The gray‑yellow earthen walls blocked the biting wind. Looking back, flakes of snow danced down, the foothills and countryside blanketed in white, gradually swallowed by the deep black of night.
At the temple gate, Xie Ci stepped inside, his dark‑green cloak whipping in the wind. In the hazy snowfall, the interior was dim, yet his figure stood clear — spine straight beneath his uniform like a spear, his boots striking the ground in short, forceful steps.
When Gu Wan turned, she caught sight of him pressing the hilt of his blade, cloak billowing, his youthful frame taut and proud, his stride sharp as though cutting through the wind.
Silver saddle, white horse, swift as a shooting star; A youth of the Five Tombs, sword in hand, roaming a thousand li.
She suddenly recalled this verse — perfectly fitting the scene.
In the original host’s memories, the impression of the young Xie Ci was mostly of mischief. He was scolded daily; the old general, hardened by a lifetime of iron and blood, found fault with him everywhere, sometimes even striking him. But from Gu Wan’s perspective, she saw instead a youth roaming the world with a sword. A young man’s chivalry, standing up for justice. Though reckless and prone to trouble, he was fundamentally different from the idle sons of nobility.
He would one day become a peerless hero, spear in hand, astride his horse. Even in youth, the shadow of that destiny was already there. Without it, no amount of struggle or tempering could have forged such greatness. He was a boy brilliant as a gemstone.
Watching him, Gu Wan felt a surge of pride. She found it amusing and laughed. Well, people are not plants or stones — who can be without feeling? She admitted, without realizing it, that she had come to regard Xie Ci almost as family. No blood ties, but fate had bound them.
Others treated her with genuine sincerity—how could she not be moved? That was why she let him call her *Ah‑Wan*, not *Yuan‑niang*. She wasn’t Yuan‑niang.
“What are you laughing at?” Xie Ci heard her soft chuckle.
“Laughing at you,” Gu Wan replied lightly, with a touch of teasing.
The small temple wasn’t large, but it had everything. Villagers often sheltered here from wind and snow when coming down the mountain. At the side was a clay kang bed, with straw piled nearby, and half a broken jar holding some water.
Gu Wan lit the kang, spread some wheat stalks across it, then flopped down flat on her back. “I’m exhausted.”
The whole day had been nothing short of extreme exertion. Even though her physical strength had improved, she was worn out nearly to death. Once she lay down, she didn’t want to move. “Don’t bother me, I’m going to sleep…” And with that, she drifted off.
Xie Ci, teased by her, didn’t mind. He removed his helmet and lay down on the straw as well. He didn’t feel particularly tired, nor did he feel cold.
The little earthen temple was silent and dark. The fire in the kang glowed faint red, occasionally crackling, its light flickering against the walls.
By that faint glow, Xie Ci looked toward the head of the bed. In the darkness, he could only see a vague shape, no features, but he could hear Gu Wan’s breathing. Soon her breaths grew shallow and even.
In this long winter night, the kang gave little warmth, the temple had no door, and the northwest wind howled in with icy snow. Once quiet, Xie Ci should have felt the cold. But the day’s memories were vivid — the galloping horses, her cheerful voice still ringing in his ears. Something seemed to flow in his heart, and the night no longer felt freezing.
Winter’s journey is not walked alone. Xie Ci thought: he was still a fortunate man, because he had her by his side. That night, auspicious snow fell. He didn’t know when he drifted off. One moment his eyes closed, the next they opened — daylight had already come.
“Let’s go down the mountain.”
Gu Wan was already awake, but she knew Xie Ci was a light sleeper. She lingered in bed for a moment, though the cold made it hard to stay. As soon as he stirred, she quickly jumped down and stamped her feet.
Xie Ci rolled off the kang in one swift motion.
Today was bitterly cold. They extinguished the fire, washed quickly with the half‑frozen water from the jar, and stepped out of the temple. Goose‑feather snow had fallen all night, now easing at dawn. The mountains and fields lay buried in endless white, stretching beyond sight.
Their boots crunched in the snow as they followed the dirt road out of the hills, turning toward the nearest town.
The breakfast stalls smoked peacefully, still calm. But soon, the aftermath of Longshan Road and Suzhou would spread here. For now, Gu Wan and Xie Ci planned to eat first, then change out of their uniforms.
