Still, the area was mostly deserted.
People didn’t like living in the palace.
The greater the reputation and cultivation, the more they could feel the oppressive force of the Imperial Seal and Dragon Qi.
When Su Lingxi arrived, the pavilion was pitch-black, lights all out, and not a soul in sight.
She asked Xiliu, “Which one had lights on?”
Xiliu pointed to a small two-story building to the right.
“It was lit for a while, then went dark. Our people didn’t dare disturb them.”
Su Lingxi gave a soft acknowledgment and walked straight over.
Upon reaching the building, she climbed the steps and signaled the others to wait below.
The door was ajar and opened with a knock.
The room was small, naturally elegant in decor—not as extravagant as the rest of the palace. Inside was a simple bed mat and no table for tea or chess, only two straw meditation cushions.
Su Lingxi walked over and flipped the cushions, thinking there might be a message.
But there was nothing.
Whoever came had left quietly.
She stood there for a while, then headed downstairs. Xiliu came over and addressed her, “My lady.”
“Get things ready,” Su Lingxi replied.
“I’ll be staying in the palace for the next couple of days.”
Xiliu acknowledged the order and had arrangements made at once.
Su Lingxi wasn’t picky about food or lodging.
Those who had followed her for years knew this well.
Soon, a bed was set up in a side building of the Archive Pavilion, with clean blankets and pillows prepared, and incense lit.
But Su Lingxi didn’t lie down immediately.
She pulled a chair to the square table and sat, pressing her fingers to her forehead.
Xiliu asked, “My lady, are we meeting His Majesty tomorrow?”
“No,” Su Lingxi paused, then asked, “What’s His Majesty been doing these days?”
Xiliu gave a wry smile.
“The Grand Duke of Xuan, the Deputy Minister of Civil Affairs, and other ministers have been submitting petitions nonstop, begging His Majesty to rescind the order and appoint someone else to lead the Demon Suppression Bureau.”
Su Lingxi showed no interest in this and lowered her gaze as if she hadn’t heard.
Compared to that, she cared more about another matter.
“The portraits we had sent over earlier—did His Majesty see them?”
“He did,” Xiliu replied, glancing at Su Lingxi.
“But after looking, he set them aside. His Majesty didn’t seem… particularly interested.”
The current emperor and Prince Yan, Xue Huai, were full siblings—same father, same mother.
Prince Yan was the same age as the Imperial Mentor, while the emperor was three years younger, making him twenty-nine this year.
When he was still a princess, she had a consort—chosen by Prince Yan himself, the most outstanding young man in the world, the third son of the Minister of Rites, handsome and brilliant.
But back then, the princess was timid, and the consort was flirtatious, making quite a few scandalous headlines in Chang’an.
After she ascended the throne, that consort naturally became an embarrassment to imperial dignity.
He, and the reputation he once enjoyed, were quietly erased without a trace.
At the beginning of spring this year, the Imperial Preceptor brought up the topic of a royal selection (of consorts) to His Majesty.
However, due to the sudden upheaval involving the demon cabinets, such a significant matter was no longer appropriate to discuss.
Yet, it seemed the Imperial Preceptor had not given up on the idea.
Not long ago, she had court painters draw portraits of all eligible, unmarried young men from noble families and sent them to the palace.
The court was in turmoil.
Who couldn’t see this as another silent war between the Princess’ faction and Prince Yan’s faction?
Everyone under heaven knew that the Emperor had taken the throne from his elder brother.
Even now, the two factions remained locked in fierce conflict.
If a man were to enter the palace at this time and His Majesty were to leave behind an heir, how would that child be titled?
Could he possibly inherit the throne in the future?
Naturally, Prince Yan’s faction would never agree, yet they could not object outright, so they resorted to covert obstruction.
Still, faced with such a grand opportunity, some families were tempted.
Who wouldn’t want a child from their own household to have a chance at becoming emperor?
Some said the Imperial Preceptor’s move was a bold bid to win over hearts, that she had finally run out of patience with the deadlocked court and the endless backbiting from Prince Yan’s faction.
Xiliu couldn’t guess what the Imperial Preceptor was truly thinking—she only felt that, since the Preceptor always prioritized the bigger picture, if she really had such plans, now might not be the right time.
“Where is Zhang Jin?”
Unexpectedly, the topic shifted drastically—from the emperor straight to a minor official.
Xiliu was momentarily stunned.
She glanced at Su Lingxi, then quickly answered, “Lord Zhang has taken sick leave these past few days and is resting at home.”
Su Lingxi remained silent for a while.
After a long pause, she said to Xiliu, “Go out tomorrow. Bring him into the palace to stay for a while. Try to persuade His Majesty.”
To leave the palace.
At first, Xiliu thought she had misheard, her pupils contracting.
But seeing Su Lingxi’s expression, she asked no further questions and said, “Yes. I will go first thing in the morning.”
Su Lingxi fell quiet again.
Xiliu thought there were no more instructions and was about to withdraw, when she saw Su Lingxi tap her fingers on the edge of the table, then softly ask, “Is he ill again?”
“Yes. The weather in the capital has been stifling and rainy lately. Lord Zhang may have overworked himself and fell ill again earlier this month. But the physician has visited—nothing serious, just that he needs more careful recuperation in the future.”
Su Lingxi’s throat moved slightly, as if she wanted to say something.
