As the sound of Zhao Ming’s footsteps faded beyond the corridor, Ying’er quietly closed the carved wooden door behind her and returned to the inner chamber. Lady Yu was still reclining against her embroidered cushion, the jade pipe resting between her fingers as gentle wisps of herbal smoke drifted into the air. The warm scent mingled with the subtle fragrance of lotus and sandalwood, permeating the air with a calming undertone.

  Her complexion, which earlier bore the pallor of lingering illness, now showed a faint flush of color. The tightness in her brows had eased, her shoulders no longer tense. She looked… at ease.

  “His remedy works fast,” Ying’er remarked softly, observing her mistress’s more relaxed posture. “Your face looks better, Mistress… more rosy.”

  Lady Yu exhaled slowly, letting a spiral of smoke twist upward like a silk ribbon.

  “It’s been a while since I could breathe this easily in winter,” she said, her voice thoughtful, mellowed. “That boy… Zhao Ming… he’s quite the interesting one.”

  Ying’er furrowed her brows, her earlier playfulness gone. Her tone shifted, crisp and professional. “Should I arrange someone to monitor him?”

  The sharp contrast from her girlish demeanor in front of Zhao Ming was striking. In this moment, she was no longer just a loyal maid—but an operative trained to move in the shadows when called upon.

  Lady Yu’s eyes lingered on the smoke curling from her pipe before she gave a slight nod.

  “Do it. But go yourself.” Her voice held quiet authority. “Bring two more. No more than that. I want eyes, not a parade. And don’t make contact unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Ying’er replied, bowing slightly. “I’ll prepare right away.”

  She turned and disappeared with swift efficiency, her steps light and precise as she moved deeper into the Pavilion to gather what she needed.

  Left alone once more, Lady Yu tilted her head back, her gaze following the drifting trails of smoke above. The pipe nestled between her fingers still burned softly, the faint crackle of herbs mingling with the silence.

  She smiled faintly to herself.

  It’s been so long… since my body felt light. Not cured, no—but not weighed down by pain either. And that boy… Zhao Ming. He is more than he appears.

  Her eyes half-closed as she leaned deeper into her cushions, the jade pipe resting in her hand like a quiet companion.

  The world is shifting… and I wonder, just what kind of wind he’ll stir next?

  Outside, the winter sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden shadows over the Jade Elegance Pavilion, while its mistress, both merchant and hidden blade, lay quietly amidst the perfumed haze—watching, waiting, and breathing easier than she had in months.

  The curling smoke from the medicinal pipe drifted lazily through the air, fragrant with the earthy blend of crushed leaves Zhao Ming had prepared. Lady Yu leaned back into her cushioned recliner, her body wrapped in a light silk robe of pale plum, her expression unusually relaxed. Each breath she drew felt smooth and unlabored—a rare relief for someone who had long lived under the quiet torment of her lungs.

  With a slow exhale, she set the pipe down onto a carved sandalwood table beside her. The aroma lingered, mingling with the floral undertones of her perfume. For a long moment, she remained still, savoring the warmth spreading through her chest, a deep contrast to the winter chill that crept just beyond the walls.

  Then, with a practiced grace, she lifted her fingers and rang the silver bell placed neatly at her side.

  The responding maid entered without hesitation, balancing a porcelain tea set in one hand and a fresh change of garments folded over the other.

  “Your tea, my lady, and your evening change,” the maid said softly, her tone warm but professional.

  Lady Yu smiled faintly, the corners of her lips curving into a knowing expression as she accepted the tea. She took a single sip before rising to her feet, her robe slipping slightly as she moved.

  She untied the sash around her waist and let the silk robe slide down her shoulders. The maid respectfully turned away, though not before catching the soft glimmer of candlelight on Lady Yu’s bare shoulders. Beneath, she wore a thin, embroidered hezi that hugged her curves with delicate modesty—an undergarment fashioned more for comfort than allure, though her natural elegance lent it an unintended sensuality. Her figure was striking, sculpted by years of dance, martial training, and disciplined living—a blend of supple grace and quiet strength.

