At Tang Wanzhuang's home.

Bao Qin stood outside the guest house, her face flushed with embarrassment.

What was this all about? Bringing a man home for a bath and then running off, leaving poor Bao Qin to wait on him.

Fortunately, he looked disgusted and shooed Bao Qin out like chasing away a pig. Otherwise, was she supposed to serve him during his bath?

No, what right did that stinky bear have to disdain Bao Qin? He hadn't even compensated for the broken strings yet!

Tang Wanzhuang appeared before her: "What are you doing standing here?"

Bao Qin mumbled: "Didn't Miss ask me to serve?"

Tang Wanzhuang pinched her forehead, annoyed: "I told you to fetch water for him. Once done, you should go about your business. What are you thinking? It's been nearly an hour; do you think he's pickling vegetables in there?"

Bao Qin: "...I could soak that long."

"You're just a pickled vegetable!" Tang Wanzhuang glanced at the door, her voice lowered with a hint of expectation: "Have you been standing outside all this time? Did you hear any sound of a qin?"

"No." Bao Qin lectured: "Miss, he's just a stinky bear."

Tang Wanzhuang explained for him: "It's the ugly hour now; no one plays the qin at this time."

Bao Qin gave her a sidelong glance and said nothing.

Tang Wanzhuang coughed twice and gently knocked on the door.

Zhao Changhe's voice came from inside: "Please come in."

Tang Wanzhuang pushed the door open and saw Zhao Changhe, draped in clothes, sitting by the window, writing something with a brush.

Rain sounded outside the window, and a green lamp sat on the table.

The man, draped and writing, hunched over his desk at night.

Tang Wanzhuang's heart skipped a beat, feeling as if the scene before her was something from a dream, more touching than her previous imagination of him playing the qin.

It was a pity she wasn't bringing him a bowl of hot soup but instead to ask when he would leave.

"What are you writing?" She strolled over slowly, peeking over quietly.

It was a secret manual.

"The agreement I had with Si Si before, I need to provide her with the Sword Emperor's secret manuals for a long time. The last set wasn't very extensive, and it ended at the secret level. I felt they might not have enough, so it's time for something new." Zhao Changhe spoke as he wrote: "After all, it's a promise... I didn't have the chance to write on busy days, but now that I'm here and see paper and ink, I remembered."

Tang Wanzhuang blurted out without thinking: "Because it's Si Si, right? What if it were a man?"

Zhao Changhe turned to look at her strangely: "When I made the promise with Han Wubing, I braved thorns and traveled a thousand miles, and he's not a woman. What does a man's promise have to do with this?"

Realizing her lapse, Tang Wanzhuang looked down at the writing to hide her emotions: "Just saying. Hmm... Does this set surpass the secret level?"

"No, it's just another set. Besides high-end, quantity is needed too. After all, they are a clan."

"Hmm..." Seeing that he didn't continue on the topic of men and women, Tang Wanzhuang sighed in relief.

Zhao Changhe had no intention of talking more; he was busy writing, preparing to leave. If he delayed until dawn, it wouldn't be good.

Tang Wanzhuang stood quietly by his side, watching, just like back in Gusu, habitually reaching out to grind ink for him.

The lamplight flickered, but the room in the rain grew even quieter.

His writing was getting better, though he hadn't practiced deliberately. The wild sharpness was becoming more restrained, the majesty more prominent. Yet, if you looked closely between the lines, the sharpness was hidden, ready to burst through the paper at any moment.

His writing reflected the man he was now.

After an unknown amount of time, Bao Qin's voice came from outside: "Miss, Yang Yaowu and the others just reported that everything is ready. There are at least eighteen Zhao Changhes fully equipped and ready to go. Young Master Zhao's horse is also in the backyard, ready to leave at any time."

The tranquil night was suddenly broken. Zhao Changhe stopped writing, and Tang Wanzhuang came back to her senses.

They exchanged a glance, both smiling faintly.

"Alright." Zhao Changhe handed over the manuscript: "I should take my leave."

Tang Wanzhuang felt a slight regret, whispering: "Next time, don't be so reckless. After all, it's not the right time."

"Hmm. If I had your strength, I would have turned the capital upside down by now. All these concerns are really annoying." Zhao Changhe stood up, stretched lazily, and suddenly smiled: "Coming to the capital this time, running around all night, I was in such a mess that I didn't even know what I was doing... In the end, I found that being by your side is the most relaxing, no need to think about anything."