In the end, she said nothing, only waving her hand to dismiss Xiliu.
That night passed dreamlessly.
Su Lingxi stayed in a small corner pavilion to the west of the Imperial Library for two days.
While tides surged inside and outside the palace, the pavilion remained quiet and serene.
A pot of tea, a few fragrant incense pills—enough to peacefully while away an entire morning by the window, untouched by the world.
No one knew why she had taken up residence in the palace.
Only Xiliu vaguely sensed: she was waiting for someone.
Su Lingxi was indeed waiting for someone.
Years ago, the Imperial Library had become her second home.
In fact, she spent more time here than in her own residence.
She was eighteen the year she came from Floating Jade (a celestial realm) to the mortal world.
When it came to literature and historical anecdotes, she could speak decently; when forced to discuss lofty principles, she could muddle through.
But on deeper, weightier matters—principles of governance, employing ministers, balance of power, and the fundamentals of the state like finance, taxation, and law—she knew nothing.
She was born in Floating Jade, and her incense arts were unrivaled, but she had never studied warfare, military strategy, or how to pacify rebellions and soothe displaced people.
And yet, whether as Chief Minister or Imperial Preceptor, one could not afford ignorance in these matters.
This was not a place where one could be willful.
She had lost the privilege to escape responsibility.
If she didn’t give her all, she wouldn’t just fail—she would die.
Su Lingxi had no choice but to study—desperately—and even then, she stumbled and suffered countless setbacks.
Only after years had passed, when she could wield power with ease, did she come here less often.
The Imperial Library taught her much.
It was also where she encountered something quite special.
It began six years ago. One idle day, she came to the library to sit in silence.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps by the door.
An elderly man entered—stooped, hands behind his back, but with bright eyes and a kind smile.
He tossed his waist token to the guard, who bowed after reading it and said, “Elder.”
To be called “Elder” meant he was no ordinary person among the human race.
The old man’s surname was Jiang.
He came that day, and again two days later, and continued every other day.
Though aged, he had a youthful spirit and loved to chat—especially with the guards.
Su Lingxi noticed his frequent visits.
Once, before leaving, she asked the guards to prepare two cups of cooled tea for him next time.
That was how they became acquainted.
It was a small gesture that led to the most beneficial connection Su Lingxi had ever made—with someone who understood the world in ways few did.
He would tell her things no ordinary person knew.
Whether by coincidence or not, those things ended up helping her more than once.
She had tried to investigate his identity, but her instincts told her it would be unwise to dig too deeply.
In the end, she let it go.
Sometimes, when she faced a truly unsolvable problem, she would seek his advice.
He enjoyed teaching. When she approached him as a junior, he never answered directly, but his expression would sometimes soften without a word.
He was a wanderer, never staying long in one place.
In the past two years, he had appeared only once.
That was just half a month ago.
Now, he had returned again—and left a lit lantern.
That could only mean one thing:
He had news about that matter.
The following night, under the low-hanging curtain of night and a sky full of stars, Su Lingxi had her attendants set up a table and chairs outside.
She also prepared fresh fruits, clear tea, and soft pastries suited for leisurely chewing.
After waiting half an hour, steady footsteps sounded from behind. Su Lingxi lifted the talisman in her hand and rose to her feet. She nodded to the elderly man and said, “You’ve come.”
Xiliu silently led the servants far away.
The old man’s graying eyebrows lifted slightly. “You guessed I’d come tonight?”
“I guessed,” Su Lingxi replied, pouring him tea with a steady hand despite the steam rising from the cup. Her voice was quiet. “But I wasn’t certain. I just thought the stars and moon are lovely tonight—perfect for tea.”
The old man pulled out a chair to sit, his gaze casually sweeping over her sharp chin. “You seem especially warm to me today.”
“Mm,” Su Lingxi passed him the cup of tea and said earnestly, “Because I have a request.”
Dealing with Su Lingxi was always intriguing—she had a knack for catching people off guard, being forthright in the most unexpected ways.
In such moments, even accepting a cup of tea felt awkward.
“Still about the matter from last time?”
The old man asked, ultimately not taking the tea but settling into the chair.
Su Lingxi nodded.
“Still about that.”
“Last time, you said that if the medicine could be refined, it could cure hidden illnesses, soothe the source, and extend life.
But a crucial component was the bodhi seed produced by the guardian tree of the Floating Blossom Sect.
The tree hasn’t borne fruit in years, and such seeds are now near impossible to find.”
“You gave me an alternative method—you said a demon pearl could achieve the same effect.”
“When I told you that, you didn’t seem inclined to believe me. Looks like you’ve spent this time verifying it,” the old man said, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head, eyes lifted to the stars.
“So now that you believe it, you’ve come to ask for the detailed refinement steps?”
“Yes.”
The old man didn’t look at her, shaking his head to himself.
“Everyone says the Imperial Preceptor is cautious and clever—almost like a demon herself.
And now, in a time when demons threaten the realm, you dare use a recipe involving a demon pearl?”
Su Lingxi also looked up at the night sky.
After a long pause, she finally spoke:
“I didn’t want to believe it. But there’s no other way—I can only give it a try.”
The old man stopped rocking his chair and seemed to grow more alert.
He turned to look at her and asked, “Someone close to you is seriously injured?”