Chapter 112: The Seventh Night of the Seventh Moon, Seeking Ingenuity

Months passed, and before the beginning of autumn, the seventh day of the seventh lunar month arrived—the Qixi Festival, the night of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl.

Lanterns hung from the courtyard walls, and maidservants busied themselves catching spiders. Under the bright, silvery full moon, the maids of the Princess’s residence gathered around basins of water to perform the "threading the needle" ritual. Wan'er, Xiaochun, and Xiaomi were having a delightful time; they dropped needles into the water, marveling at how they seemed to float without a ripple. When illuminated by the moonlight, the shadows cast at the bottom of the basins looked like blooming flowers.

The spiders captured from the walls and garden trees were placed into individual boxes labeled with the owners' names. The reason for this? Spiders spinning webs symbolized the needlework skills of the young women. If one opened the box the next morning to find it filled with silk, it meant the girl had successfully petitioned the Weaver Girl in heaven for skill. The spider would then be released. But if the box was empty? Well, poor Mr. Spider would be in for a rough time—there were, after all, some one hundred and eight ways for him to meet his end.

Beyond preparing her own box, Xiaochun had secretly prepared one for the Princess, knowing that whenever the Princess took up a needle and thread, her hands would tremble and her work would be hopelessly clumsy. Xiaochun had caught an exceptionally large spider for the box marked "Princess Protector of the Realm," ensuring that come morning, it would be filled with dense webs.

That night, beneath the clear, star-studded sky, while the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl gazed at each other across the Milky Way, Shao Qinglin carried out the task assigned by the Princess. He lurked in the shadows near the corner of the canal that fed water into the Qujiang Pool, waiting for the masked man to appear. Before long, the calls of owls echoed back and forth, and Shao Qinglin spotted the familiar figure in black. The Princess was right; this person was a mole planted in the residence just like him. As the shadow passed by the murmuring water, unaware of any danger, Shao Qinglin gathered his strength, channeled his energy into his dantian, and lunged at the figure’s back.

At the same time, outside a Manichaean winery in the West Market of Chang'an, two dark figures—one fat, one thin—moved in the night. The stout one, clad in flowing ribbons, landed silently after a nimble roll. He hurled two throwing darts, taking down the two Manichaean guards on watch. Despite his girth, he vaulted onto the eaves with the grace of a swallow, moving toward the stone mill inside the winery, where the flickering light of two more guards could be seen.

The thinner figure landed from the roof, holding a long, folding iron fan. After confirming the deaths of the guards with a quick touch to their necks, she retrieved the darts, slipped her fingers through their rings, and tossed them to the fat figure above. She then leapt back onto the roof. Working in tandem, the two struck from left and right. The iron fan snapped open, its sharp edges flashing silver across the face of the right-hand guard, and blood sprayed onto the stone mill.

Zhi-zhi, a mouse on the thin figure's shoulder, squeaked in excitement as the two guards collapsed.

"Fatty Le, let me go inside to scout!" the thin figure said, flicking the blood from her fan blades.

"No, Qingyu, you stay outside and keep watch. I'll go in! If I don't come back, do not force your way in—notify the boss immediately!" With that, Fatty Le ignored her protests and charged inside, his stout frame vanishing into the darkness as if he would never return.

Qingyu had no choice but to leap up to the rafters, gripping a beam and crouching in the shadows to wait. As the moon climbed higher, dark, swirling clouds seemed to portend that something was amiss. Stroking Zhi-zhi’s head, she saw the red glow in the mouse’s eyes and sensed that something was wrong. Fatty Le had likely met with disaster. She quickly wrote a coded message on a slip of paper, tied it to the mouse’s tail, and squeezed its ears three times. The mouse understood, squeaked once, and darted into the dark.

Inside the cellar, after a fierce skirmish, Le Meng had killed the guards and discovered a group of imprisoned children. He pried open the iron gate, urging the poor souls to escape. Among them was Lan'er, who had lost all spirit. Despite Le Meng’s pleas, she clung to the cold, rusted bars, refusing to leave.

Hearing the sound of a blade being drawn, Le Meng panicked. As he turned, his vision tilted and went upside down; after a violent jolt, his world faded to black. His headless corpse remained outside the gate, blood splashing onto Lan'er’s face and clothes. A flicker of emotion passed through her dull eyes before they returned to a state of dead, numb silence. Even in death, the headless body remained clutching the blood-stained bars like a puppet.

The children froze, their footsteps silenced. Weak and helpless, they retreated into the dark cage, huddling together for warmth amidst the stench of blood.

Tuo Manshan, the Grand Master of the Manichaean sect, wore a featureless iron mask as he drew a second scimitar. A lantern descended the cellar stairs, illuminating the scene. The back of Tuo Manshan’s hand bore a burn scar—a souvenir from Chu’er’s bamboo thunder-bomb. It still throbbed with a pain a hundred times more intense than fire. Now that the Imperial Secret Police had tracked him to his own lair, his pent-up rage had finally found a target.

"Grand Master, I have failed in my duties!" Luo Yishi descended, identifying the intruder by the ribbons and darts on his waist—it was Le Meng, a commander of the Imperial Secret Police.

"It is not your fault. You were originally tasked with liaising with the Right Chancellor. Since he supports us, it is time to wage war on the Secret Police. There must be backup outside. Throw the corpse out to draw them in!"

"Yes!"

Outside, Qingyu saw a masked man in black toss the bloated corpse onto the ground, followed by a ball. Her eyelids twitched, and tears welled up. With a suppressed sob, she leapt from the rafters, biting her lip until it bled. She unleashed her iron fans, the blades slicing through the air. But the strike was fueled by grief, and the element of surprise was lost. Luo Yishi parried the blow, sparks flying as his sword clashed with the fans. He felt the sharpness of the blades, and his sword began to dent. The woman fought like a madman, forcing him to retreat. Seeing a massive opening, he lunged, plunging his sword into her shoulder.

Qingyu felt her shoulder go numb. Enduring the agony, she channeled her remaining energy into her left arm, swinging her fan toward his neck, desperate to take his head and avenge her comrade.

Suddenly, Tuo Manshan appeared. With a flick of his scimitar, he easily deflected the strike of the first-class martial artist, then delivered a kick that sent Qingyu crashing through a wooden wall, shattering jars and spilling water everywhere. Luo Yishi thanked the Grand Master, then took a lantern to inspect the room, finding the woman unconscious, her hair disheveled, her clothes soaked, and her shoulder a mass of red.

"Bind her," Tuo Manshan ordered. "Take her to the secret winery in the East Market for interrogation. This place is compromised; there is no need to stay." They prepared to evacuate.

The next day, not long after Wu Yueling had risen, Xiaochun dragged her over to a box marked with the words "Princess Protector of the Realm." Xiaochun insisted, with a mysterious air, that the Princess open it herself.

With a sigh, the Princess lifted the lid to find it filled with spiderwebs. A large spider seized the opportunity to escape. She raised an eyebrow, puzzled. Xiaochun clapped her hands in excitement, offering her congratulations and saying that the Princess had successfully petitioned for skill. Now, she would surely improve at needlework, and Xiaochun would no longer have to worry about the Princess being unable to sew clothes for her future husband.