[POV: Meng Rong]

  I watched the man in the strange outfit read.

  He sat quietly among the shelves, his posture relaxed yet alert, attention wholly devoted to the books spread before him. The world around him seemed to thin, as though Pine Wind Book Hall had momentarily narrowed to the space between his eyes and the page. It was an uncommon sight. Most who entered this place either skimmed restlessly or pretended at learning while their thoughts wandered elsewhere.

  I found myself uncharacteristically flustered.

  It did not show on my face. I had long since mastered that discipline. Still, the sensation lingered beneath the surface like an itch that refused to be scratched.

  “Yakuza Man,” I thought silently. “What a peculiar name.”

  I had never heard it before, not among the clans, not within the sects, and not even in the more unruly border regions beyond the Earthly Seal Domain. Names carried weight in this world, and those that sounded excessive often belonged to people with equally excessive backgrounds. Hidden heirs. Reclusive masters. Individuals born with special constitutions and stranger destinies.

  He did not feel like a liar.

  What struck me most, absurd as it was, remained his atrocious handling of chopsticks. The way he stabbed dumplings like skewers was an offense to etiquette and craftsmanship alike. And yet, even that lack of refinement did not feel false. If anything, it made him seem… grounded.

  Eventually, he closed the last volume and gathered the books with care. He approached the counter, eyes steady, expression polite.

  “Is there any possibility that I could bring these with me?” asked Yakuza Man.

  Only then did I realize how much time had passed. Night had already settled beyond the high windows, the lanterns outside casting faint amber light through the panes.

  “I’m afraid not,” I replied. “The books must remain here.”

  He nodded, disappointment flickering briefly across his face before he masked it. He thanked me, returned the volumes, and left without further protest.

  I watched him go until the door closed behind him.

  Even afterward, I could not fully comprehend how he had resisted my charm and illusion spells.

  It should not have been possible, not so thoroughly and not so effortlessly. Either he possessed a natural resistance that rivaled rare artifacts, or his true realm stood far closer to mine than he allowed on the surface. Yet my senses told me otherwise. I was at the Qi Refinement realm, the third major realm beyond mortality. He was not even Qi Gathering, merely standing at the peak of Body Tempering.

  Could he have deceived my perception?

  Perhaps. But even then, shrugging off my spells without the slightest reaction bordered on the absurd.

  I wondered what my younger brother thought of him, when he asked me to look into this man. At least he had the sense to let me meet the subject personally. Frankly, Yakuza Man was charming in his own rugged way. The encounter had washed away much of the sour mood left by the abrupt visit of that Dragon Heart Sect disciple earlier that day.

  I had come to Xincheng to check on my brother, not to entertain cultivators from other domains. This trip was meant to be a vacation. Instead, I found myself pestered daily by people seeking talismans, favors, or my master’s whereabouts.

  Before I could sink deeper into thought, the doors opened once more.

  A middle-aged man entered the library, walking straight toward me with purposeful steps. His cultivation rested at mid-stage Body Tempering, respectable for this qi-deprived domain. Few here ever reached the peak, resulting in a wide variance of martial techniques and crude interpretations of strength.

  “Lady Meng,” he said respectfully, cupping his fists. “Lord Meng wishes to see you.”

  I felt my lips thin.

  My little brother was growing arrogant if he believed he could summon me at will after putting me through this charade.

  “Wait here,” I said coolly.

  I turned back toward the inner shelves and retrieved a series of talismans with characters for sealing, confusion, and dispersal. With a flick of my wrist, they ignited midair, burning in an eerie blue as they unraveled into flowing characters before dissolving into nothingness.

  The warrior stared in awe. “Secret arts of the immortals,” he murmured.

  I scoffed softly. “This is nothing compared to what my master can do. There are plenty at my realm who could manage the same.”

  Whatever Meng Wu was hiding here, I doubted it was anything extraordinary. If I had to guess, it was likely ledgers, leverage, or blackmail material. They were mundane tools of governance disguised as mystery.

  I turned back to the man and adjusted my sleeves.

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  The warrior led me through the inner courtyards of the official residence, past carved pillars and carefully maintained gardens that smelled faintly of pine resin and ink. Servants lowered their heads as we passed. Guards straightened, eyes sharp but respectful. My brother had done well for himself here, even if the weight of the city sat heavily on his shoulders.

