The Northern Sea.
An ice floe drifted slowly across the sea.
Fu Xiuyi sat cross-legged atop it, holding a Dao Scripture and reading with relish.
Suddenly,
She spoke:
"Has Your Majesty come to plead someone's case?"
There was no reply.
Fu Xiuyi frowned and said, "Your Majesty reeks of blood. What could have required you to act personally?"
Only then did the emperor's voice sound:
"Your disciple earned himself some credit."
"Credit... What happened during the Special Admission Test?" Fu Xiuyi asked.
The emperor said slowly:
"Nothing much. Just a pack of traitors and petty villains. Minister Fu, let me ask you this: if the Demon Race came to negotiate peace as a pretense, and their real aim was to assassinate me, how should we handle it?" His words struck like a thunderclap.
The emperor never said "if."
If he said it, it had already happened.
Fu Xiuyi's eyes lit up. Excitement seized her, and she rubbed her hands together without realizing it.
"It's been so many years."
"What has?" the emperor asked, baffled.
"I've been running the sect, bustling over trifles day after day. It's been years since I've had a truly satisfying fight," Fu Xiuyi said. The emperor could not help sighing.
Fu Xiuyi was much like him.
She clearly wasn't cut out to lead a sect, but the others had forced the position on her to keep her tied down, lest she "cause too much trouble."
And him?
Hadn't he been a capable general?
If his elder brother hadn't died, leaving the whole edifice on the verge of collapse—
He would probably still be at home by the East Sea, drinking Spirit Wine in comfort, then going fishing at sea for a few days whenever he had time—
Or charging straight into the Mist Sea to fight