I traveled back to the Southern Song Dynasty and was actually outmaneuvered by Yue Fei.

Suddenly, the sound of horses' hooves came from the end of the Imperial Street.

The sound of horses' hooves pounding on the bluestone slabs was dense and orderly; they were not soldiers from Lin'an Prefecture or spies from the Qin family, but the Imperial Guards.

The man in gray's expression changed.

He sheathed his knife in his sleeve, put the whistle in his mouth, and blew a short whistle. The eight men in gray retreated into the alley at the same time.

The Imperial Guard's cavalry galloped from the end of the Imperial Street and stopped at the entrance of the Dali Temple.

Leading the group was a middle-aged general, with a fair complexion and no beard, dressed in the crimson battle robes of the Imperial Guard. He dismounted and knelt on one knee before Zhao Bozong.

"Duke Jian Guo. The Emperor has decreed that the Duke Jian Guo be summoned to the palace immediately."

Zhao Bocong looked at him. "The Emperor knows?"

The Imperial Guard commander did not answer. He remained kneeling on one knee, head bowed, his gaze fixed on the tips of Zhao Bozong's boots.

Zhao Bozong put the wooden bird back into his sleeve, turned around and looked at Yue Yinping, "You just said you found it." His voice was very low.

Yue Yinping nodded.

"My father asked me to find a benevolent person." She folded the paper and tucked it back into the compartment. "I found one."

Zhao Bozong didn't say anything more. He looked at her for a long time, then turned and walked towards the Imperial Guard's cavalry. After taking a few steps, he stopped.

"Bo Cong, my friend, the Northern Expedition awaits you. I will remember those eight words."

The Imperial Guard general rose, led over a horse, and handed him the reins. Zhao Bozong mounted the horse, his movements somewhat clumsy. Although the original owner's body knew how to ride a horse, his soul was not yet quite used to it.

The horse snorted and pawed the ground with its front hooves. He pulled on the reins and looked back.

Yue Yinping was still standing beside the coffin. The four coffin bearers behind her had returned at some point and were closing the coffin lid that Qin Xi had pried open.

Zhao Bozong spurred his horse, and it strode off towards the end of the Imperial Street. The secret box had already been opened by Qin Xi, and the paper had been passed around among the crowd; the wooden bird's mission was complete.

But he knew the story of the wooden bird wasn't over yet. His name was first on the list; the rest of the names were crossed out with light ink by Zhou Sanwei, who said knowing those names now would do no good.

He's right, but he'll find out someday—he'll know where those people are, how many years they've waited, and how many more years they have to wait.

He must know that when Yue Fei inscribed "Bo Cong, my friend, awaiting your arrival for the Northern Expedition," he had engraved countless lives into those eight characters.

The Imperial Guard's cavalry passed through the Imperial Street and turned into a narrow alley.

As Zhao Bozong rode his horse, his tailbone was jolted painfully with every step the horse took.

He glanced back. Yue Yinping and the coffin had disappeared at the end of the Imperial Street, and the black lacquered gates of the Dali Temple were closed.

The Imperial Guard general rode ahead of him on his left, keeping a distance of half a horse's length, neither turning back to look at him nor speaking to him.

Behind him, two columns of Imperial Guard cavalry rode side by side, their hooves beating in such a rhythm that it sounded like someone was keeping time.

wrong.

Zhao Bocong's nerves suddenly tightened; the sound of the Imperial Guards' hooves was too synchronized.

He had seen the Imperial Guards marching—on the ninth day of the first month of the twelfth year of Shaoxing, when he came out of the palace, he saw the Imperial Guards changing shifts at the palace gate.

The people walked with a limp, the sound of their horses' hooves was chaotic, some people yawned on their horses, and some leaned to the side talking to the people next to them.

The Imperial Guards were not border troops; they hadn't fought a war in over a decade, and their discipline had long since deteriorated into a disorganized mess.

But the sound of the imperial guards' hooves was so orderly that it resembled the cavalry of Yue Fei's army.

He had read the marching records of Yue Fei's army in historical materials—"When marching, they formed ranks; when halting, they formed camps; the hooves of their horses were in unison, and no one dared to make a sound."

The imperial guards before me were moving with an almost unnaturally synchronized rhythm.

Zhao Bozong glanced to his right out of the corner of his eye. The alleyway on the right flashed by. The alley was deep, with high walls on both sides and no windows. There was only one exit.

As they passed the fourth alleyway, Zhao Bozong suddenly pulled on the reins.

The horse was pulled back so that its front hooves were off the ground and it neighed. He dismounted, his boots landing on the bluestone slabs, his knees tingling from the impact.

The Imperial Guard general turned around, a hint of surprise flashing across his face—not astonishment, but genuine surprise.