Because they wore the attire of captains, the shop boy treated them with great respect and served eagerly. Breakfast was brought at once, and the other customers showed no objection — some even bowed nervously when Gu Wan’s gaze fell on them. She quickly returned a reassuring smile.
After eating, they found a suitable clothing shop. Inside, they bought new garments and shoes and changed immediately.
Xie Ci’s armor took longer to remove. Gu Wan finished first and leaned against the doorpost, waiting. The curtain lifted — Xie Ci stepped out in dark‑blue ranger’s garb, a slim blade at his waist, adjusting his sleeves with lowered head. He looked every bit the spirited youth, sharp and vigorous as the wind. After their first victory, his whole demeanor had visibly risen.
Gu Wan clicked her tongue, arms crossed, admiring him for a while until he finished tying his sleeves. Then they walked out side by side.
She untied the reins, handed one to Xie Ci, and said: “Little Fourth, you need power.”
Gu Wan hefted the bundle of military uniforms, slinging it onto the saddle. Her tone was light, but her words serious.
Though Xun Rongbi was dead, Xun Xun remained. They could not return and walk into a trap. Circumstances were stronger than them; for now, Xun Xun would have his way.
But Gu Wan was laying groundwork for the future. Don’t be too selfless — seize power firmly, then you can protect yourself. Everything else can follow. Since he was no less than Li Yi, why should he remain beneath him?
She knew sooner or later she would have to deal with Yu Manzhen — that was a hidden danger. They could make contact when necessary, but it was best not to grow too close. Snow gleamed white, sparrows chirped on the eaves. Leaning closer, she spoke in a particularly serious tone, softly.
Xie Ci was startled, but immediately said: “I know.” He too carried the heavy armor. After the Suzhou mission, he realized that if the two of them remained outsiders, they could only circle around the edges.
The truth lay within the army. They were outside. To uncover it was like striking a cow across a mountain. But if they entered the army and held some power, everything would be different. Investigating would be far easier, perhaps even effortless. And against their hidden enemies, they would finally have a real foothold.
Xie Ci had thought about this last night. He told Gu Wan: “I plan to find my father’s old subordinates. If possible, I want to enlist. Even if I don’t use the name Xie Ci.” He lifted his head to the sky, now a clear blue after the heavy snow. “Wan‑niang, I suddenly feel… maybe I really can do it.”
To uncover the truth of the treason case, to clear his father and brothers’ names, to avenge them — this was the heavy vow pressed on his heart.
When he spoke, the uncertainty and hesitation of the past were gone. His gaze was firm.
Killing Xun Rongbi and escaping intact — their first victory in Suzhou — had given him great confidence. It wasn’t just words of comfort or encouragement; it was a shot of strength. Though difficult, he finally believed he might truly succeed. For once, he felt light, as if the stone pressing on him had shifted. He could lift his head and see a glimmer of sunlight.
In the past, she had always thought of him as a boy, younger than herself. But now she truly felt he had grown, no longer a child, but a partner standing at her side. She smiled, suddenly glad. “Come on, let’s talk as we ride!”
Emotions are contagious. They mounted their horses and galloped into the wind, riding ten li out of town before slowing.
Gu Wan asked: “So, what do you plan to do next?”
Back in town, his expression had already shown he had an idea. And indeed, he did. Though Suzhou had been a trap, it gave him a new path: “I think… my father commanded for many years. It’s impossible that every one of his trusted men betrayed him.”
Xie Ci did not know why so many people had chosen to betray his father at once. But Xie Xinchong’s character, both as a man and as a general, had always been impeccable. Though strict in enforcing military law and swift in command, he was neither extravagant nor indulgent. Pay reached the soldiers without delay, rewards were never withheld, and he often supplemented them from his own purse. He was strict with himself, yet lenient with his men, skilled in human dealings — not one of those harsh, rigid commanders.
Generals who fought side by side on the battlefield forged bonds of loyalty through blood and sacrifice, stronger than any so‑called gentleman’s friendship.
After thirty years of storms, it was impossible that every single man had betrayed Xie Xinchong.
“I wonder,” Xie Ci thought, “among the six great generals, could there be cases like Xun Rongbi’s? Stripped of power, imprisoned? And beyond those six confidants, perhaps there are others who refused to compromise — who never yielded at all.”
If so, then some might truly be trapped in the same false situation Xun Rongbi had staged.
