The cold dew of the third quarter of the mao hour seeped through his collar with the dampness of the bluestone slabs. Yue Tingzhou's nape was stiff as if embedded with frozen iron. His cuffs still bore the pine-soot charcoal dust from the secret rendezvous last night. His thumb had just brushed over the charcoal stain as he turned the street corner when the dull thud of a bronze ring pounding on a door drilled up through the cracks in the stone slabs, vibrating the cloth weave of his shoe soles numb. City Guard soldiers in black armor lined half the street, their armor plates clanging against each other, shaking the paper windows of the facing houses so that fragments of saltpeter rustled down. The white breath exhaled by the soldiers was torn into fine shreds of mist the moment it touched the wind, carrying the smell of iron rust into the nostrils of passersby. The wind whipped the apricot-yellow escort flag at the gate of the escort house, flapping and rolling. The bright yellow characters "Wan Jing" were almost torn in two by the wind, mixing with the pungent smell of green grass at the base of the wall and pouring into people's lungs. Zhu Hanli was standing on the steps. The wind lifted the hem of her black escort robe like the flapping wings of a black crane. The silver abacus at her waist was gripped so tightly by her fingertips they turned white. Subconsciously, she flicked the beads backward three times—the crisp, clear sound of copper mixed with the wind, audible only to those within two steps. Last night, the two of them had just sworn a blood oath of mutual protection in the Zhu family ancestral hall. Before leaving, she had deliberately strung the copper key to the secret vault onto the silver bracelet on her wrist, intending to take Yue Tingzhou today to search for the old escort manuals hidden deep in the vault. She never imagined the hooves of the City Guard would be faster than the rooster announcing the dawn. The cold dew soaked her fingertips, making them as cold as ice. Her knuckles pressed against the copper beads, the pain causing her fingers to tremble slightly. Yue Tingzhou's toes tapped a dent in the bluestone slab. As he swept up the steps, he placed himself half a step in front of her in an instant. The wind poured into his collar, chilling him so that the Jingtan Jue true qi, which had settled in his dantian for three years, automatically rotated half a cycle. His fingertips had just touched the copper waist token of the Henglu Si Outer Affairs Officer in his bosom. Out of habit, he rotated it three times, his thumb pad rubbing over the rough, rusted particles before he pulled it out and held it up before the crowd. The cool, polished smoothness of the copper rust spread from his fingertips to his wrist bone. The true qi in his dantian silently spread out three zhang, instantly locking onto the pattern of the half-exposed waist token at the leader's side—it wasn't the standard coiled cloud pattern of the City Guard, but the corner of the exclusive dark ink orchid pattern of the Xie Manor. The Xie leader at the front snorted derisively. The tip of his sword scraped the ground, drawing a pale white stone mark. The night dew on his black armor dripped down the blade onto the bluestone slab, splashing up tiny droplets. "A lowly Outer Affairs Officer of the Henglu Si dares to interfere with the City Guard's business of searching for and arresting contraband artifacts on the Prohibited List? Step aside, or I'll take you in for questioning as well!" The white breath he exhaled carried an extremely faint scent of ambergris—the inner court tribute incense used only by Xie Wuchen, something even ordinary outer disciples wouldn't get a whiff of. Yue Tingzhou's brow furrowed slightly, the muscles along his spine instantly tensing like a fully drawn bow. His peripheral vision swept over the twelve sandalwood escort boxes placed under the corridor inside the gate. Between the seams of the boxes, the spiritual light of the spirit mirror fragments intercepted from the black market just last night still leaked out—these were the key evidence that could prove the algorithmic flaw in the Fate Book's life debt notes. If they were discovered, the Wan Jing Escort House would immediately be branded with the Prohibited List label. Forget investigating the old case of Patriarch Zhu's sudden death, all the hundreds of escort masters and their families in the Zhu household would be carted off to the Beimang Prison. The edge of the copper waist token dug painfully into his palm. If he revealed his full identity as a covert agent, he could suppress the other