The Execution Overseer let out a sharp yell and tossed down the final red placard, a symbol of death.

*Thud!*

The red placard hit the ground.

The burly executioner standing beside Chen Yuan took a big swig of strong liquor, raised his blade, and brought it down with a blinding flash of cold light. With the force of a thunderbolt, it hacked viciously toward the back of Chen Yuan's neck!

*Crack!*

A dull thud of flesh and bone parting.

A gush of scorching blood shot up like a fountain, refracting an eerie red glow in the sunlight. It splattered onto the mottled wood grain of the guillotine, onto the bare torso of the executioner.

A head of graying hair tumbled to the ground with a dull roll. The sunken eyes were still wide open, staring stubbornly at the sky, filled with endless unwillingness and confusion.

"GOOD!!!——"

The vegetable market square instantly erupted with thunderous, ear-splitting, heaven-shaking cheers of wild celebration! The common people embraced and wept, countless kneeling and kowtowing in that moment to honor the wronged souls who had perished in the Northern Frontier.

At the very front of the crowd.

Xu Qing stood still, watching the rolling head, watching the headless corpse still spewing blood.

The revelry around him seemed to have nothing to do with him.

The world around him felt deathly quiet in that moment.

An autumn breeze swept through, curling a few yellow leaves on the ground, and brushing across his slightly thin green robe.

Unnoticed, two clear tears slid silently down Xu Qing's face, a face always as calm and unreadable as an ancient well.

Men do not lightly shed tears, but only because they have not yet reached the point of heartbreak.

A full five years. Over eighteen hundred days and nights.

He had been like a rat hiding in a gutter, meticulously disguising himself, calculating as if walking on thin ice, dancing on the edge of a cliff every single day, unable to sleep soundly a single night.

He had lost his dignity, lost his friends, and even lost the aloof, proud self he once was.

And all of this, today, had finally come to a complete end.

"Brother Su..."

Xu Qing closed his eyes, letting the tears flow freely. In the depths of his heart, he silently called out that name.

"You can... rest in peace now."

He thought Su Ming had died in the snow and ice of the Northern Frontier. He thought this revenge was his final tribute to his dear friend. But he had no idea that, at this very moment, not far from where he stood, a pair of eyes were quietly watching everything.

...

The moment Chen Yuan's head hit the ground.

Su Ming's fingers, which had been tapping on the window sill, also came to an abrupt stop.

He watched the gushing blood, the celebrating commoners, and the silently weeping Xu Qing in the crowd.

His eyes were as calm as still water.

No ecstatic joy at having his vengeance, no condescending pity, not even the slightest flicker of emotion. It was as if he were just a passerby who had happened to catch a glimpse of a fallen leaf drifting on the water's surface, nothing more.

Su Ming slowly withdrew his gaze, no longer looking at the clamorous scene outside the window.

He turned and walked over to the table.

On the table sat a cup of tea that had already gone cold.

He reached into his bosom and pulled out a few copper coins, placing them neatly and evenly on the tabletop.

His movements were meticulous, like carving a most basic protective rune—rigorous and natural.

Then, he pushed open the door of the private room and blended into the dispersing crowd of idlers outside the teahouse.

His gray robe was inconspicuous among the crowd, like a drop of water silently merging into the vast sea, not stirring a single ripple.

The moment he stepped out of the teahouse and onto the bluestone slabs.

Su Ming pressed down on the brim of his bamboo hat, facing the slightly biting breeze of deep autumn, and whispered in a voice that only he and the one inside the Xuantian ring could hear:

"Master."

"The Yongchang Marquis... is dead."

...

The bustling Great Xing capital finally sank into slumber amid the wailing sound of the autumn wind. The earth-shattering revelry and spurting blood of the vegetable market square from the daytime seemed to have been buried by this cold night. However, for some people, this night was destined to be sleepless.

Xu Qing's residence, the study.

The sand in the hourglass made a faint, rustling sound, like time mercilessly flowing past his ears. Not many candles were lit in the study; only a solitary lamp on the desk gave off a dim, flickering glow.

Xu Qing did not attend the celebratory banquet specially arranged by his colleagues to mark his overthrow of the Yongchang Marquis. After returning from the execution ground, he had locked himself alone in this study, which had witnessed his five long years of day and night. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the green official robe, stained with some autumn dust. He just sat quietly before the large rosewood desk, as if he had melted into the surrounding shadows.

His gaze, passing over the dancing candle flame, lingered for a long time on the scroll hanging on the opposite wall.

"Self-Examination in Solitude."

The brushstrokes were firm and forceful, penetrating the paper, yet carrying an indescribable restraint and self-control. He had written this five years ago, after learning that Su Ming had been exiled to the Northern Frontier, and deciding to lie low in this man-eating capital.

Every single night for these past five years, whenever he felt despair while facing the mountains of Ministry of Revenue account books, whenever he felt humiliated bowing and scraping before the Yongchang Marquis's Heir's carriage, whenever he felt fear facing assassinations and threats, he would look at those two words.

Five years. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days and nights of torment, scheming, patience, and disguise.

Finally, it was over.

Xu Qing slightly closed his eyes, raised his slender fingers, and gently rubbed his throbbing brow. The study was so quiet he could hear his own somewhat heavy breathing, along with the faint sound of the remaining agarwood in the incense burner burning out.

Suddenly, an extremely faint autumn breeze somehow blew into this study with its tightly shut doors and windows.

The candle flame on the desk shook violently, casting Xu Qing's shadow on the wall into a twisted, elongated shape. That breeze seemed to carry the chill of a late autumn night, along with an indescribable, familiar scent.

Xu Qing's fingers, rubbing his brow, abruptly stopped.

He had been in a state of high mental tension for years, possessing an awareness far beyond ordinary people of changes in his surroundings. He had personally checked the study's doors and windows; there was absolutely no way for wind to blow in.

He didn't immediately turn around, but silently slid his right hand toward the short-bladed knife hidden for self-defense beneath the desk.

Just then, the sound of water flowing broke the deathly silence of the study.

"Drip... splash..."

It was the sound of someone lifting the purple clay teapot in the corner of the desk and pouring tea into a white porcelain teacup.

Every muscle in Xu Qing's body instantly tensed. He whirled around, his right hand already gripping the handle of the short blade. However, when he saw what was behind him, the blade, already drawn half an inch from its sheath, froze in place.

A figure in a green robe had somehow already appeared, standing silently in the shadows of the study's corner.