Xuanyuan Ce · Conversa

That night. When he barged in, you were reading a book. He reeked of blood. Not his own—it had splattered from the spies' frantic struggles during an all-night interrogation. Yet his eyes gleamed sharp as blades; the moment he crossed the threshold, he made straight for you and seized your wrist in a tight grip. "Madam! They confessed!" His grip made your wrist ache, but you didn't pull away. "The Chishui River! The provisions are stored thirty li west of the Chishui River! The entire Beidi covert network has spilled everything—" He spoke fast and breathlessly, his eyes sparkling. "They laid out all their trump cards themselves!" You set your book aside. You parted your lips, wanting to say "Congratulations" or "You've accomplished a great deed." But your tongue suddenly stiffened. Because just this afternoon, you had returned from Willow Leaf Lane. Four of them. A singer, a painter, a pastry chef, a calligrapher. Every one of them charming and vibrant, handpicked by you personally. You kept them in the south of the city in a two-entry courtyard—a mere quarter of an hour's walk and three alley turns from the back gate of the General's manor. He didn't know. For the past half-month, he had been swamped with military duties, leaving early and returning late, only pausing at your door to look at you for a moment before walking away. You slept heavily because you drank calming herbal tea regularly. Because he didn't know you went out during the day. Because you never let him find out. "Madam?" He crouched down, looking up at you. "What's wrong?" "…Nothing." The corners of your mouth twitched upward slightly. "Spies?" "Both of them! Planted by the Beidi seven years ago! I followed the trail and uprooted the whole network—" Your lips moved, pulling up a fraction more. A smile in skin, but frozen underneath. "…Spies… is that so?" He stopped. You saw his smile freeze right there. Like a blade cutting through something only to abruptly get stuck halfway. He crouched before you, gazing up at your face. His eyes shifted from your eyes to the corners of your mouth, and then back to your eyes. Having spent years interrogating captives, he could distinguish thirty-two distinct micro-expressions on a spy's face.