That day in Zuiqing Pavilion, after Jing Wan’er finished speaking, she lifted a cup of tea and poured it over the map. At once, all the cities and mountains blurred, finally vanishing from the floral cloth.
“This map will not leave this room,” she said softly, eyes lowered. She knew well that privately copying the Tang territory map was a capital crime. From the start, she had never intended to spread it.
Only then did Pei Tan recover from his brief astonishment, looking at the girl—the daughter of Jing Zheren. Even in Chang’an, she had never been famed, a nearly forgotten figure.
In Chang’an, many girls were betrothed at ten years old. Had Jing Wan’er once been engaged? Or had it been silently annulled afterward?
Pei Tan closed his eyes: “Go back. Do not show yourself again for the next few days.”
Jing Wan’er had walked boldly into Zuiqing Pavilion that day. Who knew how many had seen her?
Perhaps she thought that being open was safer than hiding. But her existence carried too much risk. Even Pei Tan could not be so unconcerned.
When Jing Wan’er returned to Wangyue Tavern, Zichan’er was anxious:
“Well? How did it go?”
Jing Wan’er slowly removed her veil and said: “Don’t worry. From today, I will no longer trouble you.”
Her words carried a double meaning, making Zichan’er’s heart skip.
But Jing Wan’er only smiled, lowered her head, and entered the courtyard.
Zichan’er watched her back uneasily, wondering: Minister Pei at Zuiqing Pavilion, while Jing Wan’er had been gone all morning—what had passed between them?
That same day, Pei Tan left Zuiqing Pavilion. Zong Chuke’s spies immediately reported back. In the past, Zong Chuke would have seized on such a chance to find Pei Tan’s weakness. But now, believing he already held Pei Tan’s fatal flaw, he said nothing.
By then, three days had passed since Pei Xian had gone out to retrieve the corpse. He urged his men to ride hard, desperate to return to Chang’an. In his mind, Zong Chuke was always plotting against Pei Tan. Even with other Pei family guards protecting him, all of Chang’an still lay under the shadow of the terrifying Wei clan.
Zong Chuke had long allied himself with the Wei family to climb higher. In Chang’an, apart from Emperor Zhongzong, Pei Tan had almost no family power to rely on.
All the more reason for Pei Xian, proud and loyal, to spur his horse harder. The accompanying guards exchanged glances and whipped their steeds, racing toward Chang’an.
Suddenly, a brilliant signal flare burst in the sky—so bright it dazzled even in daylight. Pei Xian’s pupils widened, and he abruptly reined in his horse.
The other guards stared in shock at the lingering smoke: “What is this!?”
Pei Xian leapt down, stepping forward a few paces.
It was unmistakably the Pei family’s unique signal smoke, never confused with any other. He saw clearly—the flare had risen from the distant direction of Chang’an. It proved the sender was indeed his master, Pei Tan.
The guards looked at each other: “What does it mean?”
Pei Xian gazed long at the sky, silent, his eyes growing deep.
It was clear Pei Tan had sent the signal for them, far outside the city. Otherwise, there was no need for such a conspicuous flare.
The Pei family’s signals ranged from light to heavy in five colors. The smoke just now was the lightest. That meant the matter was not serious. Yet the problem was—if it was not serious, why would Pei Tan go to such lengths to send a flare across miles? It was strange.
The other guards grew tense: “Could the young master be in trouble? We must hurry back!”
But Pei Xian still stared at the sky, unmoving.
Signal smoke could not speak. It conveyed nothing but urgency or lack thereof, through its color.
Pei Xian had served Pei Tan the longest. Sent to retrieve the corpse, Pei Tan surely knew that once he found it, he would ride day and night without pause to return. So if it was only to urge him, Pei Tan did not need to send such a flare.
The meaning was easy to guess. Since the signal flare was not meant to urge them back and its color indicated no serious emergency, its opposite meaning was clear—it told them *not* to rush back to Chang’an.
“Everyone, halt here.”
The other covert guards were astonished, staring at Pei Xian in confusion: “Guard Pei, what is this?”
Pei Xian’s expression grew solemn. After a long pause, he said: “We follow the young master’s command. We wait for further orders.”
In Chang’an, after sending the signal, Pei Tan turned and returned alone to his chamber. The oil lamp on his desk glowed. Looking at that solitary flame, he thought of the girl who had risked everything to seek him at Zuiqing Pavilion.
