So, what exactly is our relationship now?

Pei Xiunian was still somewhat dazed.

The Empress Dowager’s sword just now had swept across the sky like a rainbow piercing the sun; in that instant, moonlight was shattered, mountain winds reversed—it was not a strike that required prolonged preparation or gathering of power.

It had been a simple slash, one where she hadn’t even drawn upon her true energy.

Pei Xiunian looked at the blood pooling on the ground, at the nine severed heads of the Xiangliu beast, and his emotions were complicated.

If there were anyone in this world capable of splitting mountains and rivers with a single stroke, the woman before him—once the greatest power of the demonic sect—was certainly among them.

A timely gust swept past; Pei Xiunian’s robe fluttered in the wind, and he finally noticed the searing pain in his left shoulder.

He glanced down at himself; blood streamed from his left shoulder, the whole area was a deep purple, yet the poison no longer spread, and was even receding.

He could only thank his own immunity to all toxins; had it been anyone else, they would either be dead or transformed into some purple monstrosity beyond recognition.

The Empress Dowager had already sheathed her sword. She approached Pei Xiunian, her brows showing a hint of apology, as if she wanted to say something, but upon seeing his wounds, swallowed her words.

She bent down, intent on helping him up; as her delicate face came past his shoulder, a sweetness rose in her throat, and she could no longer hold back—a mist of blood sprayed from her lips.

The blood lent her lips a strange, alluring beauty.

In this battle against Xiangliu, the Empress Dowager hadn’t suffered a single injury from the beast.

Her present disheveled state was due to the recurrence of old injuries, forcibly triggered by suppressing her cultivation.

True energy roiled and tangled within her, connecting countless old wounds; her pain and the severity of her injury far exceeded those of Pei Xiunian, who suffered only external harm.

A pale flush appeared on her lovely face, eyes lowered, yet she still reached out to help Pei Xiunian from the ground, sighing softly:

“In the end, still…”

She did not finish her sentence, but Pei Xiunian saw the unwillingness flicker in her gaze and knew what she meant.

As the leader of the Yao Guang Sect, once at the pinnacle of the demonic path, she was at the ninth realm, only one step from merging with the Dao.

To Pei Xiunian, the Xiangliu was a mountain impossible to cross.

But for the Empress Dowager of old, that creature would have been annihilated with a mere flick of her finger.

Now, forced to such extremes by a single beast, the sense of loss was overwhelming—anyone would feel the same.

Pei Xiunian let her help him up, raising his right hand to wipe the blood from her lips; her body tensed for a moment, but she did not shy away.

Just now, it had been gentle arms entering his embrace; now, he nearly fell into hers, her subtle fragrance filling his senses.

His left shoulder was numb with pain; so he leaned closer to her, his face near her ear, and whispered, “Actually…”

But she turned to him, concern in her eyes, and gently interrupted:

“Let’s talk when we return to the palace. Can you still manage?”

Pei Xiunian was startled, then nodded softly. The two rose together, supporting each other.

He looked up; from this mountain peak, the sea of clouds below was pristine, the landscape cast in moonlight, and the capital was unharmed.

The Forbidden City still glowed with lanterns; the mountain wind swept through the City God Temple, just as tranquil as before. The array had been triggered, but no one was disturbed.

Pei Xiunian glanced back at the chaos before the giant bronze cauldron. The Empress Dowager waved her slender hand; a breeze swept the temple, erasing all traces.

The fallen lid leaped back; the venom was swept clean; Xiangliu’s corpse vanished—everything atop Renhuang Mountain was as it had been.

If the Emperor Zhaoning hadn’t noticed, today’s events would only be discovered when he next attempted to refine pills. Yet truly concealing it was impossible; Xiangliu’s death was undeniable proof.

Having finished, the Empress Dowager tore apart a talisman she’d kept hidden in her sleeve.

The Dao talisman turned to dust in the wind, and Pei Xiunian saw a flash of light.

The next instant, they were back in the opulent Weiyang Palace; the fire crackled, incense soothed the senses.

Were it not for the cold tea on the table and the gaping wound in his left shoulder, Pei Xiunian might have thought it all a dream.

The Empress Dowager helped him to a chair, flicked the bolt on the palace door, closed the window, and, still uneasy, crushed another soundproof talisman.

She finally pulled up a chair opposite him, and began to peel away the bloodied cloth from his left shoulder.

She saw the poison, which should have spread through his body, had already receded; surprise flickered across her features.

Yet she still washed the wound with clean water, then applied powder with her own hand.

Pei Xiunian, previously numb, was suddenly awake—pain like a hundred ants biting made him tremble, instinctively clenching his hands. After a while, he regained composure.

He realized he wasn’t clenching his own hands.

The soft hand in his grasp was already reddened; the Empress Dowager withdrew her hand with a hint of grievance in her eyes. Once she confirmed his only issue was weakness, she spoke softly:

“What did you wish to say just now?”

“Actually, I know who you are.”

Pei Xiunian spoke plainly, meeting her slightly seductive phoenix eyes with calm, saying deliberately:

“The Sect Leader of Yao Guang, Meng Qingyuan.”

The name struck the Empress Dowager like thunder; her thoughts scattered, far more chaotic than the true energy raging within her.