Tang Wanzhuang pouted: "Aren't you still thinking about secret manuals?"

"Compared to other things, it's already akin to leisure." Zhao Changhe picked up the sword leaning against the table: "But actually, I don't really want it this way."

Tang Wanzhuang was taken aback: "Hmm?"

Zhao Changhe turned and walked out the door: "Next time, I hope to be there so you don't have to think about anything."

Tang Wanzhuang watched his retreating figure, not accompanying him or speaking.

He had always been doing just that, in action, for the sake of someone coughing less.

...

As if by fate, the moment Zhao Changhe rode away from Tang Wanzhuang's home, the torrential downpour suddenly stopped, leaving only a light drizzle, as if seeing him off.

At the same time, the sound of horse hooves rose. Eighteen "Zhao Changhes" scattered in all directions, eighteen horses that looked similar at a glance, eighteen swords that looked nearly identical, almost simultaneously leaving the four gates of the capital, each heading in different directions.Tang Wanzhuang refrained from climbing high to see him off, fearing that her gaze might inadvertently reveal the real Zhao Changhe.

Huangfu Qing stood with interest at a high vantage point, her eyes sweeping over the scattered "Zhao Changhes," as if testing herself to recognize which one was genuine.

Her gaze finally settled on the figure heading south, quite easy to identify. After all, where could one find so many snow-white steeds at a moment's notice? Most of the horses' hooves were merely painted white, and it was impossible for all the faces to be disguised exactly like Zhao Changhe's. At first glance, the differences were not obvious, but it was no challenge for her, who had come prepared.

This fellow deliberately headed south, though he could have taken the western or northern gates to leave through Yanmen. Heading south meant a long detour, but Huangfu Qing was used to his unpredictable ways.

As she watched the figure disappear into the distance, Huangfu Qing sighed softly.

Sending him to the capital this time, the entire situation had deviated from expectations. The plan was for him to enter quietly, known only to her, and after arranging affairs in the palace and visiting her brother, to leave the capital with him and head to the grasslands together.

But someone had shouted out at the city gate, stirring up a storm. He could not hide, nor did he wish to, so wherever he went was like rushing to a market, too hurried to accomplish anything. Thus, he left the capital under cover of night, and she, having just returned, could not follow due to unfinished business and the need to maintain her hidden influence in the palace.

Knowing his choice was right, and that it was right not to let her follow, Huangfu Qing still felt a tinge of regret.

She had lured him to the capital too soon. Perhaps the carefree joy of the journey north, like a young girl's playful banter amidst the misty rain of Sword Lake, would never be experienced again.

As the figure left the city and vanished from sight, Huangfu Qing took out a pig-faced mask, her delicate hand exerting a slight pressure as if wanting to crush it.

Yet her hand ultimately froze there, and after a long moment, she withdrew it back into her embrace.

Her trusted aides whispered, "Your Highness, a message from the grasslands."

"Hmm?"

"Basalt has said he knows. If he goes to the grasslands, Basalt will make contact."

"That will do," Huangfu Qing extended her slender hand to catch the drizzle, then murmured softly, "He is not yet strong enough... His flamboyance is his spirit, but inside he is fragile, unable to withstand a downpour. I wonder, when he breaks through the Xuan Guan, peers into the secret trove, and returns to the capital, what will the storm be like?"

Zhao Changhe arrived at the southern outskirts of the capital, ten miles away, in the midst of the light rain.

Dawn was breaking, and at ten miles there was a pavilion, beside the pavilion a post station, and outside the station a breakfast stall, with a few people drinking porridge and eating steamed buns.

Zhao Changhe dismounted, planning to have some breakfast before continuing on his way.

As he entered the breakfast stall, a gaunt old man caught his eye.

A quick look at "paw𝑟ead.com" will leave you more fulfilled.

He was drinking... at this early hour, while others drank porridge, he drank wine, savoring each sip with a peanut, looking utterly content.

His robe was splendid, his demeanor scholarly, resembling a literati or a high official... yet such an official had no attendants, drinking alone, pouring for himself.

Zhao Changhe's gaze seemed to alert the old man, who turned his head, glanced at him, and smiled slightly, "Young brother, that wine gourd of yours is quite nice... It seems we share a common interest. On this crisp autumn day, as the storm has just passed and the long pavilion is faintly lit by dawn, would you care to join me for a drink?"