all corners like snowflakes, but the emperor, too lazy to read them, ordered Fang Zhu to recite them aloud. Seated below the imperial couch, Fang Zhu would read phrases like "treacherous eunuch" and "vile castrate" without a flicker of discomfort or evasion. Rumors circulated that Fang Zhu was hideously ugly and malicious, while others claimed he possessed a beauty as delicate as a woman’s, using his looks to bewitch the emperor. Yet, in fourteen years, no one had heard of Fang Zhu stepping beyond the inner palace. Aside from attending to Emperor Xu, he seldom moved about within the palace. Neither civil officials nor military commanders had ever laid eyes on the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court outside the palace walls.
Thus, Jifeng Hall, where Fang Zhu resided, became rumored to be the lair of the Black-Clad Imperial Guards. Carriages and horses entering or leaving Jifeng Hall were exempt from inspection, and after the palace gates were locked at night, only the Chuihua Gate outside Jifeng Hall could be opened at will from within. In the gossip of the common folk, Fang Zhu was no longer a man but a demonic entity clinging to Emperor Xu.
When the guard at the forbidden gate received the exit permit presented by Haishi and saw the character "Ji" engraved on it, his face instantly paled with terror. He returned the permit with both hands, not daring to utter a word.
Haishi coldly stared down at the guard without speaking, then spurred her horse and galloped straight into Jifeng Hall. The guard dared not question her.
Despite their privileges, those from Jifeng Hall rarely rode horses in and out of the forbidden city, and the special permission to open the Chuihua Gate at night was even more seldom used. In the ten years Haishi had lived at Jifeng Hall, her adoptive father and Zhuoying had mostly taken her over the walls to enter or leave the palace. Yet she knew well that the people of Jifeng Hall had always held the right to ride on horseback within the palace grounds.Her room remained arranged as it had always been, no different from that of any typical young nobleman, except for a lake-green silk bundle neatly placed on the huanghuali wood bed. Haishi untied the bundle and unfolded the clothing inside. At first glance, she frowned, revealing a slightly troubled expression. The garment was exquisitely beautiful—cool, smooth turquoise silk, as if cut from rippling waves, adorned with white gulls scattered across it. The collar and waist were intricately embroidered with white seaweed patterns, all hand-stitched with remarkable craftsmanship. Summer clothing typically avoided heavy embroidery, favoring printed or dyed fabrics instead, as dense needlework could make the wearer feel stifled and the fabric heavy. If the stitches were sparse, the sleeves and hem might flow gracefully, but the raised, intricate beauty of embroidery would be lost. Yet this garment was extraordinary—its stitches were fine and dense, without any stiffness or bulk. The embroidery was as skillful as that of a celestial weaver, and because it was done with freshly spun raw silk, it had a natural luster and a raised texture, yet it felt as light and smooth as a flowing breeze, neither clinging nor rough. What a remarkable Lady Zheliu! Judging by the craftsmanship of this garment, even the imperial weaving workshop could not have produced finer work. One could only imagine how clever and refined she must be.
Haishi tried draping the garment this way and that, but something always felt amiss. Finally, she sat back on the bed in frustration. Since she had begun disguising herself as a boy at the age of six, she had never allowed anyone to assist her with dressing and had long forgotten how to wear a ru jacket and skirt. Recalling how palace maids dressed, she managed to put them on clumsily. Spreading her arms and looking down, she hastily stood up and rushed to the table. She poured a cup of fresh tea, then, after a moment’s thought, poured it into a Guan kiln saucer and leaned over to see her reflection—there had never been a mirror in her room. At the sight, she sighed again. Now that she was wearing a ru and skirt, she could no longer tie her hair up under a man’s headscarf. Haishi simply loosened her bun and ran her fingers haphazardly through her cascading black hair.
A light knock sounded at the door. Haishi had already dismissed all her attendants earlier, and thinking it must be Zhuoying stealing a moment to return, her face lit up with joy. She hastily gathered the trailing hem of her skirt and rushed to open the door.
Haishi’s room faced the Shuangping Lake within the estate, where half the lake was dotted with fresh lotus blooms. As the door swung open, a gust of wind swept in, extinguishing the candle flames. Moonlight poured in like molten silver, washing over her from head to toe. Haishi felt an instant stillness descend, as if the chirping of crickets had abruptly vanished.