  As the winter wind whispered through the cracks in the wooden window frame, she tilted her head back slightly and took in a breath through her nose.

  There was no tightness. No stabbing pain. Just air.

  A sigh escaped her lips—relief, satisfaction, and something more… forgotten.

  “It’s been years since I felt this light,” she murmured, half to herself.

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  She glanced down at the hezi, the thin fabric barely shielding her from the cold, and yet… she didn’t shiver. Her body, so long used to aching beneath layers of heavy clothing and heated stones, now felt resilient. Unburdened.

  Then, a glint danced in her eyes.

  A playful spark.

  Her smile turned wry as she sat back down and set the teacup aside.

  “Forget the lounging robes,” she said suddenly, her voice calm but firm. “Bring me the midnight set.”

  The maid blinked, uncertain. “Midnight, my lady? You mean… the outing attire?”

  Lady Yu’s eyes glittered like a fox under moonlight. “Yes. The black one. The one stitched with silent thread. I believe it’s time I stretch my legs a little.”

  The maid hesitated. “Shall I inform Ying’er—?”

  “No,” Lady Yu cut in smoothly. “This isn’t for Ying’er. It’s about her.”

  The maid swallowed her questions and bowed. “Understood, my lady.”

  Moments later, she returned with a neatly folded set of clothing in her arms: a sleek black tunic tailored from soft shadowweave, close-fitting pants lined with a hidden silk net, flexible bracers, and soft-soled boots made to mute every step. Beside it, she laid down a short black veil and a thin cord belt, which could double as a garrote if the need ever arose.

  Lady Yu disrobed gracefully, the silk garments slipping from her shoulders to reveal a figure that time had only enhanced. Her skin, smooth and luminous, bore the subtle curves of a woman in her prime. The gentle swell of her bosom and the elegant arch of her back spoke of a sensuality that was both refined and potent. Each layer wrapped her body like a second skin—less a disguise, more a return to her original form. When she pulled her hair up into a tight knot and fastened it with a thin bone pin, she was no longer the elegant merchant of the Jade Elegance Pavilion.

  She was a shadow among shadows.

  Adjusting the hidden knife strapped along her thigh and ensuring the twin daggers were sheathed at her back, she glanced once more at the table where the pipe still smoldered faintly. The smoke was no longer bitter—it was oddly comforting, almost nostalgic.

  “A good boy, that Zhao Ming,” she said softly. “But far too interesting for his own good.”

  She moved to the window and unlatched it silently. The night wind kissed her cheek as she stepped up onto the ledge. Below, the alley behind the pavilion stretched into quiet darkness, the streetlamps flickering like distant stars.

  From this moment, she was no longer Yu Yue, respected merchant and discreet socialite.

  She was a phantom of the night—watching the watchers.

  With a final smirk, she leapt silently into the shadows, her figure vanishing like a whisper carried on the wind.

  The moon had not yet reached its zenith when a soft knock tapped twice on the side door of Lady Yu’s private chamber. From the shadows, Ying’er emerged, her usual brightness dimmed beneath a veil of seriousness. She slipped into a narrow side room nestled between the main quarters and the rear storage hall. The air inside was tinged with the faint scent of sandalwood, and the lanterns burned low, casting long fingers of shadow across the polished wood floor.

  Two women were already waiting.

  Yu Lan sat poised with an effortless elegance, her back straight and arms crossed beneath a cloak of midnight black. Silver thread shimmered faintly along the hems of her sleeves, catching what little light there was. Her figure was tall and striking, her presence quiet yet commanding. She looked like a panther at rest—composed, but ready to spring.