The Xie family army had stood in Great Wei for many years. Xie Ci understood why Xun Xun and his father schemed so desperately to kill him. Now, he wanted to try to reclaim his father’s old troops. Before, he had been extremely cautious, never daring to show himself. But their first victory had changed him, bringing confidence and altering much more.
“Only… how to distinguish them? That may take time.”
Strike while the iron is hot — the longer it drags, the worse it becomes. Yet recalling the Suzhou trap, he knew time was unavoidable. Xie Ci frowned.
Gu Wan listened, nodding repeatedly. His direction was exactly right — she didn’t even need to guide him anymore! But at the end, she blinked and said: “This… I might have a way!”
Xie Ci looked at her immediately.
Gu Wan snapped her fingers, her almond eyes bright against the snow. She called out: “Do you still remember Long Shouren?”
“Of course I do.”
“And remember what I said then — about the eldest son? ‘I’ve long heard that Xun Rongbi’s eldest son is refined and dignified, bearing his father’s style.’ Do you recall? At that moment, he hesitated!”
Gu Wan recalled, showing a hint of speculation: “I suspect Xun Xun must be the child of Princess Rilian.” She calculated the approximate age. “Most likely he was too young to remember, so in the end he wasn’t killed.”
Xun Rongbi was truly abhorrent. Gu Wan spat in contempt — damnable trash of a man, dogs biting dogs, he deserved to be slaughtered.
“Xun Xun carries half the blood of Beirong!”
Thinking back to his hawk‑like eyes and hooked nose — though his irises were black, his features were distinctly deep‑set. Now it seemed likely this was due to his Beirong heritage.
When Gu Wan had rushed to Yinglie Slope, hiding on the cliff to find the right moment to throw down the rope, she had nearly overheard the entire exchange. She immediately thought then: this Xun Xun was probably Princess Rilian’s child. With that, everything fell neatly into place.
Xie Ci’s judgment matched hers: “Yes. I suspect the same.”
Gu Wan continued: “That day, when I suddenly asked Long Shouren about the eldest son, he paused before answering.”
Looking back now, perhaps Long Shouren’s hesitation wasn’t simply regret over old matters.
Though Long Shouren aided the traitors, in hindsight his repeated emphasis — ‘In barely half a year, he thinks to replace his father. Impossible.’ — might have been a veiled hint, urging Xie Ci to leave.
Xie Ci’s killing of Long Shouren was beyond dispute. Since ancient times, guilt is judged by deeds, not intentions — he deserved it. Yet Gu Wan now recalled his tone and expression. Later, on the parade ground, Long Shouren had said only: ‘How dare he imprison his father and humble his brother, seizing power,’ — not *imprison his father and kill his brother, seizing power.’
Gu Wan pondered: “I keep having this feeling… maybe Xun Xiao didn’t really die!”
The first to arrive with troops for rescue back then had been Long Shouren. He was clearly still Xun Rongbi’s trusted aide. Considering that Xun Xun showed no unusual actions — no searches — between receiving his brother’s body and holding the funeral, if this suspicion were true, then it must have been Long Shouren who covered it up.
So what about Xun Xiao? Could he have barely survived, escaping with his life? If Xun Xiao truly lived, then he would know far too much — enough to be a shortcut straight to the truth!
Xie Ci thought it over, exchanged a glance with Gu Wan, and together they both thought of Xun Xiao’s grave.
But even if they dug up his tomb, after more than a year, wouldn’t he be reduced to bones? Xie Ci frowned — how could they judge then?
At this, Gu Wan finally laughed, her pensive look vanishing. “Don’t worry. We should be able to tell.”
Unless Xun Xun had buried a corpse of the same age, height, and build, it would be distinguishable. Bones can speak.
“Let’s go!” Gu Wan lifted her whip with a touch of pride, turned back with a bright smile, her spirit soaring.
Across the vast snowy fields, astride a brown horse in purple clothes, Gu Wan — about 165 cm tall — looked long‑limbed and striking. Her straight legs, wrapped in narrow trousers, moved with powerful grace, like a butterfly’s wings, beautiful yet astonishingly strong. She was not like Second Sister‑in‑law’s stern, forceful strength, but carried her own crisp, effortless freedom — sometimes lazy and sly, sometimes radiant and dazzling. Her curved willow‑leaf brows never made her seem weak in the slightest.