A smile froze on her wheat-golden face. The wind billowed her sleeves, and her unbound black hair streamed loose, as if ready to take flight.
The person outside the door seemed equally startled, his expression shifting, the scar at the corner of his mouth tightening into a straight line.
Usually disguised in male attire, Haishi’s beauty was largely concealed. Now, suddenly dressed as a young maiden, even with her collar askew and her expression uncertain, her unconscious radiance was breathtaking. In his youth, his own eyes must have been just as clear, a steely blue shining through the black and white, right? "Father..." Haishi called softly.
In Fangzhu’s eyes, a glimmer of light dimmed, fading into a murky darkness, like the impenetrable gloom of primordial chaos. Time had been lenient with him in other ways—at thirty-six, he still looked no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight—but his eyes could never return to what they once were. They were not clouded, yet something always seemed to veil his gaze, making it impossible to regain that transparent sincerity. The handsome young general of years past felt like a century-old dream, as if he were someone else entirely. Haishi’s voice pulled him out of his daze."You've truly grown up," he sighed with a soft laugh. "Knowing you should marry is better than always shouting about fighting and killing." Haishi gazed at him intently, a shadow of doubt crossing her face as if he were speaking a foreign tongue she couldn't comprehend.
"If there is someone in your heart, find an opportunity to remove yourself from the military registry, return to your feminine appearance, and stay at Jifeng Hall for a year or so. Your foster father will arrange the match for you," he said with a smile. He knew he was being cruel, watching the naturally delicate and beautiful face before him gradually cloud with sorrow. Yet he continued speaking gently, much like during his youthful campaigns on the battlefield when he would plunge his blade into an enemy’s chest—deeper, then deeper still—feeling the cleaving of flesh and bone beneath his hand, knowing that upon withdrawal, a spray of blood would follow. Still, he maintained his gentle smile. "Even if it’s a son of nobility, it will be easily managed."
A lock of unresolved sorrow seemed to tighten between Haishi’s brows, yet a faint, desolate smile touched her lips. "You know perfectly well, so why say such things?" she began, then halted abruptly as if the words had caught in her throat.
"Rest now. I must return to His Majesty’s side. If I’m missed, there will be trouble," he said casually before turning to leave. His steps were unhurried but covered great distance swiftly.
Haishi suddenly covered her face with both hands. When she lifted her head again, tear tracks glistened like scattered flecks of white light across her palms, faintly tracing two fragmented characters: Lang Huan.
The next day, Haishi accompanied Commander Tang Qianzi to an audience with Emperor Di Xu. Having distinguished herself by shooting down the old Zuopudun King of the Huku tribe, she was rewarded with a hundred taels of gold, a superior iron-backed seasoned rattan bow, and a hundred white gyrfalcon-feathered arrows. After expressing her gratitude and preparing to withdraw, a voice rang out from the throne.
"Wait. Lift your head." The voice, naturally clear and bright enough to rival a youth’s, carried a tremor of profound impatience and weariness, like the strings of a long-untuned zither. It was the voice of Emperor Di Xu.
Hesitantly, Haishi raised her face. Deep within the highest point of the Zichen Hall, behind curtains of pearls and jade arranged like a sacred shrine, sat the imperial throne. The throne was so deeply set that sunlight never directly touched it, leaving the figure upon it perpetually shrouded in shadow—a formless mass of brocade.
But she recognized the blue-robed figure standing within the gauze curtains beside the throne. This man never ordinarily attended court audiences, and thanks to years of meticulous caution, only trusted attendants served at Jifeng Hall. The Black Feathered Forest guards had eyes everywhere, and those in the emperor’s presence dared not speak a word of gossip. Now, among the hundred civil and military officials in the hall, not one recognized his face—even if they had, he always stood in the shadows beside the throne, appearing from a distance as nothing more than a gray-blue silhouette.
Yet she knew it was him. There was no need to approach or seek confirmation; she knew with absolute certainty. When your heart holds someone, you don’t need to see their features. Even from afar, the slightest gesture or movement sets them apart, even among thousands.
The figure on the throne murmured to the person beside him, "Is this the boy who was saved by the merfolk back then?" Fang Zhu replied in a low voice, "Yes." "The child is quite handsome," the emperor remarked, a corner of his lips quirking upward. His voice dropped to a whisper, as if not intending for anyone to hear.