“My lord, once Zong Huo reaches Wuzhou… no one in this world will be able to touch him.”
Wuzhou was the perfect sanctuary Zong Chuke had prepared for his son. There, Zong Huo could live in ease for a lifetime—perhaps marry, have children, and continue his debauchery. Even if Pei Tan knew everything, he could not reach into Wuzhou to seize him.
“Zong Huo must remain disguised. His caravan, even at full speed, cannot ride too fast without drawing suspicion. Our only chance is that we can ride faster horses.”
Pei Tan looked at Jing Wan’er without speaking.
“First, intercept Zong Huo before he reaches Wuzhou. Wan’er dares to guess—perhaps my lord has already considered this.”
Wuzhou was a fortress of iron walls. The best way was to strike before he entered, to crush him in one blow.
Jing Wan’er’s bright eyes fixed on Pei Tan: “But Wan’er believes the chance of success is nearly zero.”
Pei Tan remained silent.
Jing Wan’er’s voice grew heavy: “The reason is Zong Huo’s death warriors. A man like Zong Chuke, willing to sell his soul for power and to match wits with you, my lord—his cunning is no less than yours. Whatever plan you devise, Zong Chuke, for his son’s life, will have prepared against it. Before reaching Wuzhou, he will have ordered his warriors to trade their lives if necessary, to ensure Zong Huo survives.”
Pei Tan pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.
Jing Wan’er’s voice seemed to fade: “Therefore… Wan’er dares to say that the best hope is when Zong Huo believes himself safe. That is when my lord should strike.”
Let Zong Huo enter Wuzhou, then kill him and his men in the very place they thought secure. That would be the truest revenge.
Such a meticulous plan might not occur even to seasoned generals. Yet this girl, raised ten years in the boudoir and five years trapped in the palace, spoke words chilling enough to freeze the blood.
“All death warriors do not fear death,” Jing Wan’er smiled faintly. “But they will grow weary. Their bodies are still mortal. Especially under Zong Chuke’s orders, they will be exhausted in the nights before reaching Wuzhou. Once they cross into Wuzhou, they will feel a false sense of relief.”
The Art of War says: *Strike where the enemy is unprepared, and you will be invincible.*
Jing Wan’er even laughed openly: “So you need only ensure one thing—arrive in Wuzhou before Zong Huo. Place your men inside the fortress first.”
Wuzhou was iron walls, but if Pei Tan’s men entered first, they could turn that fortress into a cage. That alone would be enough to trap Zong Huo forever.
Pei Tan looked at the solitary lamp on his desk, then slowly stepped forward. His brush and ink lay there, stirred faintly by the wind. Along with the signal flare, he had sent a carrier pigeon. If Pei Xian waited half a day, the pigeon would deliver Pei Tan’s written orders.
From Chang’an, even with the fastest horses, they might only arrive at Wuzhou at the same time as Zong Huo. But if already outside the city, far afield, then with Pei Xian’s steeds—capable of a thousand li a day—they could reach Wuzhou ahead of him. It was a plan that could not fail.
After waiting half a day, while the guards grew restless with speculation, Pei Xian suddenly opened his eyes from meditation. He saw a pigeon flying overhead. Catching it, he opened the message and read Pei Tan’s command. A bright light flashed in his eyes. He folded the letter, tucked it into his sleeve, and turned to the guards: “Turn around at once. The young master has new orders!”
The guards were astonished, but with fresh instructions, they obeyed.
At once, all mounted again. Pei Xian wheeled his horse and led them off at full gallop.
That night, Chang’an seethed with hidden currents. Zong Chuke believed he held Pei Tan’s weakness—the disgraced minister’s daughter, Jing Wan’er. Yet since leaving Zuiqing Pavilion, she had truly remained behind closed doors, giving the anxious Zichan’er couple some comfort.
But Pei Tan’s work went far beyond sending a letter to Pei Xian. Even if Pei Xian reached Wuzhou first, how could they execute the plan? In a city full of eyes, how could they kill Zong Huo unseen?
For once, Zong Huo was slain in Wuzhou, the people there would immediately turn on the killers. The entire city would become a trap, a sealed urn of iron walls. Zong Huo would die—but Pei Tan’s guards would become turtles in the urn, unable to escape.