Snowflakes whirled in the wind. She raised her whip, and the big brown horse neighed loudly, her purple figure flashing past like a startled swan, like a meteor streaking across the sky.
Xie Ci stared in a daze for a moment, then quickly spurred his horse to chase after her.
Amid the sound of wind and snow, their voices carried faintly with the gusts.
No one could have imagined that at this moment, Xie Ci and Gu Wan would return to Suzhou City — and even less that they would turn back toward Yinglie Slope. Beneath the moonlight, before Xun Xiao’s grave, all was silent.
Only the wind howled. In winter, even the grave keeper had retreated to a cabin down the mountain, asleep by the fire.
Xie Ci and Gu Wan tied their horses, lowered a rope from the cliff, and boldly descended to Xun Xiao’s grave.
The wind was strong atop the slope, the snow thin and scattered, footprints and bloodstains still faintly visible on the ground. Each armed with a hoe, they discussed briefly and began digging directly in front of the tombstone.
The tomb entrance was at the front. After craftsmen sealed it and pallbearers carried the coffin inside, there had to be a way out. Digging here was easiest. Of course, it was also the most conspicuous, but in weather like this, even the grave keeper didn’t patrol, so it wasn’t a problem.
Gu Wan raised her hoe to begin, but Xie Ci snatched it away. “I’ll do it.”
He still brooded over her suggestion of swearing brother‑sisterhood, and seized every chance to assert his manly role.
Gu Wan didn’t argue. She brushed off the steps before the tombstone, sat down, and watched him with a smile — fine, she thought, from now on she should call him “little brother Xie Ci.” This trick worked too well.
The soil was frozen, but not too badly. Xie Ci focused his strength into his arms, quickly breaking through the frozen layer, digging faster as he went. After about half an hour, he had opened a pit half a zhang deep, exposing the sealed tomb entrance. He smashed it open, waited a short while, then bent down and entered the passage first.
Soon, his voice echoed from inside: “Wan‑niang, you can come in now!”
Today was the sixteenth. A silver moon disk hung in the sky, its pure light spilling across the vast snowy fields, everything bathed in boundless cold and quiet. Gu Wan opened an iron box and took out the small knife she had commissioned with care, examining it in her hand.
The long, hard handle held a tiny, razor‑sharp blade. Both were forged and tempered in silver, gleaming faintly with a metallic sheen. It was a scalpel.
Once, Gu Wan had thought she would never hold such a thing again in her life. She gazed at it for a moment, exhaled deeply, then tucked it back into the cloth satchel slung across her shoulder. With a leap, she dropped into the pit, slipped quickly into the tomb passage, and entered the burial chamber.
Xun Xun was neither prince nor high official. He had died before thirty, still young, so the tomb was not elaborate — one main chamber with two side niches. The coffin sat squarely in the center of the main chamber, visible as soon as they entered.
Xie Ci had already broken it open, lifted the lid, and waited until the stench had dispersed somewhat before calling Gu Wan inside.
But Gu Wan felt no psychological barrier at all — this was her old profession, after all. She glanced in. The flesh and soft tissue had completely decayed, leaving only faint traces of what once was. A skeleton lay within, hair still covering the skull, fragments of armor scattered beneath finger bones and toe bones.
“Body length: five point nine two chi. Estimated living height, add two inches.”
Gu Wan pulled on a cotton mask and gloves, stretched out a measuring tape, and with a smile cast Xie Ci a glance as she spoke.
Xie Ci’s brows furrowed immediately. Though the units differed from his daily use, he understood at once. “Five chi nine point two, plus two inches?”
The last time he had seen Xun Xiao was two years ago, when the Xun brothers returned to the capital to report in place of their father and paid respects to Lady Xun. At that time, Xie Ci was fourteen. Standing side by side, he had reached just below Xun Xiao’s earlobe. That New Year, he measured himself—exactly five chi five.
Xie Ci’s brows furrowed. Calculating it out, the numbers didn’t quite match — a little short. But then he considered: after death, bones can shift slightly, and boots or posture in life could account for small differences. A little discrepancy wasn’t enough to conclude anything.
But when Gu Wan measured the cheekbones, she said: “Half a chi plus half an inch — your cousin had a broad face, huh.” The cheekbones alone were nearly twenty centimeters wide.
Xie Ci immediately retorted: “Impossible!”