party on the spot, but the net he had laid over three years of infiltration would be He gritted his teeth, snatched the waist token back fiercely, his knuckles deforming the bronze edge, then waved a hand to his subordinates, his tone hard as if squeezed from between stones: “Today, this official made a mistake. Withdraw!” With a clatter of armor plates, the city guard soldiers turned and retreated, their footsteps pounding the bluestone slabs, shaking the grass blades by the wall roots. Commander Xie walked at the rear, a sharp, cold glint silently shooting from his sleeve toward Yue Tingzhou’s chest, the sound of its passage as fine as a mosquito’s wingbeat. Yue Tingzhou raised his hand to block; the cold glint grazed the back of his hand, opening a three-inch-long gash. Sharp pain instantly shot along his nerves to his shoulder socket, and blood beads immediately seeped out. Warm drops fell on the bluestone, blooming dark red spots that mixed with dew to emit a faintly sweet, metallic scent. Zhu Hanli’s sharp eyes caught sight of that blood trace; her fingertips clenched so tightly the copper beads on her silver abacus emitted a faint creak, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. She had still harbored some testing of this ally she’d just allied with a day ago; after all, before this, the two had merely exchanged interests, without undergoing real, solid trials. Now, seeing him prefer to expose his semi-public Enforcement Bureau identity rather than let the escort box be searched, even willing to be injured without revealing more hidden cards, the silver key she had been gripping tightly in her fingertips loosened slightly. She stepped forward, reached out, and grasped Yue Tingzhou’s uninjured wrist. Her fingertips, calloused from years of holding a short spear, were cooler than an ordinary person’s, yet carried a solid warmth. Her voice was pressed low, carrying the soft cadence particular to southern accents, yet exceptionally firm: “Come with me to the inner courtyard. We’ll treat the wound.” Yue Tingzhou lowered his head to glance at the wound on the back of his hand still seeping blood—the itchy sensation of blood beads rolling over skin mixed with sharp pain—then looked at her fingertips gripping his wrist. The silver bracelet on her wrist brushed against his skin, cool and smooth. The wind swept petals from the late-blooming pear blossoms in the inner courtyard, drifting out to land on his blood-stained hand. Pale petals stained with blood looked like scattered snowflakes. He nodded, following her steps across the threshold into the escort bureau’s main gate. The door slowly closed behind them, shutting out the lingering metallic chill of the city guards’ armor and the dew-laden air outside. Crossing the vermilion threshold, the pear blossom scent from the inner courtyard enveloped them head-on, mixed with the tung oil smell of sun-dried escort banners, much warmer than the cold dew outside. Zhu Hanli’s steps were quick, the silver bracelets on her wrists clinking lightly as she pulled him toward a pear pavilion encircled by two century-old late-blooming pear trees. The stone table, soaked with the night’s chill, made Yue Tingzhou’s hand wound twitch the moment his fingertips touched it, another bead of blood seeping out, smearing on the bluestone slab and mixing with fallen pear petals, a stark red and white. Before sitting, he first rotated the celadon teacup before him three times. The tea surface rippled with fine silver waves, reflecting Zhu Hanli’s lowered eyes. She was bent over, rummaging through the medicine pouch at her side, the silver abacus slung diagonally at her waist. The light sound of her flicking the copper beads in reverse was crisp like shattering ice—a habit she couldn’t break when thinking. When she poured out the golden wound medicine, its clear, bitter scent stung the nostrils. The thin calluses on Zhu Hanli’s fingertips brushed the skin around the wound. Years of holding a short spear had left her fingertips as hard as polished leather, yet her motions applying the medicine were so light, as if afraid to startle a sparrow perched on a branch. She wrapped the gauze three times, finally tying a small pear-shaped knot, soft against the skin. The wound that had just been sharply painful now actually seeped a bit of warmth. “By escort bureau rules, blocking one disaster of confiscation offsets three favors of escort missions. You exposed your Enforcement Bureau identity today, which is like tying half your life to the Zhu family’s ship. I never do business on credit.” Zhu Hanli spoke first, southern softness wrapped