  We stopped outside a set of double doors.

  “This is the lord’s study,” the warrior said, then stepped back and lowered his gaze.

  I dismissed him with a nod and pushed the doors open myself.

  Meng Wu was already inside.

  He rose from behind his desk as I entered, his movements measured, and his posture dignified in a way that came only from long years of authority. He looked… older. Not just older than when I last saw him, but older than me by a margin that would have made strangers mistake him for my father rather than my younger brother.

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  Time was cruel that way to mortals.

  I smiled faintly. “How time flies,” I said. “At this rate, you’ll soon look old enough to scold me like a child.”

  He snorted softly, though the tension in his shoulders did not fully ease. “Sit, elder sister.”

  I took the seat across from him, smoothing my robes as I settled in. “I met the person you asked me to look into.”

  His eyes sharpened at once. “And?”

  “You were right,” I said calmly. “I didn’t miss him.”

  That earned me a brief, weary smile. “The outfit?”

  “The outfit,” I confirmed. “Hard to overlook.”

  I folded my hands on the table. “Yakuza Man is mild-mannered. Polite. Observant. I don’t believe he’s the sort to cause trouble. When confronted by a disciple of the Dragon Heart Sect earlier today, he deescalated the situation with… impressive eloquence.”

  Meng Wu exhaled slowly, as though releasing a breath he had been holding all day.

  “I’ll trust your judgment,” he said. “If you say he’s not a threat, then I believe you.”

  I hesitated, then added, “That said, from another perspective, the situation may not have escalated precisely because I was present. That Dragon Heart disciple showed restraint once he realized someone else was watching.”

  My brother nodded, acknowledging the nuance without argument.

  “I still appreciate you going to see him,” he said. “These days, every unknown feels like a potential spark waiting to ignite.”

  He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The fatigue was no longer something he could fully hide.

  “The pressure from the capital has been relentless,” he continued. “Hosting cultivators from greater domains, preparing for sect recruitment… they demand perfection, but offer no guidance. One mistake, and Xincheng becomes a stepping stone for someone else’s ambition.”

  “It has only been a decade since we last saw each other,” I said softly. “You weren’t this worn back then.”

  He laughed under his breath. “A decade is more than enough.”

  When word of his predicament had reached me, I had not hesitated to come, even though this visit was originally meant to be nothing more than a family reunion. Blood mattered, even across realms.

  Meng Wu straightened, his expression turning solemn.

  “Elder sister,” he said, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

  I frowned. His tone set my instincts on edge.

  “No matter what I say,” he continued carefully, “you must not overreact.”

  I studied his face, searching for any hint of exaggeration or fear.

  “That depends entirely on what you’re about to say.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Then say it,” I said. “Do not keep me in suspense.”

  Meng Wu swallowed and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I have taken in a wife.”

  I was genuinely surprised. I smiled and let out a short laugh. “Is that all? Congratulations. It’s unfortunate I could not attend your wedding.”

  “Elder sister,” he said quickly. “We are not married… yet.”

  My smile faded.

  I leaned back in my chair and studied him carefully. Sweat was rolling down his temples, soaking into the collar of his robes. This was not illness. It could not be. I personally ensured he received medicine every year, including longevity pills refined by my own hands. Mortals were fragile, yes, but I had no intention of watching my younger brother wither and die ahead of me if I could help it.

  “Then explain,” I said evenly.

  He avoided my gaze. His fingers tightened against the edge of the desk.

  “It is… the daughter of the Tuyin King.”

  For a heartbeat, I wondered if I had misheard him.

  “…Say that again,” I said.

  “You heard me clearly,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

  The Tuyin Nation was ruled by a monarchy. The king sat at its apex, his bloodline intertwined with legitimacy, power, and ancient oaths. Even I understood what it meant for a regional lord to entangle himself with royal blood without permission.

  I leaned forward. “Do you have the Tuyin King’s approval?”

  Meng Wu shook his head.

  The restraint I had been maintaining shattered.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I snapped. “Do you realize what you have done? That is how you lost favor at court, isn’t it? That is why you were sent here, exiled in all but name, and saddled with the responsibility of hosting cultivators from neighboring domains.”

