"The Emperor? You think he's a fool? He took the throne in the Four Princes' War."
The Viper looked at Xuanhu as though at an idiot.
"Four Pillars, Five Generals, Seven Yaoshi. Which of them isn't his eyes and ears? You think he doesn't know?"
Xuanhu's frown deepened. "Then why doesn't he—"
"Why doesn't he act, right? Did you feel the Earth Yao's spell traces at Simu? Big tiger, I'll say it—living this long with that head of yours is a miracle."
The Viper sat again, glaring at Xuanhu's dazed silence with a frustration like carving rotwood.
"The Earth Yao moved against the seals. And the others? You think the Seven Yao are a solid front? What about the Four Pillars? The Five Generals? All clean?"
"Only when a man feels certain of victory does he relax, show his cracks."
Each word struck like stone. Xuanhu realized his folly: he'd thought himself a player at the board, a hand setting pieces. Now he saw—he wasn't even fit to watch the game.
He raised his eyes. "The Earth Yao… tied to Li Chengxiao?"
The Viper locked eyes, voice dropping like a boulder into Xuanhu's heart-sea:
"You think the Seven Yao all still serve the crown?"
Silence. Absolute.
Every hair on Xuanhu's body stood. Cold sweat soaked through his tunic to his cloak.
The Viper's smile was thin.
"The Seven Yao should answer to him. Yet in Qixia alone—Water Yao, Moon Yao, Earth Yao—already at work. And the rest of the kingdom? Just abandoned?"
"Is that duty—or divided masters?"
Word by word:
"This kingdom runs on different sets of orders."
Xuanhu stared into his teacup. When he finally spoke, his voice startled him, soft as a lamb's bleat:
"Then Simu Village…"
"Leave it." The Viper sighed. "It's been buried. Even the villagers' kin outside—handled."
"Buried? Handled?" Xuanhu's eyes flared, smashing the cup, rising to his feet, finger trembling toward the Viper.
"Simu had thousands! And their kin—men, women, children, distant and close! One word from you, handled—how many lives is that?"
"Burn the corpses, erase the records. If the Prime Minister says they're tainted, what's difficult in clearing them away?" the Viper said flatly.
"Seals shattered, people slaughtered, and the high lords still claw for power…"
Xuanhu sagged back into his chair, bones hollowed.
"That's why the kingdom rots," the Viper said, almost pitying. "It may be lanced like a boil… or relapse and kill the body."
"Who can say?"
"…What do you expect me to do?" Xuanhu whispered. "Rebel?"
"Rebel?" The Viper's laugh was colder still. "Against who? What power could we oppose?"
"We can only choose sides. No hope of staying clear. Self-preservation exists only in death—the dead alone can keep secrets."
His tone softened, rare.
"If you keep following orders, you're a pawn.
If you write secret reports to the throne, still a pawn.
Only by silence, by working and lying low, may you ever earn choice."
Xuanhu said nothing.
From his sleeve, he drew the letter he had written the night before: a full account of the Simu seal's destruction, addressed to that man.
The Viper's eyes narrowed. "And what will you do with it?"
Xuanhu did not answer. He poured himself tea instead, sipped slowly.
At last, he spoke, voice like iron under stone:
"I'll tear it."
Rip. Paper split in his palm. A breath of xuánqì, and the scraps turned to ash.
The letter was gone.
Xuanhu could not recall what else was said, nor how he left that house. Only when his deputy draped his cloak around him did he jolt awake, as though returned to life.
Overhead, the sun blazed. Xuanhu squinted upward.
"So dark…"
"Mm? What, my lord?" The deputy led the horse, the men close behind.
Xuanhu smiled thinly. "Nothing. Let's go. Back to Qingzhou."