Langdu and his group stopped at the Song Niang Inn, seemingly intending to halt their journey for now. The innkeeper, Song Niang, was exceedingly polite to her wealthy guests, immediately arranging several upper rooms to settle them comfortably.
Due to the delicate nature of some medicinal herbs, they couldn’t be left in the carriage. Langdu personally carried a few of the boxes into the inn for safekeeping.
Once everything was properly arranged, Langdu checked the corner spot where he had noticed someone earlier. The old man was already gone. He didn’t ask any questions, merely suppressed his doubts and called for everyone to rest well, ensuring they’d be energized to continue their journey the next morning.
Song Niang assigned them all to sunny second-floor rooms—six in total. They booked five, leaving only the last room at the end of the corridor unoccupied.
Langdu asked Song Niang why that room was vacant.
Song Niang smiled and replied that it wasn’t empty; it had long been reserved by another guest.
As they chatted, the door to that end room opened. Standing in the doorway was none other than the hunched old man. He said nothing, merely leaned on a slender cane, watching their comings and goings as they moved into their rooms. When he grew tired, he sat on the threshold.
Only after all the people from Medicine Valley had settled in and closed their doors did the old man finally get up, pat the dust off himself, and return to his room.
Langdu also booked a room on the shaded side, specifically for storing the boxes of medicinal herbs. When the corridor quieted down, he shouted through the door, “Stay alert through the night and keep an eye on our herbs! Don’t let any rats gnaw on them!”
Downstairs, Song Niang overheard this and shouted back, “Rest assured, my good sir. In my Song Niang Inn, even the rats wouldn’t dare act up!”
The disciples of Medicine Valley appeared to have truly gone to rest after heading upstairs—there wasn’t a sound from their rooms.
The inn continued bustling for a while, but as night fell, it gradually grew quiet.
When the watchman’s clappers marked the third watch of the night, Song Niang lit an oil lamp and glanced upstairs. Seeing that all the rooms had extinguished their lights, she removed the silver tassels and golden bells from her skirt. After blowing out the lamp, her embroidered shoes moved noiselessly across the floor, like a ghost wandering in the dark. She approached the door of the room where the herbs were stored and lightly pushed it open.
The door creaked, opening just a crack.
Song Niang slipped sideways through the gap, her slender waist twisting like a water snake, and entered the room.
It was pitch dark inside.
Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Song Niang froze by the door, unable to take another step.
She saw a silhouette quietly standing by the window, its back to her.
The figure was unmistakably a woman’s—graceful and delicate.
Song Niang opened her mouth but said nothing. She seemed to sigh faintly instead.
The figure raised a hand, unlatched the wooden bar on the window, and threw the panes wide open. A full moon hung directly outside, spilling pale moonlight into the room.
Gao Yuexing had been hiding her movements by concealing herself in the medicine boxes along the way.
She knew very well that as a woman, no matter how much she disguised herself, it would never be flawless. Someone with a keen eye was bound to notice unless she completely hid herself in a place where no one could see.
The scorching heat of midsummer in the desert was like being roasted on a hot iron plate. Trapped inside the box, sweat poured down her body in rivulets. Dehydration left her lips pale, and the cramped space often made it hard to breathe, but none of that could stop her.
When Gao Yuexing turned around, standing in the moonlight, the days of hardship had visibly worn her down. She looked thinner, but her presence had grown even more intimidating—especially when she wasn’t smiling.
Under the moonlight, Gao Yuexing clearly saw the infamous innkeeper before her. Tilting her head slightly, she said, “People truly have a thousand faces… Lady Zhaorong. It’s been a long time since we last met at the palace.”
Song Niang gazed at her intently and said, “I don’t remember ever being to the capital, nor do I remember being any Lady Zhaorong. I was born in the desert, grew up in the desert. My father was a guide along the trade routes, but he died early due to an accident. I never met my mother. My husband is my savior, and my name is Song Niang.”
This was the life of an undercover Jinyiwei operative.
They could become anyone, yet they could never truly be themselves.
Gao Yuexing suddenly found herself at a loss for words. After a long silence, she finally said, “Call him to see me.”
Perhaps she didn’t even need to ask.
Song Niang glanced behind her and then stepped aside.
The old man who had been sitting downstairs earlier was already standing outside the door. He still held his slender cane, but his back was no longer hunched, and he now stood straight.
The night was so dark that without looking at his face, Gao Yuexing could almost be certain he was that wretched scoundrel.
But Gao Yuexing insisted on seeing clearly.
She reached into her robes and pulled out a luminous pearl. Seeing this, Li Fuxiang turned to leave, but Gao Yuexing grabbed him by the collar. “Stay!”
Song Niang exited the room and closed the door behind her.
The people from Medicine Valley wouldn’t come to disturb them.
Even if all the medicinal herbs were eaten clean by rats tonight, they wouldn’t make a sound.
Gao Yuexing held up the luminous pearl, bringing it closer to Li Fuxiang’s face, scrutinizing every line and detail. She was utterly astonished by the remarkable art of his disguise. “How did you do this?”
Li Fuxiang touched his face, his fingers peeling away the thin layer of skin adhered to it, mimicking burn scars.
Gao Yuexing watched in horror as the fake skin, seamlessly attached to the real one, was stripped away. The process looked as if he were tearing off a layer of his own flesh.
Unconsciously, Gao Yuexing held her breath.
Li Fuxiang tore off the palm-sized piece of fake skin and held it in his hand. Gao Yuexing finally saw its thin, translucent texture, like cicada wings.