  I stood abruptly, anger flaring hot in my chest. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that task is? Cultivators are volatile. Arrogant. Easily offended. One careless word, and someone dies. One misstep, and the city bleeds.”

  I stared at him, disbelief twisting in my gut. “You were praised as a scholarly genius. Your counsel was once sought by ministers and strategists alike. Was all of that thrown away for infatuation?”

  Meng Wu lowered his head. “It was not that simple.”

  “Then enlighten me,” I said coldly.

  He hesitated, then spoke again, even more softly. “I… also adopted a daughter.”

  My fingers curled into my palms.

  “…Start from the beginning,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Before he could answer, the doors burst open.

  A dark-haired woman rushed in, her expression tearful and panicked. “Sister-in-law!” she cried, dropping to her knees before me. “Please forgive him! This is all my fault!”

  I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  The warrior stationed outside hurried in after her, gripping her arm with visible discomfort. “My apologies, Lady Meng,” he said awkwardly. “I could not stop her. She threatened to kill herself if I did.”

  I looked at the woman kneeling on the floor, then at my brother, who could not even bring himself to meet my eyes.

  “…I wasn’t planning to punish you,” I muttered.

  I paused, then exhaled slowly.

  “On second thought,” I added, “perhaps I should punish you.”

  I raised a hand, and the warrior immediately stiffened.

  “You may leave,” I said coolly.

  He bowed at once, relief evident on his face, and retreated from the study, closing the doors behind him. The room fell into an oppressive silence broken only by the faint crackle of incense.

  I turned my gaze back to the two culprits before me.

  “Both of you,” I said, pointing toward the far corner, “stand there.”

  They obeyed without protest.

  “Horse stance.”

  Meng Wu opened his mouth. “Elder sister, that might be too much for Zhu—”

  I flicked him on the forehead.

  The sound was light, but the force sent him reeling back a step.

  “Horse stance,” I repeated.

  He swallowed and complied.

  I turned to the woman. “You as well.”

  She nodded quickly and mirrored the posture. Their stances were sloppy, wide but shallow, knees trembling almost immediately. I clicked my tongue in irritation and walked over, correcting them without ceremony. I kicked the backs of their knees until they sank lower, pressed down on their shoulders, and shoved their arms straight out.

  “Stretch them,” I ordered. “If you collapse, I will assume you are admitting fault.”

  They did not collapse.

  I picked up a porcelain vase from the side table and tossed it toward Meng Wu. He barely caught it, his arms shaking as the added weight forced him to grit his teeth.

  “Hold it,” I said, already turning away.

  I sat on the edge of the desk, crossing my legs, and looked directly at the woman.

  “So,” I said calmly, “how did this begin? Zhu Shufen, is it? I recognize you…”

  Zhu Shufen’s face flushed red, the color creeping up her neck and into her ears. “It was… love at first sight,” she said softly. “When I came to know him better, my heart could not help but flutter. Every time I saw him, I felt warmth in my chest, as if—”

  “Stop,” I cut in sharply.

  She froze.

  “If something fluttered in your chest cavity,” I said coldly, “you should not have assumed it was love. It could have been poison, a parasitic gu, or indigestion. In extreme cases, it could simply have been diabetis.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed again.

  I turned my attention to my brother. “You. How did it start?”

  Meng Wu swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his jaw. “It was under the moonlight,” he said cautiously. “We shared a drink. We spoke at length, and one thing led to another, and eventually we… became intimate.”

  I raised a hand. “Enough.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “If I have to endure your love story tonight, I will genuinely lose my temper.”

  They remained silent.

  “Now,” I said, my tone sharpening, “explain the matter of the adopted daughter.”

  Zhu Shufen hesitated. “It is… complicated.”

  I looked at her flatly. “Explain how it could possibly be complicated.”

  She took a breath. “About a decade ago, perhaps a little less, we saw a shooting star. That night, we made a wish that our love would bear fruit, and that the Tuyin King would one day accept us.”

  I stared at her.

  She continued, voice trembling, “A meteor fell shortly after. When we went to investigate, there was… a child inside it. A baby.”

  Silence swallowed the room.

  “…Say that again,” I said slowly.

  “There was a baby,” she repeated. “Alive. Unharmed. It was a miracle!”

  I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

  For a brief, dangerous moment, I wondered whether I was the one trapped in an illusion.