She still clutched a half-read scroll in her hand, the ink from the red brush still wet, her knuckles pale from holding the brush for so long—
These days, even though many new officials have been added, the documents sent by the six ministries still pile up like mountains, flowing endlessly like a torrent.
Urgent documents kept arriving on my desk, and the candlelight always burned until dawn.
Qin Qianluo was dozing off against the armchair when she heard familiar footsteps. Her eyelashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, and a smile as gentle as spring water immediately appeared at the corners of her eyes.
The movement of her closing the book startled the lingering fragrance of sandalwood incense on the desk. As she stood up, her wide sleeves swept across the stone table, making a soft sound.
Seeing Su Jinyun sit down beside her, Qin Qianluo, like a spoiled cat, naturally leaned into that embrace that carried a faint scent of ink.
Su Jinyun lowered her eyes to look at the person in her arms, and her tense shoulders relaxed the moment they touched.
She casually placed the folded paper on the stone table, her arm gently encircling her slender waist, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the subtle patterns on the fabric.
As her fingertips touched the slender spine beneath the fabric, a pang of tenderness welled up in her heart, and she unconsciously tightened her arms around him.
The night breeze, carrying the subtle fragrance of lotus ponds, swept through the corridor, lifting the gauze curtains outside the pavilion and gently lowering them again, overlapping the shadows of the two people into a hazy ink painting.
In the distance, the sound of the night watchman's clapper mingled with the rich fragrance of tuberose and the crispness of green bamboo, lingering around the nose.
Qin Qianluo quietly counted the steady heartbeats of Su Jinyun's chest and suddenly felt that these seven days were like a half-day of leisure stolen from the busy affairs of state.
As dusk deepened, neither of them broke the tranquility, letting time flow slowly between their overlapping breaths.
Su Jinyun lowered her head and gently kissed the top of Qin Qianluo's head, rested her chin on her shoulder, and closed her eyes to enjoy this rare moment of peace.
At this moment, it felt as if the whole world consisted only of each other's warmth and the fragrance of flowers around us, and all weariness and worries were kept out of reach of the gauze curtains.
At the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), the wind, carrying sand and dust, swept across the barbican of the capital, and the bronze bells of Wangjingtai (Viewing the Capital Terrace) wailed in the twilight.
The Taoist priest in purple robes had silver hair that reached his shoulders. The Bagua diagram embroidered with gold thread on his robes gleamed coldly in the setting sun, resembling a lurking black serpent.
His gaze toward the palace turned to surprise—the nine-tiered palace, which should have been shrouded in black mist, was now floating with thousands of golden rays.
Like flowing clouds, it entwines between the eaves and brackets, and the faint phantom of a dragon's roar is revealed in the surging auspicious clouds. Its dazzling light dyes half the sky reddish-gold.
"How could this divination be so strange..." A broken murmur escaped from his aged throat, filled with undisguised shock and fear.
The Taoist priest's withered fingers began to rapidly perform calculations, the knuckles making a cracking sound.
Blood seeping from under the fingernails dripped onto the peach wood sword, outlining eerie patterns on the blade.
As obscure incantations flowed, a bluish-purple mist rose around him, within which ancient runes faintly appeared.
The hexagrams that appeared on the blue bricks underfoot resembled wounds torn open in the earth.
When the calculation reached the "dry position", a muffled thunder suddenly roared in the sky, the clouds surged like boiling molten iron, and an invisible wave of air blasted him back three steps, causing him to crash into a stone pillar of Wangjingtai.
A line of bright red blood instantly spilled from the corner of his mouth, blooming like red plum blossoms on his snow-white beard.
"Heavenly secrets cannot be fathomed..." The Taoist priest coughed violently as he leaned against the white marble railing. When his fingertip brushed against the corner of his mouth, it brought out half a broken talisman, the cinnabar characters on the talisman fading rapidly.
He stared at the twisted blood lines on his palm, his turbid pupils reflecting the increasingly dazzling golden light of the distant palace.
Countless phantom figures seemed to weave through the light, clad in armor and wielding divine weapons, yet it was impossible to discern whether they were human or immortal.
Suddenly, the tortoise shell hanging at the waist emitted a sharp buzzing sound, and the cinnabar seeping from the cracks drew a strange arrow on the ground, pointing directly towards the city gate, as if guided by some unseen force.
The next day at dawn, the Golden Palace was filled with the fragrance of sandalwood mixed with ambergris, but it couldn't suppress the tense atmosphere that permeated the air.
Ning Chenyi stroked the dark patterns on the edge of the memorial, listening to the Vice Minister of Works report on the progress of firearms casting. His gilded sleeves swept across the table, making a soft sound.
Suddenly, a guard stumbled in, his armor clashing together with a jarring sound: "Your Majesty! A Taoist priest in purple robes is requesting an audience, bearing a black iron token, claiming it concerns the fate of the nation!"
The bright yellow dragon pattern on the dragon throne suddenly shone, and Ning Chenyi's hand, which was holding the jade thumb ring, tightened slightly.
The events of several years ago are like a venomous snake gnawing at my heart—that fake Taoist priest entered the palace with a false order and presented the so-called "Nine-Turn Golden Elixir".
If it weren't for King Jinrui Zhao's discerning eyes seeing through the trick and modifying the elixir into a firearm formula, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
A strange wind suddenly blew outside the hall, causing the candlelight to flicker and the shadowy figures of talismans to seem to swirl in the air.
"Summon." The Emperor's voice, deep and majestic, mingled with the lingering resonance of the bronze chimes, startled the emerald feathers of the peacock screen beneath the red steps.
As Ning Chenyi lowered his eyes, the soft sword hidden in his sleeve was already three inches out of its sheath. On the gilded dragon-patterned hilt, a drop of cinnabar was slowly sliding down the dragon's eye.
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