It was as if he had anticipated that Zhao Bozong would run away, but he hadn't expected him to run away at this alley entrance.

Zhao Bozong rushed into the alley. Behind him came the shouts of the Imperial Guard generals and the sound of horses' hooves turning, but he did not turn around.

The soles of my boots sank into the bluestone slabs of the alley. The slabs were hollow underneath, and each step produced a thumping echo.

The alley was deeper than he had expected, and the high walls on both sides narrowed as he went in. He ran for about fifty steps until he reached the end of the alley, where there was a wall.

He stopped, rested his hands on his knees, and gasped for breath. The original owner's body was weaker than he had imagined.

The wall was a dead wall with no doors or windows, about twelve feet above the ground. Zhao Bozong tried to jump up and grab the top of the wall. His fingertips reached the edge of the top of the wall, but he couldn't get a grip. The brick surface was covered with a thin layer of ice, making it as slippery as if it were coated with oil.

He landed back on the ground, his boots slipped on the stone slab, and he fell to the ground.

The sound of boots stomping on stone slabs came from the alley entrance.

There was only one person, walking slowly, with the soles of their boots landing steadily, and the intervals between each step almost equal.

Zhao Bozong got up from the ground, his back pressed against the dead wall, and watched the gray-clad man walk in from the alley entrance.

He walked very slowly, as if he were measuring the length of the alley.

After walking a dozen steps, he stopped, about ten steps away from Zhao Bocong.

At this distance, Zhao Bocong couldn't escape; he could reach him even if he drew his sword.

"Duke Jian Guo," the gray-clad man's voice remained flat and cold, "you shouldn't have run away."

Zhao Bozong's back was pressed tightly against the wall, his fingers groping behind him, trying to find anything he could use as a weapon, but the bricks were too tight to pry out.

"Prime Minister Qin ordered you to kill me. What happened after you killed me?" Zhao Bozong's voice was hoarse.

"Are the Imperial Guards my men? No. The Imperial Guards belong to the Emperor. The Emperor sent the Imperial Guards to fetch me. If you kill me, do you think the Emperor will let Prime Minister Qin go?"

The man in gray did not answer.

He pulled his right hand out of his sleeve, revealing the blade inch by inch. There was a blood groove near the back of the blade, with dark brown marks remaining in the groove.

"The Emperor won't know," the man in gray said. "The Duke of Jian Guo abandoned his horse and fled on his way to the palace, and his whereabouts are unknown."

Zhao Bozong stared into his eyes. "What about the Imperial Guard commanders? What about the cavalry? Are they all Qin Hui's men?"

The gray-clad man raised the tip of his knife slightly by an inch.

"The Imperial Guard commanders were Qin Xiang's men, but the cavalrymen were not. But what they saw was—the Duke of Jian Guo jumped off his horse and ran into the alley. When they chased after him, there was no one left in the alley."

Zhao Bozong's heart sank completely; something deeper than fear rose to the top of his head.

Qin Hui didn't need to bribe everyone; he only needed to bribe one person: the commander of the Imperial Guard. That was enough.

The cavalrymen saw Zhao Bozong jump off his horse and run into the alley. When they caught up, there was no one in the alley, and no one doubted the imperial guards general's statement.

No one will pursue a runaway member of the royal family to the end.

Zhao Bozong disappeared. A few days later, he was found dead in an alley. There were no knife wounds on his body. He either fell to his death, froze to death, or his body could not be found at all.

People go missing every day in Lin'an City; one more won't make a difference.

The man in gray took a step forward. Zhao Bozong reached behind him and touched something—a piece of wood. He held the stick in his hand but didn't pull it out.

The man in gray took another step, eight steps in total.

"You told me in the alley yesterday that you could help Prime Minister Qin retrieve the letter."

The man in gray's voice suddenly changed, no longer flat, but carrying a faint hint of curiosity, "Were you already in the station then?"

Zhao Bocong remained silent.

"What you retrieved wasn't a letter, it was evidence. You put that evidence in the coffin and had Qin Xi find it in public."

The gray-clad man raised the tip of his knife an inch higher, the blade parallel to the ground, the tip pointing at Zhao Bozong's throat. "From beginning to end, you've been helping Yue Yinping."

"Yes."

The man in gray nodded. It was as if he was confirming that he had a mental tally, and now the last item matched up.

"Then there's nothing more to say."

He took his third step, his seventh.

Zhao Bozong pulled the wooden stick out from behind him.

The broken end of the wooden stick was pointed at the man in gray. The man in gray glanced at the stick, his face expressionless.

He had seen far too many things like this—anything a dying person would grab from their side.

He took the fourth step, then the sixth.

Then it stopped.

It wasn't that he wanted to stop; it was because at that moment, a spear tip suddenly appeared in his chest.