Upon the ruins of reason, we build a city called "Trust."
The afterglow of the shattered mirror array had not yet faded. The black-feathered emblem of the Night Crow Division fell through the air, turning to ash. The ground of Fengheng Hall still bore the patterns of broken mirrors, like a charred net.
The Imperial Army locked down the entire city; the Night Crow Division took charge of the aftermath. Every report began with the same line: "Councilor Shen severely injured, Commander Chu's actions went out of control." This report would become the opening statement for the Night Crow Division's reconstruction of the truth.
Reason fell into disorder—and was reclassified.
Thus—they were "accommodated" at the Capital Coordination Office, nominally for recuperation, but in reality, under house arrest.
The faint light of dawn filtered through the window lattice, casting scattered spots of light on the floor. From afar came the low murmurs of the Night Crow Division patrols, like venomous serpents slithering through grass.
Shen Yuzhu's consciousness slowly surfaced from the long darkness. The embers of the illusion toxin still smoldered faintly along his nerves, but clearer still was the straight-backed figure seated by his bed. Chu Hongying sat still as a pine tree, her blood-stained battle robe unchanged, yet her eyes were startlingly clear.
"Is this place... still a cage?" His voice was hoarse and dry.
"Yes," her reply was sharp, resolute, "but from this moment on, we are witnesses, not prisoners."
Lu Wanning approached silently, her fingertips accurately finding the pulse on his wrist. A moment later, she recorded her findings, her voice calm as a deep pool: "The rational defenses had fully collapsed; the foundation of the new self remained undefined." She lifted her gaze, sweeping it over the two of them: "Your mere survival is the most thorough negation of the Empire's laws of reason."
Shen Yuzhu's ears twitched slightly—he detected faint breathing outside the window. The Night Crow Division's spies had never left.
Gu Changfeng pushed the door open, the scent of medicine wafting in with him. He looked at the scene by the bed, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly: "This guy finally looks human now." A jesting remark, yet it brought the first breath of vivid life to the oppressive room.
In the courtyard, bamboo shadows swayed gracefully in the morning breeze. Shen Yuzhu threw a stack of manuscripts filled with complex calculations into a brazier. The pages curled and turned to ash in the flames; algorithms that once could deduce the stability of the world ultimately could not calculate the weight of a sincere heart.
The manuscripts in the brazier burned to ashes, sparks dancing along the threads of wind. Shen Yuzhu looked down at the wisp of ash, his expression calm. She had seen such edicts before. Every pardoned orphan of a rebel clan was eventually granted a new surname, in the name of "Return to Ancestry," utterly erasing the old bloodline. She knew her own turn would not be long.
"In the illusion, I chose to let you die," he stared at the flickering flames. "It was the logical 'optimal solution'." He turned, his gaze for the first time completely unshielded: "They want to give you a 'correct name,' to cleanse history; my choice then almost erased your soul."
Chu Hongying listened quietly, her fingertip lightly tapping his chest: "Sooner or later, they will issue an edict, stripping me of my current surname. Shen Yuzhu, do not let your reason become another hand that steals my name." The three characters "Chu Hongying" were born from blood and ashes, not a grace bestowed, but a life she picked up with her own hands. If this name were taken again, she would not even know who she was anymore.
The firelight trembled in her pupils; he finally lowered his head. In that instant, all deductions and formulas failed—only her finger resting on his chest remained, and that one command was enough to shatter all logic: "Remember my name now—Chu Hongying. Even if the Empire forbids it."
"I will remember." He promised, his words falling like a vow. The fire danced between them, dyeing their two figures a warm gold.
The night at the Capital Coordination Office was deep as ink. Named "recuperation," it was imprisonment. The footsteps of the Imperial Guards echoed rhythmically in the outer court. The four were under strict surveillance, only able to move limitedly during the dead of night.
Shen Yuzhu pushed the door open in the darkness, Gu Changfeng stood behind him. He didn't ask why—only said, briefly: "Where to?"
"The archives."
"Then I'll lead the way."
He asked not about right or wrong, nor feared death, trusting only the person.
Gu Changfeng gripped his sword hilt, whispering: "If caught, neither you nor he can be protected."
"So you're afraid?" Shen Yuzhu's voice was very soft.
"I'm afraid you'll only trust formulas again, not people."
Their gazes met briefly, the firelight drawing a fine line between them.
Shen Yuzhu found the old path to the sealed sector from memory. The iron lock on the wall was rusted; Gu Changfeng pried it open deftly with a short blade—metal flakes fell silently. Pushing the door open, the smell of mildew and ink assailed them. Candlelight flickered in the narrow space, casting the shadows of the four onto the dust-covered bookshelves.