She coughed suddenly, drew a silk handkerchief to wipe her lips, then looked up at Pei Xiunian.

Meng Qingyuan didn’t ask “how did you know?”—such questions no longer mattered.

Tonight, her skills and sword had been revealed; he couldn’t possibly not recognize her.

She had assumed he would keep silent, as she had.

But now that he’d spoken, she could not back down. Her voice was cold, almost factual:

“Are you not afraid of death?”

In that instant, a murderous aura filled the room; Pei Xiunian could almost feel the tangible threat, smell the faint blood.

The gentle Empress Dowager had transformed, her gaze sharp as a blade. He instinctively touched his neck.

A demonic woman who rose through the ranks of the martial world would not have gotten here by mercy.

But if she truly intended to kill him, she would not ask.

Thus, his identity as the Third Prince must be a card she needs.

The threat felt hollow now; Pei Xiunian was calm, his tone sincere:

“Today’s events will be discovered by the Emperor Zhaoning sooner or later. Since you’ve given me an out, the barrier between us should lessen.”

He did not think the Empress Dowager would recklessly walk into this trap; she had broken more arrays than he had met people.

Falling into this array was likely a calculated move, using the Emperor as a stepping stone to draw closer to him.

Thinking thus, he continued, “I am not the Third Prince; you have known this for some time, haven’t you?”

Her beautiful eyes widened—his earlier revelation could be traced, but now? How did he know?

Xiao Qin? Impossible. Xiao Qin was her hand-raised disciple and would never betray her.

She listened as Pei Xiunian explained:

“I wondered, would the Third Prince really lead troops with only a fourth-realm guardian? When I killed him, did you deliberately send the court’s protector away?”

The Empress Dowager sighed, and, since he wasn’t afraid of her recording his words, she admitted frankly:

“I did send the court protector away, but not for your double. I am not omnipotent; it was for Xiao Qin’s double… If you succeeded, it was your own ability.”

Pei Xiunian hadn’t expected this—Xiao Qin and his double appeared almost simultaneously. No wonder the girl was so frightened.

Who could handle such a shock as their first day as a double?

He’d thought at first she was just scared, then that her acting was impressive—now he realized she was genuinely terrified.

Pei Xiunian breathed a long sigh of relief, reassured that few, if any, knew his secret.

Tonight, he and the Empress Dowager exchanged cards both had long known, providing mutual comfort—a true key to sincerity.

She suddenly asked, “Are you not afraid I’ll record this and use it to control you?”

Pei Xiunian shook his head, glanced at his bandaged shoulder, and smiled:

“Empress, we are both at the pinnacle of the dynasty. The heights are cold; we must embrace for warmth. If you suspect me, and I suspect you endlessly, plotting against each other, we’ll become food for the fisherman.”

“Before you decide your course, I must ask you the same question.”

He paused, eyes sharp: “Do you wish to pluck the stars?”

Meng Qingyuan finally understood his meaning; “plucking stars” referred not to Renhuang Mountain, but to the Emperor Zhaoning himself.

It sounded fantastical, unbelievable.

But she recalled not long ago, Qingqiu had occupied Yun Chuan, and the entire court had contemplated surrender and gifts.

If then, someone told her Qingqiu would retreat, Yun Chuan would be returned without a single casualty—she would have dismissed it as fantasy.

Such words, spoken in court, might even be considered treason.

But Pei Xiunian had accomplished it.

So perhaps he truly could help her finish this long, weary game.

The Empress Dowager’s breath eased, her true energy calmed. After a moment’s silence, she said:

“Tonight’s journey was my mistake. I can choose another day to ascend the mountain…”

Pei Xiunian interrupted bluntly:

“No need. Today has proven the Emperor feeds demons, slaughters sons, and refines pills. But I wonder—he’s refined three people. Besides the two princes, who else?”

“To be refined by the Emperor, one must bear the dynasty’s luck… Is it possible it was the late emperor?”

She shook her head, not doubting him—she was now on the same boat, and Pei Xiunian had no reason to lie. She considered:

“The late emperor has been gone for many years… It’s unlikely.”

Then, as if recalling something, she said, “But… I will send someone to investigate.”

Pei Xiunian nodded, pulling a recording talisman from his sleeve and handing it to her, saying sincerely,

“Empress, this is a token of my trust. I’ll take my leave for tonight.”

When she saw him produce the talisman, she was instantly on guard, nearly ready to fight.

Her internal energy had been chaotic, so she hadn’t sensed if he’d secretly recorded anything. If he had, it would have been a complete reversal.

She even imagined Pei Xiunian pinning her against a wall, whispering, “Empress, you wouldn’t want your identity exposed, would you?” and so on…

But after listening to the talisman’s record, she relaxed, and called out to Pei Xiunian, who was about to leave the hall:

“Wait, let me see you out.”

She rose, walked to his side, handed him a bottle of pills, and instructed,

“For your wounds. Take one a day.”

Pei Xiunian accepted the porcelain bottle, replying softly,

“Humble folk thank the Empress.”

Meng Qingyuan was amused by his earnestness—why did their address feel increasingly distant?

Though she knew their pretense of “aunt and nephew” was now shattered, replaced by true “you and I.”

Yet she tugged at his sleeve, asking,

“What are we now?”