When Qiu Yang woke, she found herself lying in a soft bed.

A cotton quilt covered her, carrying the clean scent of soapberries. Everything around her felt light and warm, as though safety itself had wrapped her in its arms.

Just then, the door opened.

Qiu Yang turned toward the sound. A woman in her early forties entered, round-faced and wearing a blue cloth apron. She carried a bowl of porridge, wisps of steam curling from its surface.

When she saw Qiu Yang's eyes open, she cried, “Oh, thank heavens! You're finally awake. You nearly scared us to death last night.”

She set the porridge by the bed and pressed a hand to Qiu Yang's forehead. “The fever's gone. Good, good.”

The woman kept talking as she fussed over her. “You should have seen yourself when we found you. Burning up all over! I sent the innkeeper to fetch a physician, and would you believe it—you'd been poisoned with Soft-Bone Powder. That stuff can kill a person...”

At the words Soft-Bone Powder, Qiu Yang's throat went dry.

So that was why she had been so weak in her previous life.

She rubbed her eyes. The kindly woman was still chattering, and irritation began to prickle at her. “Where am I?” she asked.

“The Drunken Immortal Inn.” The woman's hand remained on her forehead. “Our innkeeper found you outside the door. Barefoot, clothes torn, collapsed on the steps like you were dead.”

Growing animated, she patted her chest. “I changed your clothes and bandaged your feet. Don't mind that—we're both women. Goodness, girl, what happened to you? How did you end up in such a state?”

Qiu Yang's throat felt ruined. It took all her strength to scrape out two hoarse words. “Thank you.”

“No need for that. Drink your porridge first.” The woman lifted the bowl, blew across it, and brought a porcelain spoon to Qiu Yang's lips. “Porridge is good for the stomach. You've been through too much to start with rich food. You have to take it slowly.”

Qiu Yang was not especially willing, but she lacked the strength to refuse. She let the woman feed her one spoonful after another.

Warmth gradually returned to her stomach.

When the bowl was empty, the woman put it aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “Don't misunderstand, girl. I'll just sit here. No need to feel nervous.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. At last, the woman rubbed her hands together and asked, “Well...may I ask where you're from?”

Qiu Yang paused. She had wandered for more than ten years and had always considered the whole realm her home. She had never thought much about where she belonged.

“Liaozhou,” she said at random.

The woman continued rubbing her hands. “And...do you have any family left?”

Qiu Yang shook her head, thinking, She certainly asks a lot of questions.

The woman looked at her and did not press further. “I'm sorry. Rest for now. I'll bring you something to eat later.”

She rose and hurried toward the door as though fleeing, then glanced back. “Oh, right. My name is Hu Yinglian. You can call me Auntie Hu. The innkeeper is my husband, surnamed Zhou, so call him Uncle Zhou. Stay here and make yourself comfortable. There's no hurry to leave.”

Only after saying all that did Hu Yinglian disappear, leaving Qiu Yang no chance to reply.

Qiu Yang lay beneath the cloth canopy, staring blankly upward. A long while passed before her nose began to sting.

—

Qiu Yang stayed at the Drunken Immortal Inn for three days.

Every day, Hu Yinglian brought her meals on time and sat beside her until she had finished eating.

By the fourth day, Qiu Yang could get out of bed.

Her body had nearly recovered. Embarrassed to keep accepting free food and lodging—and eager to learn more about Qiu Chengye—she offered to help around the inn.

Hu Yinglian waved her hands in alarm. “No, no. You're still weak. How can you work? Absolutely not.”

Qiu Yang said lightly, “Auntie Hu, I can't stand being idle.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

After Qiu Yang spent an entire day coaxing and pestering her, Hu Yinglian finally relented. She found an apron in the kitchen and assigned her a few easy tasks: peeling garlic, sorting vegetables, and wiping tables.

Qiu Yang could do all of them, and she worked faster than most of the inn's attendants.

When her chores were finished, she made no fuss. She simply stood in a corner and listened to the customers talk.

Fortunately, Qiu Chengye was the name on everyone's lips. People throughout Great Zhao hated him so fiercely that even snatches of conversation overheard while working told Qiu Yang plenty.

At one table, several customers were discussing the war in the north.

A man slammed his wine bowl onto the table. “That traitor Qiu Chengye! Even dead, he's still dragging countless people down with him!”

“His former subordinates are being executed or demoted,” said another, more calmly.

A third man leaned in, hungry for gossip. “I heard his daughter escaped from prison. Bit a chunk right out of a guard's leg on her way out, too. What's the bounty on her again?”

“One thousand taels,” the first man said roughly. “And they want her alive.”

Qiu Yang quietly retreated into the kitchen. She leaned against the wall for a moment.

“One thousand taels...”

Her life was worth one thousand taels.

She had never known she commanded such a price.

She lowered her head and saw her face reflected in the polished curve of a pot. Reaching out, she poked the warped reflection.

“Will they recognize me?”

—

Two more days passed.

It was evening, almost closing time.

Only one customer remained: a scholarly-looking man in his forties, dressed in dark teal. A jug of wine, more than half empty, sat before him.

Qiu Yang was clearing the next table when he raised his head and looked at her.

The look sent a chill through her. She snatched up the bowls and hurried into the kitchen.

The man returned every day after that.

On the third day, Auntie Hu noticed something amiss. She pulled Qiu Yang aside. “Why does that customer keep staring at you? Do you know him?”

Qiu Yang shook her head. “No.”

Hu Yinglian exhaled in relief. “Good. Be careful around him. If he does anything improper, call me at once. I'll make sure he answers for it.”

“I know.” Qiu Yang sighed. “There can't be that many villains in the world. Don't worry so much, Auntie Hu.”

When Qiu Yang carried a dish out, the customer slipped a note from his sleeve and pinned it beneath his wine cup.

She saw it while clearing the table. After lifting the cup, she swept up the note, closed it in her palm, and returned to the kitchen.

In an empty corner, she unfolded it.

There was only one line:

Tonight at midnight. The rear alley. I have questions for you. Do not be afraid. I mean no harm.

Qiu Yang tore the note into pieces and pushed them into the stove. The flames devoured every scrap in an instant.

She stood motionless before the fire, thinking.

Who was this customer? What did he want from her?

Part of her wanted to retreat. Who knew what kind of man he might be?

But another voice inside her kept screaming, Go. Go! He won't hurt you.

Qiu Yang decided to trust herself.

She untied her apron and told Hu Yinglian, “Auntie, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early.”

Hu Yinglian glanced at her and nodded. “Go on, then.”

Qiu Yang returned to her room and waited until midnight before slipping outside and heading straight for the rear alley.

The passage was narrow, hemmed in by high walls. Moonlight could not reach it; even in daylight, it remained dim.

After a few steps, Qiu Yang spotted a figure by the wall.

It was the customer from the inn.

When he saw her, he immediately turned. “Miss.”

Qiu Yang stopped three paces away, keeping a safe distance between them. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zhao Jian'an. I serve in the Ministry of War.”

The moment she heard he was an official, Qiu Yang's heart lurched. Her manner became respectful at once. “Why has my lord summoned me here so late at night?”

Zhao Jian'an was silent for a moment.

“Miss,” he finally said, “you look very much like someone I once knew.”