Chapter 8: Banyan Trees and Sunset

Title: Shadow of the Silent Blade

Three years ago, during Zhao Kingdom’s decennial grand ritual…

In the Southern States, dozens of realms coexisted, sometimes at peace, often at odds, but none had yet grown strong enough to swallow the rest. Though Zhao trailed behind Rong and Ying in power, it remained by no means insignificant.

Ancient legends said immortals had once carved the wilderness for Zhao, helping establish its capital amid rugged peaks. Those mountains served as natural fortresses, and stories persisted of recluses and immortals dwelling in humble huts to cultivate. The mountain’s favor had long been a quiet, mystical support for Zhao.

During the grand sacrificial rites three years earlier, envoys from every court attended. The Southern States were restless then: Rong and Ying at odds, and Zhao caught between them. It was at that gathering that the Second Prince of Rong made his appearance.

Among the young bloods of the southern courts, the Second Prince of Rongguo shone brightest. By seven, he had already tasted awakening in cultivation; rumor said a mountain immortal had taken him as a disciple. This diplomatic mission was his last passage through mortal courts before returning to the mountain to refine his path.

Why did they choose Zhao?

The woman smiled as she told the tale.

Because legend said Zhao had a maiden younger than him, with even greater talent. That maiden was said to be the daughter of the Divine Son.

Zhao Xiang’er?

Yes. He came expressly to meet Zhao Xiang’er.

Was she truly that formidable?

She shrugged, amusement soft at the edges of her voice.

Before that day, no one had truly seen her fight. Back then she was a wild thing, found in the woods or on rooftops, clothes always dirty. Looking back now, it seems the Kingdom of Ying spread those stories to provoke Rong’s Second Prince. The idea was to stir his pride; after all, the girl was nominally the Divine Son’s daughter. If she lost to a Rong prince, her name would be sullied.

Did they meet?

They did. The young lady was sitting beneath the great banyan tree watching the sunset when the Second Prince chanced upon her. He did not realize she was the princess he sought.

Ning Changjiu smiled faintly.

Sounds like a fairy tale. And then?

The woman’s gaze drifted, caught in memory.

The Second Prince was utterly enchanted. He vowed that after challenging the girl he would request a marriage contract and take as his bride the maiden glimpsed in that one fleeting moment.

The tale made Ning Changjiu chuckle; the woman laughed too.

The next day the Second Prince led his men to the palace gates to make trouble. He wounded many guards. Then the young lady stormed out, hands on her hips, yelling curses. She pointed at him and demanded, ‘So you’re the one causing trouble?’

The Second Prince froze. He had not expected the fleeting vision to be the famed young princess from Qianyu Palace. He tried to speak, to declare his intent, but she said nothing. She simply flew into a rage and began to beat him.

The woman laughed until she trembled as if recalling petals in the wind.

It began as a duel between the two. Within ten exchanges, however, all the Second Prince’s elite guards were forced into action. I had never seen anyone like her—she moved like lightning through stormclouds, blinding and precise. No one imagined such brilliance could belong to a thirteen-year-old.

In the end the Second Prince and his seven elite guards were wounded and routed. Only when his Shadow Guard, a disciple of Rong’s Sword Saint, sacrificed his cover to block her next strike did she stop. In that clash she shattered a sword scabbard clean through.

The stone steps before Qianyu Hall broke that day. The young lady stood, half-covered in blood, showing not triumph but bewilderment. She spoke one detached sentence and turned back to the palace. After that we scarcely saw the wild girl again. When she did appear later, she wore proper robes, quiet and refined—no trace of the reckless child we remembered.

Ning Changjiu listened in silence, then asked softly:

What did she say?

The State Master’s residence.

A few thin candles guttered in a dim room. Dark, squared furniture made the chamber feel like a lantern about to be snuffed. Even the painted pines and cranes on the screen, meant to be graceful, felt heavy and imprisoned.

A girl in white sat at a sturdy, square table, watching an elderly man with streaks of white in his hair. He wore plain robes.

Master, it’s time for your medicine.

A gentle, faint smile touched her features. The small yellow flower pinned to her sleeve was a bright, quiet note in the dim room. She offered him a bowl of thick herbal decoction.

The old man stared at the medicine, voice trembling.

Xiang’er… why must it come to this?

Zhao Xiang’er stayed composed.

I feared you might cause trouble, so I’ve been watching over you.

He smiled, bitterness in it.

You are my only disciple. How could I ever harm you?