  Yu Mei, on the other hand, reclined with practiced ease on a carved bench, her posture inviting, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. She twirled a red hairpin lazily between her fingers, letting her silken robe slip just enough to reveal the smooth curve of one bare shoulder. Her generous bosom rose and fell with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her entire demeanor exuding languid confidence. She had yet to change into her mission attire, but she looked entirely unconcerned.

  “Thanks for coming on short notice,” Ying’er began, arms crossed, her voice firm. The flickering flame behind her painted half her face in light, the other half in shadow. “Lady Yu entrusted me with something delicate. And we’re doing it tonight.”

  Yu Lan tilted her head slightly, waiting for details. It was Yu Mei who spoke first.

  “Let me guess…” she said, her tone teasing and velvet-soft. “This wouldn’t happen to involve that rather charming young man from earlier, would it? The one who smells like ink and mountain herbs?”

  Her smirk widened. “Mmm… Zhao Ming, wasn’t it? He’s quite the catch.”

  Ying’er frowned, a flicker of color rising in her cheeks. “Yes. Zhao Ming. He’s a guest at the Murong estate. Lady Yu trusts him far too quickly, and I don’t like it.”

  Yu Mei leaned forward, letting her arm rest under her breasts, which only made them press higher beneath the silk. “Don’t like it, or don’t like that he touched her hand while you were watching?”

  “He looked at her like he’d known her for years,” Ying’er hissed. “Like he had the right.”

  “And you think he doesn’t?” Yu Lan asked calmly, her sharp eyes fixed on Ying’er.

  Ying’er took a sharp breath. “He’s clever. Too clever. We don’t know where he came from, what his goals are, or why he’s so good at gaining favor. Even if his medicine worked—”

  “It did,” Mei said with a grin. “Lady Yu looked radiant after smoking that blend. I haven’t seen her sit up with that kind of grace in months.”

  Ying’er scowled. “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s dangerous. So tonight, we sneak into the Murong estate. I want to search his study—or better yet, his bedroom. Men let their guard down in private. If we’re lucky, we’ll find letters, journals, items… something he doesn’t want others to see.”

  Yu Mei’s smile turned predatory. “Oh? And if we find him sleeping? Do we wake him, or… watch him dream?”

  “Mei’er,” Yu Lan said flatly.

  Mei gave a light laugh and waved her hand. “Kidding, kidding… mostly.”

  Ying’er ignored the quip. “I’ll enter from the front alley. I’ve observed the guards’ rotation; there's a blind spot after the second patrol leaves the eastern gate. Mei’er, circle around to the western wall—they grow ornamental trees there, enough cover to climb.”

  Yu Mei nodded. “And Lan’er takes the rooftops. As always.”

  Yu Lan stood, adjusting her cloak. “I’ll scout the perimeter first. If anything looks off, we abort. We’re not thieves—we’re watchers. Don’t forget that.”

  Ying’er's lips thinned, but she nodded. “I know. But if Zhao Ming is hiding anything—anything at all—I want us to be the first to know. Better us than someone else.”

  Yu Mei gave her a sideways look. “Is that a command, or a jealous lover’s grudge?”

  Ying’er snapped, “It’s a mission. Stick to it.”

  Yu Mei grinned. “Fine, fine. But if I find something juicy, I’m keeping a copy.”

  The lantern flame danced in silence for a moment before Ying’er reached forward and snuffed it with her fingers. Darkness swallowed the room, save for the faint moonlight spilling through the wooden lattice window.

  “Let’s move.”

  The three of them stepped into the night like shadows peeling away from stone—silent, purposeful, and lethal. Cloaks drawn close, weapons hidden beneath silks and sashes, they vanished into the chilled breeze of late evening. Somewhere across town, the Murong estate stood quiet and dignified, its carved beams and paper windows glowing warm with lamplight.

  But the warmth would not last.

  For tonight, the watchers came—not to strike, but to see.

  And if Zhao Ming had secrets, they would find them. In his study, his bed, or wherever the truth chose to hide.