She still remembered what Xiao Yannian had said at the Nülü not long ago—”You lose your composure at the slightest thing. You wouldn’t survive a single night in Dongbi.”
For someone of her lowly birth, who had only learned a few superficial skills before walking the edge of a blade, this path would surely be one of constant trepidation—as if standing at the edge of an abyss, as if treading on thin ice. Before that vicious, bloodthirsty Father of the King of Wei, how long could she truly last?
Suddenly, a chill touched her face. The ice-cold hand of the one seated in the master’s position held a roll of fine silk, tracing it lightly across her cheek over the long table.
She vaguely heard the man let out a gentle laugh—a laugh of unfathomable meaning. “No powder or paint, no hidden schemes, and still a beauty who could steal one’s very soul. No need to fear. He will like you.”
A-Pan raised her eyes steadily to look at him, her chest tight, suffocating with suppressed anguish.
Words like these coming from Xiao Yannian’s mouth made one’s hair stand on end.
She clutched the bamboo slips in her hand, her body taut with terror, not daring to flinch from the man’s touch.
Then the one in the master’s seat deigned to speak: “Atone for your father’s sins, and the deed of indenture is yours. If you prove yourself worthy, you may even secure a position as a concubine in Dongbi. The rest of your life will be free from want—you’ll live as a person of standing.”
Yes—the fine silk in that man’s hand was the deed of indenture she had signed with her mark the moment she entered Qianjimen.
Her mind wavered, and A-Pan murmured, “In my master’s eyes, what kind of person counts as a person of standing?”
The silk slipped from her cheek, sliding down to her neck, where it came to rest.
The man did not spare even a moment’s thought before answering her. “One who is born for Zhongshan and dies for Zhongshan. One who, having sinned, goes to atone for that sin. Only such a person can be called a person of standing.”
A-Pan nodded, dazed. “A-Pan will become a person of standing. Only… I would also ask one thing of my master…”
The man set down the silk. “Speak.”
A-Pan hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. “That piece of broken jade—could my master leave it with A-Pan?”
The man before her did not grow angry. Still calm, he reasoned with her. “You must go to Dongbi clean and unburdened. Wearing such an old keepsake would only invite suspicion from the Weiren.”
She lowered her brows. There was nothing supporting her—she was crushed beneath responsibility, guilt, and a road ahead too murky to see, pressed so low she could neither lift her head nor straighten her back.
Yet she had to try once more, though even this attempt lacked conviction. “It is A-Pan’s only keepsake.”
The man paid her no heed, only giving a faint command. “Go. Go atone for your father’s sins.”
His gaze did not even fall upon her—whether he was truly speaking to her, she could not tell.
A-Pan kept her head lowered and did not move. She still wanted to ask about her father.
She did not understand. Could a single piece of broken jade condemn her father’s crime?
From the side, Fan Cunxiao reminded her in a low voice, “Junior sister, ask no more. Take your leave of the master, and go do what you must do.”
A-Pan’s mind cleared, and so she swallowed her tears and choked back her words.
She thought, yes—ask no more. This was not the right time.
But she would know eventually. She would.
Heeding Fan Cunxiao’s words, she knelt solemnly and prostrated herself before Xiao Yannian. “A-Pan takes her leave of my master.”
She was just about to rise when, suddenly, a hand pressed heavily against the back of her skull, forcing her head down so she could not lift it, pressing her lower and lower until she lay prostrate upon the ground.
The man in the main seat appeared gentle yet carried a sharp, chilling edge. “Use your body well! A lowly beauty is best able to stir a man’s instinct for blood and carnage. As long as you draw breath, devote yourself to death for the nation, extinguish yourself for righteousness!”
He paused, and strength suddenly gathered in his hand. “This is what I have always taught you—the righteousness of the state.”
“Remember, you are a soldier of Zhongshan. Your body is your finest weapon.”
A-Pan’s nose tingled with bitterness. He was cold and heartless—a man devoid of feeling.
When she had first met Xiao Yannian, though restrained and distant, frail in body, he had nonetheless been courteous and measured, his speech calm and gentle.
She still remembered the hand that had pulled her up from the snow where her toes were freezing off.
The palm of that hand bore a terrifying scar.
She should have known then that he was no simple man, and should have known that from the very start, what they wanted was her allegiance.
The aura of authority that kept others at arm’s length, the bearing that brooked no defiance—these were the marks of one in power, and his frailty did nothing to diminish them in the slightest.
A-Pan’s voice caught in her throat, her heart hollow, until not even the last shred of strength holding her up remained.
That hand slowly turned from the back of her neck, gripping her chin and lifting her face.
Those ordinarily gentle eyes looked down upon her, brows and gaze alike brimming with dangerous light. “Never, ever let yourself feel affection for the Weiren. Zhongshan woman, I want you to remember this!”
His words were clearly right at her ear, and she listened in a daze—some words pierced into her heart, while others seemed to drift past her ear.
Only after a long while did she come back to herself, sighing inwardly. “A-Pan remembers. I remember it all.”
And she truly did remember.
She would become a qualified spy—cut off from love and feeling, and die for her country.
She rose in a daze and walked out of the hall, still hearing Lu Shang speaking in a low voice. “Among the new recruits of Qianjimen, she is the most unpromising. Why did the master insist on choosing her? The cause of restoring the nation is no game. Such an opportunity may come only once. If she fails, it will be very difficult to send anyone else in afterward.”
A-Pan did not hear what Xiao Yannian said in reply.
Inside the door, the lamp burned low and the flame guttered; the people were silent and the shadows sparse.
Perhaps he said something, perhaps nothing at all.
Outside the door, Fan Cunxiao was waiting. Before seeing her onto the Xiaoyao, he offered a few earnest words of advice.
“Junior Sister, do not think the master is cruel, nor feel that Lu Shang is harsh. If Zhongshan is to be restored, we must use spies to quell the chaos. Since you have been chosen, do all you can. There is nothing to fear.”
A-Pan nodded with a smile.
Perhaps she heard clearly, perhaps she did not.
The man beside her added, “Go and watch the King Father, probe for military intelligence, and do all that a spy must do. But before you have secured your footing, do not act rashly, lest you invite suspicion. If the master does not abandon you, I will do my best to look after you.”
A-Pan smiled at him. “Thank you, Senior Brother Fan.”
Having left Xiao Yannian’s main hall, she was now led by Lu Shang onto the Xiaoyao.
She did not know where she was being taken, nor whether she would ever return, whether this was a mission or still another test—she knew nothing.
She did not know, but neither did she need to ask. She simply followed.
The Xiaoyao was cramped but light and nimble, skirting around city walls and checkpoints, taking only the small paths. The woman who had just miscarried was jolted until she was half dead, yet Lu Shang did not stop for even half a day’s rest because of it.
They traveled on for roughly another three days, until at last they stopped before a humble wooden gate.
In the firewood courtyard, a large yellow dog was kept, and upon hearing the sound of the approaching carriage, it began to bark fiercely.
A-Pan was led down from the carriage and had barely steadied himself when he heard Lu Shang ask, “Do you see it? That was your only chance. Kill her, and only then can you take her place and enter Dongbi.”