Xiang’er’s tone grew colder.

Then why did you stand idly by twenty days ago?

The old man gave a helpless sigh.

The tide was against us. What could an old man do?

Always the tide, master, she sneered. Without my mother, you would never have become Grand Preceptor. You committed treason—and now you show no remorse?

The old man’s fist slammed the table.

If not for that incident three years ago, how could Zhao have ended up like this?

Three years before, Zhao Xiang’er had faced down eight opponents. She had shattered the scabbard of Rong’s Sword Master and broken the spiritual resolve of Rong’s Second Prince. Afterward, relations with Rong broke down, and Ying seized the opening to press Zhao.

You destroyed Zhao! the old man cried, fists shaking.

Xiang’er let her voice be steady and clear.

You’ll never understand. Zhao is Zhao when Mother is here. When the late emperor died ten years ago, Zhao nearly perished. I sowed the seeds; you reaped the consequences. If I could do it all again, I would make the same choice.

When the old man took the State Master’s post, he took Zhao’s fate onto his shoulders. Three years had already silvered his hair.

How could he not be bitter?

Why? he demanded. Did you truly think you could rid us of Ying’s spies and assassins alone? And now you are gravely hurt!

Xiang’er shook her head, eyes resolute.

Three years ago, a marriage contract might have bought Zhao a decade of peace, but it would have been empty. Master, you who carry this nation’s destiny—do you not know its burden? Even with the immortal’s promise centuries past, Zhao was bound to be consumed by its own shadow…

The old man listened, stunned. The more he understood, the more incredulous he grew.

Xiang’er… what exactly are you planning?

She restrained the sharpness in her gaze and softened her tone.

Drink your medicine, Master. We were teacher and student. I won’t kill you.

Her voice drifted, distant as a sigh.

I watched the sunset with His Highness. Why must you disturb me?

Those were the words she had spoken three years earlier at Qianyu Palace—spoken to a blood-red setting sun that seemed to answer with silence. From that day, she had become Your Highness in the eyes of some.

Now, Qianyu Palace lay half-ruined. She had tried to seclude herself, yet the world would not leave her in peace.

I hope you, sir, will not follow their example.

She gestured as if offering company. In the flickering lamp light, the old man trembled, lifted the bowl, and drank. The potion he swallowed was one to seal the Spirit Sea; after it, he would lack the strength to intervene further.

I watched the sunset with Her Highness. Ha… your young mistress truly is extraordinary. What happened next?

Then, twenty days ago, a crowd besieged Qianyu Palace under the pretext of punishing a demoness. The young lady was ambushed on her return to the capital—some say the third-ranked assassin of Ying was among them. Fortunately, she returned safely.

Ning Changjiu pressed for more.

What task did your young lady assign you?

The woman’s face hardened.

That is all I can say. The young lady and the Empress are the two I revere most. I would never betray her. You needn’t try to draw anything more from me.

Ning Changjiu’s words were firm.

You must answer me.

She laughed, a brittle sound.

You’re unreasonable, little Taoist. Why should I?

He replied simply:

Because your formation isn’t complete yet.

Her pupils narrowed. A hand hidden beneath the brocade quilt froze; fingers that had been manipulating array-lines paused. She stared at him.

Who exactly are you?

He did not answer her question. He pressed on:

Why did you try to kill me? Was it your mistress’s order?

The woman sneered.

Even if my mistress does not speak, a servant should finish the job cleanly, right, little Taoist?

Ning Changjiu inclined his head.

That makes sense.

She asked, curious and contemptuous:

Now that you know, why haven’t you tried to stop me?

I want to observe your array. I won’t interfere.

She felt the absurdity of his presumption and laughed coldly—but her hands did not waver. Since he’d granted the chance, she resolved not to waste it.

Spiritual energy flowed through her fingertips; only one final stroke of the brush remained to complete the formation. Sweat dripped down her back, but with a mingled sense of exhaustion and release, she drove the brush down.

The final stroke, though trembling, fell unexpectedly sure and beautiful.

Beneath the floor, a faint light bled through like a precise cut. It centered on Ning Changjiu, illuminating a compact, exquisite miniature array. She believed this work, crafted with such time and sacrifice, would bind even the Witchmaster for a long while—unless its core were found. With this, she would hold the initiative, whether to bargain or to strike.

At that moment, muffled cries rose at the window—Ning Xiaoling’s voice. They had acted elsewhere, too.

Either show your sincerity, or die.

She meant it. She would not hesitate.