Xun Xiao resembled his father closely — refined, tall, known in the northern army as a gentlemanly white‑faced officer. How could he have had a broad, pancake‑like face?
At that moment, Gu Wan finally smiled, having found her target. “This man was strangled. Look — the greater horn of the hyoid bone is broken. Whoever did it used deadly force. He probably suffocated within five or six breaths.”
But Xun Xiao was supposed to have died in a fire attack. That squad of Suzhou soldiers had been annihilated, all burned to charred corpses. And the skeleton before them was clenched in a fist‑like posture, its bones blackened, as if it had indeed been burned.
Xun Xiao’s body had been so damaged that even burial clothes couldn’t be changed — only wrapped in a red shroud. Xie Ci had already torn that shroud away, exposing scorched fragments of armor and cloth.
Gu Wan carefully lifted a piece of nasal bone with tweezers and examined it under the lamp. “This man was strangled first, then burned.”
She checked a fallen piece of foot armor and made another discovery. “Your cousin also had Beirong blood, didn’t he?”
“No!” Xie Ci almost shouted. “Absolutely impossible! Xun Xiao was born in the capital the year after Xun Rongbi returned triumphant and married — a marriage arranged with the Xie family’s help. His mother, Madam Pei, and Xun Xiao himself had no blood ties whatsoever to Beirong. I am certain of it!”
By this point, the examination was nearly complete, but to be thorough, Gu Wan said: “Xie Ci, you do it.” She pointed at the pubic symphysis. “Saw this off.”
Once the pubic symphysis was removed, Gu Wan cleaned it carefully. Normally it should be boiled, but since the body was already skeletonized, boiling wasn’t necessary — the separation could be done cleanly enough. The pubic symphysis is one of the most important and accurate methods for estimating bone age without instruments.
This was a male, aged between thirty‑five and forty, roughly thirty‑seven or thirty‑eight.
“Look — the joint margins and lower surface are very clear, and the ventral upper segment is beginning to show erosion. These are distinctive features of a male pubic symphysis between thirty‑five and forty.”
She skipped over the technical terms that Xie Ci wouldn’t understand, explaining only what he could grasp.
In the dim tomb chamber, four or five lamps glowed orange, lighting the center. Gu Wan wore a white veil‑like gown, saying it saved her from changing clothes later. Her long fingers were covered with tight gauze gloves. Holding the pubic bone with tweezers under the lamp, she radiated a cool, composed aura Xie Ci had never seen before.
He was astonished, blurting out: “Wan‑niang, how do you know all this?!”
Gu Wan: …
Her black‑and‑white eyes shifted beneath her fringe. She looked up suddenly, blinking. That distant, clinical aura vanished at once, replaced by her usual lively, sly expression. She chuckled: “Oh, that? Don’t you know? My grandfather used to be an investigating officer in the Ministry of Justice. I learned it from him.”
On this matter, Gu Wan had thought it through. The original host’s grandmother was Princess Yongjia, a member of the imperial clan. As for her grandfather, he had been an investigating officer in the Ministry of Justice — the same position held by Song Ci in *The Great Song Justice Officer*. Examining corpses was not a mandatory duty of an investigating officer, but it fell within his jurisdiction, and if interested, he could certainly take it up himself.
She leaned closer, laughing softly: “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I promised my grandfather.”
In the dim yellow lamplight, the fine down on her face was clearly visible. She spoke with a smile, nudging his shoulder in a friendly, brotherly way.
She leaned a little too close, and Xie Ci couldn’t help holding his breath. His eyes widened as he looked at her, and almost immediately he replied: “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Then suddenly he realized — did this mean the two of them now shared a secret?
Gu Wan’s words carried no doubt for him. If she said it, he believed it. And in that dark, quiet tomb chamber, after whispering their little secret, his heart felt inexplicably happy. A strange, pleasant emotion welled up.
Afterward, he felt he hadn’t been serious enough, so he added in a hushed, solemn tone: “Not a single person. I promise!”
Under the lamplight, Xie Ci’s eyes gleamed like crystal. His sudden serious expression made Gu Wan burst out laughing, bending over with mirth. He looked like someone performing Sichuan face-changing—it was hilarious.
She said quickly, lightly: “Then I’ll believe you~”
Xie Ci, embarrassed by her laughter, felt his ears grow hot. He glared at her, but before long, he too couldn’t help curling his lips, pressing them together in a smile.