As they searched through the records, a faint glint flashed across the bronze mirror in the corner. Lu Wanning noticed the anomaly, whispered: "The surveillance talismans here are still active." Shen Yuzhu looked up; in the candlelight, the black feather emblem of the Night Crow Division surfaced on the mirror. He reached out and snuffed the flame, plunging the room into utter silence.
Shen Yuzhu's fingers brushed past the scrolls, finally stopping on one titled in vermillion characters: "The Lu Family Armory Treason Case — Whole Clan Executed"
Lu Wanning stood in the shadows, the candlelight flickering across her cold profile: "After the new Emperor ascended the throne, under the name of 'Return to Ancestry surname,' he actually bound the crimes of the living and the dead—" Her voice was faint as cold mist, "This is the purest form of political sanitization."
Chu Hongying's fingertips traced the line of the icy verdict, a slight sweat seeping from her palm. In the candlelight, a faint, cold smile flitted at the corner of her lips: "So this new name is a shackle forged precisely for me."
Shen Yuzhu slowly closed the scroll, his voice lowered: "Stealing a name is crueler than seizing power." The candle flame flickered violently, as if even the air choked in that moment.
Just as he was about to put the scroll away, a glint of gold suddenly flashed through the door crack—a gold-leafed letter, delivered silently, lay quietly in the shadows. No signature, no mark, only a line of slender, elegant characters: "If you wish to break the situation, guard the pieces in stillness. On the day the wind rises, the pieces will return to the board."
Shen Yuzhu unfolded the gold missive. "This isn't the Seventh Prince's own hand."
Lu Wanning frowned: "Then whose is it?"
"The copyist... intentionally imitated him." The candlelight skimmed the bottom of the letter, revealing an almost erased remnant of a seal mark—the secret symbol of the Night Crow Division.
Shen Yuzhu's fingers paused almost imperceptibly. The Imperial Guards' footsteps outside drew near again. He said nothing, only swiftly tucked the letter into his sleeve. The candle flame went out as if on command, darkness instantly swallowing the space. The four exchanged a look in the thick darkness and silently retreated into the shadows.
The imperial city bell tolled, shattering the morning mist, its sound shaking the heavens. The four stepped once more into the Hall of Golden Chimes. Upon the jade steps, the new Emperor sat like an idol, his downward gaze devoid of any warmth.
The eunuch's shrill voice once again tore through the hall's silence: "...The Lu family has a daughter, Hongying, commendable for loyalty and bravery, specially granted the Return to Ancestry surname—" The three words fell like heavy chains. When that "Lu" character fell, Shen Yuzhu's heart shook. She had said: "Sooner or later, they will issue an edict, stripping me of my current surname." And now, the language of power had indeed become a shackle.
Shen Yuzhu's eyes turned icy, his whisper sharp as a blade: "Stealing a name is crueler than seizing power."
Lu Wanning added calmly: "Reason without a heart is a sickness. I've observed this illness for ten years; it's time to treat it." Her eyes flashed with the blood and fire of ten years ago.
The new Emperor's gaze fixed precisely on Chu Hongying. He deliberately emphasized that form of address: "—General Lu, We, have high expectations for your loyalty." That "Lu" character was like a needle dipped in political poison, thrust once more into the old wound over her heart.
The assembled officials held their breath. Yet, this time, Chu Hongying was different. She bowed, but when she raised her face again, her eyes were clear as morning stars. Her voice was not loud, yet each word fell like jade shattering on ice: "My name may be taken, but never my heart."
Once spoken, the hall fell into profound silence. This was not a submission of thanks, but a declaration of the soul. In the moment she lifted her gaze, her peripheral vision caught Seventh Prince Zhao Yuan standing beside the Imperial throne. Their gazes met for an extremely brief instant; deep in his eyes flashed a subtle, yet undeniable, hint of acquiescence.
Shen Yuzhu stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Below the steps, Gu Changfeng and Lu Wanning swiftly exchanged a glance—understanding, resolute. The board remained the same, but the hands moving the pieces had changed.
Night pressed down. Inside the Coordination Office, Shen Yuzhu sat alone by the lamp, unfolding the gold letter that had been folded thrice. The handwriting floated in the lamplight; he thought he had already seen through its meaning, but on the reverse side, he saw another layer of faint, ink-covered residual words—「Imperial Tomb stirs, heart-pulse trembles, guards changed.」 The ink was not yet dry, but the brushstrokes closely resembled the style of the Night Crow Division's secret records.
Shen Yuzhu's fingers paused slightly. Outside, the wind rose. He closed the letter, murmuring to himself: "The Imperial Tomb... is stirring?"
Their world was still surrounded by high walls, but their hearts had already crossed all barriers. Where reason collapsed, trust built a city—the first immortal city named "Humanity."
Above the Imperial Tombs, all lights extinguished simultaneously, a single black feather drifting silently onto the stone steps.
Far north of the imperial city, deep within the tomb's earth veins, came a faint, almost imperceptible, tremor.