The eunuch attendant standing nearby maintained a respectful bow, his wide blue sleeves hanging motionless without the slightest ripple, as if he had heard nothing at all.In the hushed silence of the main hall, a soft crack suddenly echoed. The assembled officials remained seated with solemn composure, but their eyes subtly shifted toward the source of the sound. Prince Chang, his face clouded with frustration, fished out a damp, sticky mass of yellow-white silk floss from his robes, holding it in his palm uncertainly. Fragments of eggshell and egg white dripped down, and a young eunuch hurried over to take it from him, offering a wet towel in exchange. The officials exchanged knowing, muffled laughter.
Prince Chang was notorious for his obsession with training hawks and staging monkey performances, often inviting street performers into his residence for years at a time. Every morning, his estate echoed with the cries of birds and beasts, the sounds of music and acrobatics filling the courtyards, making it livelier than the city’s official entertainment quarters. Recently, rumors had spread that the prince had discovered a method for taming gyrfalcons: if the owner personally incubated the falcon’s egg, the fledgling would regard the owner as its mother and understand human intentions. Delighted by this idea, Prince Chang had taken to incubating the egg himself. Whether listening to music, strolling through spring fields, or retiring for the night, he carried the gyrfalcon egg in his robes, forbidding even his favorite consorts from approaching, lest they accidentally crush it. This had become a popular joke in the capital.
As the nominal commander of the capital’s defenses, Prince Chang was required to attend court sessions. However, his estate was often filled with music and revelry late into the night, and he frequently slept in, using the excuse of a chill to skip court duties two out of every three days. Today, it seemed he had dozed off during the session and inadvertently crushed the precious gyrfalcon egg he carried.
Hai Shi, kneeling behind her commander, Tang Qianzi, glanced sideways and couldn’t suppress a quiet smile, her valiant demeanor softening with a hint of girlish charm.
Prince Chang, looking sheepish, scanned the room, and his gaze briefly swept over Hai Shi. Realizing her impropriety, she quickly lowered her eyes, fixing them on the crimson peacock-wool carpet beneath her. Tang Qianzi’s shadow stretched long and diagonally across the carpet before her. Unlike the civil officials, who remained seated throughout, military officers knelt only on their right knee during court sessions. Hai Shi clearly saw the shadow’s hand lift and tap three times firmly on its left knee, as if signaling someone. With all eyes on Prince Chang, it seemed no one else noticed Tang Qianzi’s subtle gesture. Hai Shi pressed her lips together and smiled again.
From the depths of the hall, her smile did not appear particularly alluring; instead, it conveyed a youthful brightness and an effortless elegance that was uniquely captivating.
The figure on the imperial throne observed this, a faint smile touching his lips.
On their way back from court, Zhuo Ying walked alongside Hai Shi. Deliberately avoiding the imperial procession and palace attendants, Hai Shi cheerfully took smaller paths toward the inner palace. Passing through the Ningtai Gate and circling west around the Renzhe Palace and Yu’an Palace, they arrived at the North Garden, where the palace’s miscellaneous staff resided.
“Which way now?” Hai Shi turned with a smile, looking at Zhuo Ying.
Zhuo Ying’s expression showed a flicker of confusion before turning slightly flustered. “To return to Jifeng Hall, we’d have to turn back.” “Who said anything about returning to Jifeng Hall? I want to thank Lady Zheliu from the Weaving Workshop in person,” Hai Shi replied, her slender eyes crinkling as she grinned, revealing a row of pearly teeth.
Among the side courtyards of the Weaving Workshop, Zheliu’s residence was particularly easy to spot: the wall was adorned with branches of pomegranate blossoms, blazing like wind-tossed flames, vivid enough to sear the eyes. Taking advantage of the morning coolness, Zheliu had set up her embroidery frame under the shade of a pomegranate tree outside her room. A small stool beside her held needles, scissors, books, and other tools, with threads of various colors tucked between the pages of the books as she bent over her embroidery.
