Beichuan City sounded, by na alone, like a place smothered under snow and bitter wind. Only after arriving did I understand that so regions truly bend the seasons to their will. Mounts to the north rose like a great barricade, walling off every thread of cold air. Within the city the climate turned almost indulgent; flowers thrived though autumn had already settled heavily over the south. Hibiscus and mallow lined both sides of the streets, and when the wind swept through, petals rained over the bluestone alleys.
People liked to claim “the northern lands have no flowers,” but Beichuan clearly refused that fate. Stalls selling blossoms filled every corner. Girls with pink kerchiefs called out cheerfully, promising good fortune and good marriages if you bought a fresh bloom.
I considered buying one, then refrained. With poison and a system already hanging over , romance was not high on my priority list.
These past few days, Lian and I stayed at an inn while waiting for word from Hua and gathering supplies for the mountain. Lian went out every day claiming to “sip tea at a cult contact point,” which translated to gathering intelligence and settling internal matters. With the Eighth Prince and the Emperor both watching, our northern trip had to remain invisible.
He moved like smoke; I enjoyed the idleness he left behind.
The inn offered tea, wine, and Beichuan’s most famous establishnt—The Gentleman’s Pavilion. When I first heard the na, I assud it was a tea house. The next day, passing by and being waved at by several handso young courtesans with half-open robes, I learned otherwise.
…Ahem.
Though I was not opposed to indulgence in principle, the last ti I drank at the pleasure house I ended up whipped by Lian. The psychological shadow remained. Despite my body’s apparent natural talent for courting death, I was still fond of staying alive.
I lay on the inn’s couch and consulted the system.
“How about… exploring the local culture?”
Cold tone: “Main quest detection in progress.”
I waited a few breaths. “Detection finished?”
“Detection inconclusive.”
“So… no negative impact?”
“Theoretically… temporarily none.”
“Good. I’m off.”
Thus, with the lofty spirit of academic fieldwork, I entered The Gentleman’s Pavilion.
Beichuan nights carried a gentle suggestiveness. Curtains hung low, sandalwood curled through the air, and behind beaded screens sat boys with faces too pretty for mortal life, lips stained faintly red, eyes soft with invitation. The sound of a qin flowed like water. A cup of wine passed to , fragrant enough to dissolve my sense of self.
Two courtesans pulled down between them, their voices sweet enough to pickle vegetables.
“First ti here, Young Master Nangong?”
“Our flowers sll far sweeter than anything on the street.”
A flash of mory—drunken chaos, Lian, a whip, my back burning—hit so hard I nearly bolted.
I straightened with righteous severity. “I observe strict moral conduct. I do not drink flower wine!”
One of them blinked innocently. “Then what will young master drink?”
“…Boiled water.”
The room froze. I choked down two cups of tea and escaped.
The night wind dispersed the fragrance clinging to my clothes.
“System,” I muttered, “this must be the so-called character growth arc.”
“Specify the growth dinsion.”
“The prodigal turning from vice, forsaking brothels, choosing the path of righteousness.”
“Such protagonists comprise under five percent of the database.”
“But they exist!”
“They also tend to die early.”
“…”
I was ready to argue when I noticed an elderly beggar crouched at the corner. I gave him a handful of silver.
“Old sir, the street rolls sold nearby are good. Have a warm al.”
He waved his hands frantically. “Too much, too much.”
“It’s fine. I’m heading to the mountains soon. Won’t have ti to spend it all.”
“Mountains?” He looked up, his clouded eyes sharpening. “Which way?”
I answered without thinking. “North Ridge—Falling Star Ridge.”
Then realized my mistake and covered quickly: “Just sightseeing. We’ll leave once we’ve had our fun.”
He said nothing else. I left humming, unaware I had just detonated a catastrophe.
Midnight.
I was yawning, ready for bed, when a soft tap sounded at the window.
“Who is it? Lian, you back?”
No reply.
Lamp in hand, I stepped toward the door. As I reached for the lock, a soft laugh drifted through.
“Young Master Nangong. Long ti no see. Rember my voice?”
My blood went cold. I yanked open the door.
Leaning on the fra stood a young man in night clothes, handso features sharpened by a vagabond’s ruthlessness.
“Mu Cangli?” It burst out of .
He arched a brow, amused. “What’s with that face? I thought you’d jump into my arms.”
“I’d be afraid of soone stabbing if I did,” I retorted, already grinning despite myself.
mories of solving the under-earth fire anomaly together in Shenmu Village and cracking the case in Chongping City flickered bright. Months apart and now reunited in this improbable city.
I stepped aside. “Get in. What are you doing in this ghost place?”
“Gathering herbs.”
“Herbs?” I stared. “You, of all people, know dicine?”
“A little.” He flicked his sleeve, smiling lazily. “Heard there’s a plant on the North Ridge that can bring back the dead. Ca to try my luck.”
I snorted. “What a coincidence. We’re also going for herbs.”
“Coincidence?” That single word carried aning I couldn’t parse. Before I asked, he pulled sothing from his robe and held it up.
A wooden token. The edges worn smooth. A single carved character: Li.
The token he slapped into my hand when we parted—“If fate wants it, we’ll et again.” I must have carried it hundreds of miles only to lose it?
“Where did you get that?” I gaped.
“Picked it up,” he said lazily. “A beggar was toying with it this afternoon. Said so foolish young master gave silver then dropped his token.”
He gave a look that was mostly amusent.
My ears burned. I coughed. “That beggar has quite the mouth.”
Mu Cangli laughed, teasing. “If not for his chatter, I wouldn’t know you were here. Seems Heaven feared I’d be lonely and sent an old friend.”
I huffed. “Your fate-sense is even stronger than my system’s.”
“System?” A raised brow. “New sect?”
“Forget it.”
But inwardly, the chain of coincidences unsettled . Token dropped—beggar found—Mu Cangli saw—all flawless.
His smile thinned. “I’m here to save a life, by the way.”
“Whose?”
He tapped my chest. “Yours.”
I froze. “And you’re sure you’re not here to take it?”
No answer. He pushed past , shut the door behind him, and the lamplight caught the coldness in his eyes.
“You said you were going up the mountain.”
A chill crept through .
“That one sentence has already spread across Beichuan.”
“I was chatting with a beggar—”
“That beggar,” he said quietly, “may be from the palace.”
I dropped onto the bed. “What do we do?”
“North Ridge has been unstable for days. Even soldiers won’t approach. My sources say the Eighth Prince’s n are gathering at the base. Their purpose is unknown.”
The ntion of the Eighth Prince chilled .
“Again?! Does he have nothing better to do?”
“Not idle,” Mu Cangli said with a thin smile. “Calculating death.”
He stepped closer. “If you really an to go up the mountain, you must circle west and enter the forest at night. I’ll take you tomorrow morning.”
I stared at him, montarily speechless.
“You’re helping us?”
His grin returned—the sa brash, bright grin from months ago. “I owe you…”
I was about to say sothing else, when soft footsteps sounded outside the door.
The boy lifted a hand at once, signaling to keep silent.
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