When Li Fuxiang removed all his disguises, the light of the luminous pearl revealed his face—red, tender, and seemingly fragile enough to break with a single touch.
The ache in Gao Yuexing’s eyes was almost palpable. She leaned closer, scrutinizing his face, even noticing the small beads of blood seeping through. She moved closer still and carefully blew on the wounds.
Li Fuxiang took her hand and led her back to his room.
“It would’ve been so much better if you had just waited for me in Medicine Valley,” he said.
“I couldn’t do it,” Gao Yuexing shook her head. “I’ve made so many mistakes before. Some regrets… one time is more than enough.”
She was speaking of her past life, but unfortunately, Li Fuxiang didn’t understand.
Gao Yuexing rummaged through her medicine pouch, pulled out a porcelain bottle, and scooped out some cool ointment to apply to Li Fuxiang’s face and neck.
Li Fuxiang said, “The moment I touched the crabapple embroidery on the pouch, I knew it was you. The group Langdu brought wouldn’t recognize me. Only you could. How did you figure it out?”
“I didn’t need to guess at all,” Gao Yuexing replied.
Her hand pressed a little harder.
Li Fuxiang, sensing Gao Yuexing’s displeasure, dared not flinch even though it hurt.
Inside that slender cane of his was hidden his Shenwu.
Li Fuxiang, with a face nearly ruined by injury, said, “I saw it with my own eyes.”
Gao Yuexing: “What did you see?”
Li Fuxiang: “The King of Fox Hu has already aligned himself with Xumo’er. He gave his niece in marriage to their tribal prince, Ru Zilin. The royal court of Fox Hu has now become Ru Zilin’s military tent. He comes and goes freely, plotting how to swallow up our land.”
His cautious demeanor resembled that of a young predator patrolling his territory. When faced with a threat, his entire being became taut with vigilance.
Gao Yuexing wanted to soothe him. She reached out, gently stroking his back, and asked, “What do you plan to do? Launch another campaign?”
Li Fuxiang lowered his eyes and replied, “There is no just cause.”
The ambitious designs of Xumo’er had yet to truly sink their teeth into the blood and flesh of the Great Xu Dynasty. The court would not easily sanction a war. A single battle would harm the dynasty’s fortunes and the people’s livelihood.
Even the emperor might not easily approve it this time.
Gao Yuexing said, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about any of that. Whatever you want to do, I’ll be by your side.”
What Li Fuxiang wanted to do was likely no easy feat.
But Gao Yuexing believed in him.
Gao Yuexing said, “Go ahead and do what you want to do. If there’s anything difficult, tell me. The capital is full of ghosts, but I promise to drag out their fox tails. They won’t stay hidden for long.”
Certain that the conversation here was safe, Li Fuxiang shared his thoughts with Gao Yuexing: “I want to disrupt Fox Hu and Xumo’er. If war is too costly, then there’s no need to start one. I’ll make sure they collapse from within.”
Gao Yuexing: “You can do it. I know you can.”
In the inn, their secret scheming unfolded—one eager to stir chaos in the world, the other relishing in the drama.
Li Fuxiang brought out the intelligence he had painstakingly gathered over this time, sharing it with Gao Yuexing.
Under the candlelight, Gao Yuexing flipped through the thin sheets of paper one by one.
Ru Zilin’s life story gradually unfolded before her eyes.
Xumo’er had originally been a small desert tribe, its power born from banditry. They survived by raiding trade routes, engraving the act of plundering into their very bones.
It was Ru Zilin who transformed Xumo’er into a formidable tribe.
After achieving success, Ru Zilin’s father had fallen into debauchery, indulging in wealth, fine wine, and women, losing all ambition. Only Ru Zilin, reflecting deeply night after night, emerged with an ambition that reached higher than the heavens.
Gao Yuexing remarked, “A man who desires no beauty, covets no wealth, and focuses solely on power, willing to submit to his own ambition, must be incredibly difficult to deal with.”
Li Fuxiang replied nonchalantly, “But he still has ambition. As long as he’s not without desires, there’s always a weakness to exploit.”
Gao Yuexing paced to the window, then suddenly thought of something. She turned around and said, “Oh, Ru Zilin—he has a sister too, doesn’t he?”
At the Midwinter Lantern Festival in the capital, when Gao Yuexing first saw the siblings, she had thought Ru Zilin was a man of deep familial bonds.
As dawn approached, when the sky was still faintly dark, Song Niang came upstairs and knocked on the door.
As an unaccounted-for woman suddenly appearing in this scenario, Gao Yuexing would inevitably arouse suspicion wherever she went.
Song Niang discussed with them how to handle the matter.
Gao Yuexing decided to hide back in the box.
Li Fuxiang’s fake skin could only be used once; once removed, it was rendered useless. His face, already damaged, couldn’t endure further abuse. True to her character, Gao Yuexing extended her hand to him, inviting him to join her in the box.
The boxes Medicine Valley used to transport herbs were approximately four feet square. While it was manageable for the slender Gao Yuexing to squeeze inside, adding an adult man like Li Fuxiang would undoubtedly make it cramped and uncomfortable.
There were two boxes in total.
One was empty, reserved for hiding people, while the other was filled with medicinal herbs. The herbs were essential for maintaining appearances and couldn’t be discarded.
Gao Yuexing measured the space inside the box and said, “I think it’ll work. Let’s give it a try.”