Zhaoge City was livelier than the rumors suggested.
When Red and Snow entered the city disguised as ordinary people, it was the height of the morning market. Shops lined both sides of the streets. Copper bells chimed, vendors called out, steam billowed from wine houses, and the scents of roasted meat and fresh grain blended together, rushing toward them with the heat. Children chased wooden carts, elders played chess beneath the eaves, and soldiers patrolled the streets without harassing the people, stopping only at key crossings, alert but not harsh.
"This is nothing like the Zhaoge from the storytellers," Snow whispered, watching a soldier help an elderly woman across a ditch.
Red nodded. He noticed that the soldiers' swords remained sheathed, their steps steady and unhurried, as if governed by strict discipline. At a grain shop, the shopkeeper sold grain at official prices. Beside him stood a government notice clearly announcing tax reductions and relief grain for drought years, its seal intact and untouched.
In the afternoon, they slipped into the inner city. The walls were thick, the bricks a mix of old and new, clearly repaired in recent years. Outside the City God Temple, Red paused, sensing something unusual. Incense burned thickly, yet there was no trace of sinister energy. Instead, there was a firmly restrained, upright force, as if human order itself had been carefully aligned.
When night fell, the palace district blazed with light. Snow watched from afar and spoke softly.
"The hearts of the people are not in chaos, and the city's breath is not warped. If this were truly the rule of a tyrant, it would not look like this."
Red did not reply. His gaze rested on the sky above the palace, darker than elsewhere, as though veiled by a thin curtain. He sensed a contained yet razor sharp presence, not the flow of cultivator power, but something formed over long years, the accumulated momentum of human destiny.
"Di Xin," he murmured."He may not be as the outside world claims."
They settled into an inn, the noise of the city flowing endlessly beyond the windows. Snow closed the shutters, her heart even less settled than before. For the first time, she realized that observation itself was a form of cultivation.