Qin's Moon: Yang Shi's Long Song

The following evening, Yang Hui entered Zilan Pavilion with the Wentian Sword.

This time he wasn't empty-handed. The sword hung at his waist, its black blade not reflecting in the candlelight, like a gap—the light stopped at his side, swallowed by the withered, log-like blade. Zi Nu saw the sword behind the counter, her gaze lingering on it for a moment. She didn't speak, but simply raised her chin, gesturing for him to go upstairs.

As Yang Hui walked up the stairs, he heard the door behind him close—it wasn't his imagination; Zi Nu had personally bolted the door. Zi Lan Xuan wasn't receiving guests tonight. She had closed the door just for him.

The elegant room in the second-floor corridor was ready. A sheet of parchment was laid out on the table, and the oil lamp provided ample light. Han Fei sat at the table, a freshly opened pot of wine beside him—he hadn't drunk any today. A charcoal stick was between his fingers as he drew something on the paper. When Yang Hui pushed the door open, he didn't even look up, only saying, "Close the door."

Yang Hui closed the door and sat down opposite him. The parchment on the table was larger than he had imagined, taking up most of the table surface. It was covered with dense lines—red, black, and blue—marking coordinates, altitudes, guard numbers, and shift change times. Han Fei circled a spot with his charcoal stick and then put it down.

"The dungeon is in the northwest of Xinzheng City, directly below the General's Mansion." Han Fei's finger landed on the map, pointing to a location marked "Entrance". "There is only one ground entrance - a side room in the backyard of the General's Mansion. It looks like it's used for storing miscellaneous items, but actually the floor of that room is movable. Lift it up and you'll find steps leading down."

Yang Hui looked at the map. "Which floor are you guarding?"

"Three layers." Han Fei traced a red line downwards with his finger. "The first layer consists of ordinary jailers, twenty in total, divided into three shifts. The second layer is Ji Wuye's personal guards, twelve of them, armed with crossbows, who don't change shifts except when they're on duty. The third layer—"

He paused for a moment, as if considering how to phrase it.

"There's no one on the third floor."

Yang Hui looked up. "Nobody here?"

"There are no permanent guards on the third level." Han Fei put down the charcoal stick, picked up the cup of wine, and finally took a sip. "Because the chains on the third level are more effective than any guards. The 'Frosty Heart Meridian' restriction, personally set up by Blood-Clad Marquis Bai Yifei—those chains aren't iron, they're ice. It's constantly below zero degrees Celsius; an ordinary person would freeze solid standing in that cell for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. Therefore, Ji Wuye doesn't need anyone guarding there; the chains are the guards."

Yang Hui turned his gaze back to the map. His finger followed the blue line drawn by Han Fei—the "route of action"—down from the entrance, through the first and second floors, to the red circle marking the third floor. Next to the blue line was Han Fei's annotation, written in small characters: "First floor shift change interval: a cup of tea. Second floor crossbowman blind spot: the base of the east wall; those under six feet tall can avoid it."

Yang Hui stared at it for a long time. Then he said, "Have you walked this blue line before?"

No. I drew it.

"Rely on what?"

Han Fei put down his wine cup and pointed to his temple. "I relied on seeing, hearing, and asking. I asked two veterans from the general's mansion, a handyman who delivered food to the dungeon, and a craftsman who participated in the construction of the dungeon ten years ago. I pieced together the information from the three of them."

"Are those two veterans still in Xinzheng?"

"One died last year without leaving a name. The other moved to the outskirts of the city to farm. If you want to interrogate him, I can help you find him."

Yang Hui shook his head. "No need. I understand your drawing."

He double-checked the information on the map: the first level had a short break between shifts, about the size of a cup of tea, with twenty people divided into three shifts. The second level had twelve crossbowmen who didn't change shifts, and the eastern corner was a blind spot. The third level was empty, but the ice chains themselves were the biggest obstacle. Theoretically, the fastest time he could get from the entrance to the door of the ice coffin on the third level was—through the half-breath gap during the second level's crossbowmen changing their bolts—to cross the eastern wall.

Half a breath.

He had crossed the six-step-wide passage in half a breath, something he had done before in his relatively short swordsmanship career. He might not be able to do it every time, but he had to do it tonight.

He withdrew his fingers from the drawing and placed his hands on his knees. Han Fei watched him, awaiting his conclusion.

"Tonight?" Han Fei asked.

"tonight."

"I'll hold off the people outside for you. Ji Wuye isn't at the General's Mansion tonight—he's gone to the camp outside the city and won't be back until tomorrow. The Blood-Clad Marquis is in Xinzheng, but he's at his private residence in the western city; he won't go out until dawn. Tonight is the best time to see him."

Yang Hui glanced at Han Fei. "How did you know Ji Wuye wasn't here tonight?"

"Because this afternoon I had someone spread a message at the camp outside the city—that a group of refugees were causing trouble and burned down the hay sheds where grain was stored." Han Fei picked up his wine cup and smiled. "Ji Wuye loves to get involved in 'trouble' stories. He went."

Yang Hui didn't praise him, nor did he say "thank you." He simply looked at every mark on the diagram again, then stood up, twirled the hilt of the Wentian Sword half a turn in his hand, and confirmed that it could be drawn at any time.

"I've memorized the deployment map."

"There's one more thing." Han Fei also stood up from the table, taking a thin, long iron pick from his sleeve—not a key, but some kind of prying tool, flat at one end and coiled into a small loop at the other. "The door on the third floor isn't iron, it's bronze, locked by the cold air freezing the hinges. You can't break it with a sword; you have to pry it open with heat. This iron pick was given to me by Zi Nu—she knows a retired locksmith who participated in the design of that door ten years ago. First, heat the hinges with fire, then pry it open. You can't just chop it; you won't be able to."

Yang Hui took the iron skewer. It was cold, but you could tell it had been carefully polished. He put the skewer in his pocket.

"Where is Zi Nu?"

"She's packing things up downstairs," Han Fei said. "She said she won't sleep tonight, she'll sit by the door. If any of you die, the other one should remember to come and burn paper money."

Yang Hui didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched—a gesture that could be interpreted as "I understand." He turned and walked to the door, then stopped, turning to Han Fei and saying, "I don't know anyone in Xinzheng. You're the first person I've met. If I hadn't come back tonight—"

Han Fei interrupted him: "You'll be back tonight."

How did you know?

"Because I know you're not the kind of person who would die for half a piece of dry rations. You're the kind of person who would tear down a cell, break the chains, carry that woman out, and come back alive for half a piece of dry rations."

Yang Hui didn't speak. He stood there, looking at Han Fei. Han Fei didn't smile; he was serious. The "thing beneath the smile" was fully revealed at this moment—he knew the weight behind a name, an identity, a story, a sword, and a transaction.

"It's past midnight," Yang Hui said.

"It's past midnight," Han Fei said.

As Yang Hui pushed open the door and walked out, footsteps echoed down the stairs—Zi Nu was coming up. The two brushed past each other at the corner of the stairs. She didn't look at him, but instead handed him a small cloth bag, made of linen and tied shut. It seemed to contain a few pieces of dried food.

"I'll eat on the way." She didn't even turn her head as she passed by.

Yang Hui accepted the cloth bundle without turning back to thank him. He walked down the stairs, past the empty entrance of Zilanxuan, pushed open the door, and stepped into the night of Xinzheng.

The night breeze was cooler than last night, carrying moisture. He glanced at the sky—thick clouds obscured most of the moonlight, making the entire city appear as dark as if it were submerged underwater. This weather was perfect for doing things discreetly.

He headed northwest.