West City, gambling den.
Liu Balien kicked open the storeroom door, dust showering down from the frame. His booze-reeking face twitched with fat, his murky eyes sweeping over the shivering errand boys in the corner.
"Who was on duty last night?!"
"M-Master Liu, it… it was me…" A scrawny, monkey-like boy stammered and stepped forward.
Liu Balien yanked him up by the collar. "Who messed with the storeroom lock?!"
"N-no one… I-I locked it myself…" The boy's voice cracked in terror.
Liu Balien narrowed his eyes, scanning the room again. The goods were neatly stacked, the account books untouched, even the vicious guard dogs lay sprawled, tails wagging lazily. Everything looked normal.
…Did he drink too much and remember wrong?
He let go of the boy and spat on the floor with a curse.
"You all better wake the hell up!" He kicked a stool flying. "If I catch anyone slacking again, I'll chop off your hand and feed it to the dogs!"
No one noticed that in the corner of the storeroom, wedged between bricks, a brass die gleamed faintly in the shadows.
At that moment, Ah Mo was crouched by the well, scrubbing corpse oil from her sleeve. The water reflected her tense profile. She wrung the fabric dry, then pulled out the snake-heart vine she'd hidden away. Staring at it for a moment, she suddenly pushed it into a crack in the well wall.
"Safer here than on me," she muttered, rubbing her fingers across the moss to wipe away all traces.
When she turned, her shadow stretched long in the morning sun, cast slantwise across the closed door.
…No rush.
…She'd dig out the Immortal Master's secrets piece by piece.
By the time the light grew brighter, Ah Mo had changed into clean clothes and was kneeling on the mat inside, wiping her dagger with coarse cloth.
When Xie Zhaolin stepped out of her room, Ah Mo immediately put the dagger down and bowed.
"Immortal Master."
Xie Zhaolin's gaze lingered on her briefly, then shifted to the table where breakfast had been laid out—porridge, pickles, and a small plate of freshly picked wild fruit.
"You made this?"
"Yes," Ah Mo bowed her head. "I thought… we should have some food prepared."
Xie Zhaolin said nothing. Her fingertip brushed the rim of the bowl, sending a thread of baleful qi into it. A moment later, it dissipated.
…No poison.
She picked up the bowl and drank slowly.
Ah Mo's eyelashes trembled, then stilled again.
Xie Zhaolin set the bowl down and tapped the edge of the table.
"Today I'll be processing herbs." Her eyes lifted, falling on Ah Mo's lowered lashes. "Stay in the front yard. Don't go near the west wing."
Ah Mo's fingers clenched slightly on her knees, then relaxed. "Yes."
Xie Zhaolin glanced sideways at her but said no more. She left for the west wing, deliberately leaving the door ajar, a narrow gap of three fingers wide.
…Wide enough for someone to sneak a look.
Her fingertip flicked, and herbs flew out of her storage pouch, settling neatly on the table.
Snake-heart vine, ligusticum, white peony… and a small packet of dark red powder, wrapped tightly in oiled paper.
She sat down, picking up the snake-heart vine Ah Mo had brought back. The dark purple vine glistened faintly, its cut surface oozing black liquid that clung thick like ink, refusing to scatter.
Not an ordinary vine.
"Interesting…"
Outside the window, Ah Mo held her breath.
Xie Zhaolin hadn't locked the door. That was too unusual. With her cautious nature, if she truly didn't want anyone near, she'd have sealed the entire place with a formation—or even nailed the windows shut.
Yet now, the door gaped, the paper screens let light shine through.
…Was this a test, or a trap?
"This vine… you stole it from the gambling den's secret room?"
Ah Mo stiffened.
Then, the door creaked softly as she pushed it open, eyes gleaming.
"How did Immortal Master know?"
"A guess," Xie Zhaolin said without looking up. "Normal snake-heart vine doesn't bleed ink that clings."
"Immortal Master's teachings are sharp." Ah Mo smiled, her eyes curving. "After all, you said it yourself… I have to prove my worth."
"So you decided to act on your own and steal from the gambling den's private vault?" Her voice was quiet, yet every syllable pressed like a blade at Ah Mo's throat.
Ah Mo's fingers curled inside her sleeve, but her face brightened with a pleasing smile. "I was wrong. I only thought… maybe you'd find it useful."
"I told you not to approach the west wing. Did you listen?"
Her breathing faltered, but her voice stayed steady. "I was wrong."
"Wrong?" Xie Zhaolin sneered. "You're just getting bolder."
Smack!
The slap landed cleanly across Ah Mo's cheek. The strength wasn't heavy, but her skin burned. She didn't dodge, even lowered her head further, the back of her slender neck exposed.
"Next time," Xie Zhaolin's tone was ice, "I'll toss you to the gambling den. Let them teach you discipline."
Ah Mo knew she meant it.
"Yes." Her muffled voice carried just enough grievance to sound convincing.
Xie Zhaolin's eyes lingered on her reddened ear before she drew a small porcelain vial from her sleeve. "Apply this."
Ah Mo took it, her fingertips brushing against the Immortal Master's cold skin. The ointment smelled faintly fragrant—high-grade wound salve.
"Thank you, Immortal Master." Her voice was soft, though her eyes shone.
"Get up." Xie Zhaolin returned to the table. "Since you're so eager to help, start by sorting the herbs."
So that's it.
Ah Mo lowered her lashes, hiding the spark of realization in her eyes.
A slap, then a sweet date. A warning first, then a reward to steady her.
Fine. If the Immortal Master wanted to act, she'd play her role perfectly.
"I'll sort them carefully." Her voice rang crisp as she moved, hands deft and obedient.
Xie Zhaolin watched her docile figure, her lips curling coldly.
Still pretending to be a good girl.
She pushed over a few herbs that didn't matter much. "Grind the ligusticum, core the peony."
"Yes." Ah Mo's fingers moved with practiced ease, though her eyes kept flicking toward the table's corner.
That bowl of black juice from the vine shimmered under the sunlight.
"Go on, look."
Xie Zhaolin stirred it lazily, making it seem like she was mixing medicine, though it was nothing more than diluted ink.
The girl loved probing, but she was useful.
If she wanted to dig for secrets, let her believe she was getting closer.
Xie Zhaolin tapped the table lightly, her gaze sliding over Ah Mo's focused side profile.
"Slice the peony. Thin as cicada wings."
"Yes." Ah Mo's hands were quick, the slices turning translucent, yet her eyes kept darting toward that black liquid.
Xie Zhaolin smirked faintly and stood. "I'll fetch something."
She left her desk scattered with books from the past few days. The moment she stepped out, she heard it—the faint rustle of fabric behind her…