Hai Shi crept closer quietly and saw that Zheliu was embroidering a twelve-foot-long belt adorned with lotus medallions. Using double-twisted threads of four-colored gold on a gauze base, she created an intricate, lush floral pattern. Hai Shi couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of admiration."Is there something I can help you with, miss?" Zheliu paused her needlework with a gentle smile, lifting her gaze. Her clear, tea-colored eyes, like limpid pools, rested on Haishi.
Haishi was momentarily speechless. She was still clad in her military official's court attire, her chest bound and hair tied up, clearly presenting as a young military officer. How had this woman seen through her disguise at a single glance? Zheliu tilted her head slightly and called out softly toward someone behind Haishi, "Lord Fang, you've arrived." Zhuoying responded with a hum and said, "This is my younger sister. She wanted to thank you for making her clothes." Zheliu's face bloomed with a soft smile as she replied, "I'm glad the young lady likes them." Just then, a swift breeze swept through, shaking the coral trees and sending their carnelian-like double-layered petals fluttering down like rain or sleet, as if trying to lend a blush to Zheliu's pale complexion. The pages of a book flapped noisily, and a few strands of twisted silk thread fluttered to the ground. Haishi quickly picked them up, brushed off the dust, and handed them back to Zheliu. Zheliu carefully examined the book page by page, lost in thought, then held the strands of silk thread up to Haishi.
"Young lady, could you please tell me which of these is Arching Jade Blue and which is Ocean Lotus Purple?" Zheliu's light tea-colored eyes remained fixed, not on Haishi's eyes, but on her right cheek.
Haishi, taken aback, glanced back at Zhuoying, who gave a silent nod.
"This is purple, and this is blue..." Haishi hesitated, pointing with her finger.
Zheliu deftly tucked the threads back into the book. "Then the last one must be Pale Jade. Thank you, young lady. If you two hadn’t happened to be here, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart, and that would have been a problem." Haishi stood in stunned silence, unable to form a response.
On the way back to Breeze Clearing Pavilion, Haishi walked in silence, occasionally glancing at Zhuoying. Noticing her hesitant expression, Zhuoying gave a bitter smile. "Don't worry about it. Even like this, I consider myself quite fortunate." "But... Zheliu's eyes..." Zhuoying lowered his voice. "They were... blinded by medicine." Haishi stared at him in shock.
Zhuoying's expression darkened, his voice growing even quieter. "Have you heard of the blind embroiderers from the previous generation?" During the Dixin era, a supremely skilled embroiderer emerged from Tulin County. Originally a seamstress, she went completely blind at twenty-six after a severe illness. Embroidery was never a lifelong trade—most practitioners were half-blind by thirty, their eyes tearing at the slightest breeze. Yet this woman defied fate. Working from memory, she directed her daughter in selecting threads, relying solely on her fingertips and mental images of flowers and landscapes she'd seen before losing her sight. Her embroideries became remarkably fluid and imaginative, surpassing ordinary artisans tenfold. Her fame eventually reached the imperial court, where she was summoned to teach her craft and honored with the title "Embroiderer."
During Prince Yi's rebellion, she fled into obscurity. In the fifth year of Tianxiang, Emperor Xu summoned her back, commanding that orphaned girls be purchased to study under her. When the Embroiderer died of illness in the twelfth year of Tianxiang, some of her disciples wept themselves blind, while others deliberately destroyed their vision. Most were sent back to their hometowns to recuperate, but a few exceptionally skilled ones remained in the palace to handle intricate embroidery for the emperor. Zheliu was among them.
"This... is too cruel..." Haishi murmured.
"After the Embroiderer's death, her apprentices all woke up blind one morning. Some drowned themselves in wells that same day. Those incapable of blind embroidery were indeed sent away—but they were orphans. Their fate upon returning home is unimaginable. Zheliu... is among the luckier ones." "Whose decision was this? It couldn't be—" Haishi's voice trembled with outrage, "It couldn't be Uncle Shi in charge!" "Uncle Shi was in Rouran purchasing new silk when the Embroiderer died. By the time he returned, all who needed to be sent away were gone." A somber gold light flickered in Zhuoying's dark eyes. "The night it happened, someone from Golden Palace came specially to deliver almond tea to the Embroiderer's disciples." "Golden Palace?" Haishi paused in confusion. "You mean—the Emperor?" Zhuoying didn't answer. Turning back, they saw pomegranate blossoms cascading over the wall like a shower of blood.
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