in an escort runner’s directness, not a single empty word. Yue Tingzhou pressed a fingertip to the pear knot on the gauze. *Jingtan Jue*’s true qi spread over the back of his hand, coolly suppressing the pain Yue Tingzhou’s fingertip brushed against the coarse paper page, his thumb pad grazing the raised and sunken traces of ink, as if touching the old case that had hung over his heart for three years. The signature on the first page, clearly dated “Autumn of the Twelfth Year of Chongguang,” was etched with the three characters “Xie Zhixuan.” The ink was so dark it seemed to have congealed blood, and beside it were the familiar, fragmented star patterns—the exclusive mark of the *Tianming Shu*’s life-borrowing contracts. After three years of investigation, he had finally obtained direct evidence linking Xie Wuchen to the Wan Mirror Escort Bureau. His fist clenched, the wound on the back of his hand pulled painfully, and the gauze seeped a faint red bloodstain. The stone that had hung over him for three years had finally landed, only to plunge into a deeper vortex. “Xie Wuchen had dealings with your father twenty years ago. Your father’s sudden death while escorting the *Tianming* marriage contract scroll is absolutely related to him.” Yue Tingzhou’s voice was pressed low, his fingertip resting on the three characters “Xie Zhixuan.” The *Jingtan Jue*’s true qi unconsciously circulated, a faint cold light glowing at his fingertip. Zhu Hanli’s motion of flicking the abacus beads backward suddenly stopped. A copper bead jammed in the middle, emitting a dull clack. “Before my father set out on that escort, he specifically locked away this ledger, saying that if he didn’t return, it should be handed over to someone daring enough to oppose the Xie family. I’ve investigated for ten years, and all I know is that these star patterns are related to the Spirit Mirror scoring system. The specific algorithm remains elusive.” Just as Yue Tingzhou was about to turn the page, half a message talisman folded into the shape of a flying falcon slipped out from between the pages, landing with a soft *pat* on the stone table. A pale blue spiritual light suddenly flared, stinging the eyes. A silver falcon imprint floated on the talisman’s surface, beneath which six characters flowed with cold light, piercing the gaze like ice spikes: *Surround and capture in three days.* The wind died instantly. Pear blossom petals hung in mid-air, unable to fall. Yue Tingzhou instantly raised his *Jingtan Jue* to the third layer, his fingertip pressing against the hilt of the saber at his waist, his knuckles turning white. Zhu Hanli’s silver abacus rattled as the entire string of copper beads flipped over. Her face instantly paled—after ten years in the escort business, no one was unaware of the name “Frost Falcon” Huo Qingya. When his capture orders were issued, no survivors were ever left. “It’s Huo Qingya’s message talisman, activated not long ago. The talisman still carries a chill.” Yue Tingzhou’s fingertip touched the talisman’s surface; it was piercingly cold. “Xie Wuchen must already know about our alliance. In three days, he intends to clear the board.” Zhu Hanli tightened her grip on the hilt of the short spear at her waist, its red tassel swaying violently. “The complete escort records, along with the full set of markings for the life-borrowing contract algorithm, are all in the underground vault of the Escort Bureau. My father locked away all the original documents for every abnormal escort inside. Xie Wuchen’s complete evidence of guilt must be there.” “Can you bypass the vault’s mechanisms?” Yue Tingzhou looked up at her, his gaze sharp as a blade tempered in ice. “I am the young master. Only my aunt and I know the vault’s password.” Zhu Hanli’s finger slid over the “zero” position bead on her silver abacus, her tone as steady as a driven nail. “But the vault’s mechanisms only shut down once for ventilation at dawn on the first day of each month—which happens to be tomorrow. If we miss today, we’ll have to wait another month. We can’t afford that.” “Tomorrow at dawn, I’ll go with you.” Yue Tingzhou slipped the message talisman back into the escort ledger, his fingertip pressing against those six silver characters. The wound on the back of his hand began to ache again. “We originally only had thirty days to find the master scroll of the *Tianming Shu*. Now we’ve lost two more. We have to gamble.” “Risks shared, gains divided equally.” Zhu Hanli extended her hand, the thin calluses on her palm brushing against the back of his gauze-wrapped hand, cool to the touch. “If we succeed, the