Rania stepped so close he caught the faint scent of osmanthus in her hair. Her brows pinched. “Mr. Fay, your complexion seems off. Are you overworking yourself with all these manor duties?”
The remark hit uncomfortably true; despite the disguise, a dull drag still haunted Quentin’s borrowed limbs. Jared masked the sting with a slow exhale, noting how sharp her eye was. He folded his hands inside his sleeves and let a weary sigh escape.
“Thank you for your concern, Ms. Rania… The City Lord requires tighter security, and minor clerks keep piling scrolls on my desk. The strain shows, I fear… What are your instructions?”
Her gaze softened, curiosity tilted into excitement as some private notion stirred behind her eyes. She flicked her wrist, dismissing guards and maids to a polite distance. Leaning in so only he could hear, she whispered, half thrilled, half troubled, “Mr. Fay, the other day I… well, borrowed an ancient fragment scroll from Father’s study…”
“It supposedly came from a lost celestial ruin and speaks of full-cycle star force resonating with the earth-meridian spiritual pivot,” she said, eyes sparkling. “There’s a passage as dense as fog. I have pored over it for two days and still can’t unravel it. You’re so well read, could you please take a look?” She drew the jade slip from her storage bangle and offered it with both hands.
Jared accepted, pressing the cool surface to his brow while a thread of consciousness slid inside. Ancient characters, nearly forgotten star-script, spiraled before his mind’s eye, outlining orbits, leylines, and tides of spiritual energy few libraries dared record. With his own scholarship, the puzzle unfolded quickly, but he hid that ease behind a mask of deliberate effort. A warning flared: Quentin was only middling with such lore; too much confidence would betray him.
He steadied himself, ready to employ Quentin’s standard tactic—praise the lady’s insight, request time to consult records, and promise a later answer. Breathing once to anchor the role, he opened his mouth to recite the familiar lines. Jared gathered the exact phrases Quentin would have used, preparing to copy them note for note.
Rania fixed her bright eyes on him, refusing to blink. “Mr. Fay, do you think the line ‘the Sky Pivot guides the stars, the Earth Gate opens and closes’ echoes a passage in the Secret Record of the Spiritual Pivot?”
“‘Constellations turn, hidden apertures awaken’—does that sound connected to you?” She added, voice low but eager, “I suspect it hints at a lost Star Influx Body Tempering Technique, not just another geomantic array or mapping method.”
Jared felt a thin chill ripple down his spine. Her question stabbed straight through the ornamental wording and hit the marrow of the tablet he had just scanned. Quentin’s habits surfaced in his mind. The old steward would first praise her insight, then hedge, claiming more research was required before offering conclusions.
He copied that cadence. “Ms. Rania is truly perceptive; the text is extraordinary. This humble servant cannot unravel it at a glance… However, the Star Influx Body Tempering Technique was indeed rumored in ancient times. It was practiced by cultivators with special physiques or star-based arts, and it carried enormous risk; most manuals are now lost. Whether this passage conceals that method, however, will demand careful cross-checking with other works.”
The words rolled out with deliberate caution. Inside, he judged the tone perfectly balanced—respectful, informative, but non-committal. Rania’s lashes fluttered. A faint, smoky doubt flickered behind her polite curiosity. She had sparred with Quentin over texts many times and knew every pause, sigh, and self-congratulating flourish in the steward’s speech. What she heard now sounded smooth, almost rehearsed, and lacked the tiny, anxious brag Quentin usually slipped in whenever he feared being wrong.
Maybe fatigue explained the difference…
She weighed the thought without showing it. Suspicion hovered, but she hid it under a bright-eyed smile. Tilting her head, she suddenly piped, “Mr. Fay, any progress on that annotated ‘Seven Tablets from the Cloud Register’ you promised to find for me? And I heard the West City Myriad Scroll Pavilion just acquired rubbings from an ancient battlefield. When will you escort me to browse them?”
Two neat traps—one recalling a promise, the other a fresh invitation—waited in her sweet voice. An inner bell rang loud behind Jared’s ribs. He rifled through Quentin’s memories at frantic speed.
*Annotated Seven Tablets?*
Yes… Quentin had promised to look half a month ago; no firm lead yet. Quentin’s memories confirmed the matter: about half a month ago Rania had mentioned it, and he had promised to keep an eye out but still had no solid news. Regarding the newly acquired fragment rubbings at the Myriad Scroll Pavilion, however, there was nothing in his memory; either Rania had just learned of them, or she was testing him.
He adopted a rueful expression. “Please forgive me, Ms. Rania. I have asked many contacts about the annotated ‘Seven Tablets from the Cloud Register’, but no definite information has surfaced yet.” A gentle, resigned smile followed. “These past days have buried me in duties, so the rumor escaped me. If it interests you, I can dispatch scouts at once and arrange a suitable time.”
The answer acknowledged the lack of progress on the annotated volume while showing ignorance of the new rubbings but a willingness to investigate—altogether the safest response.
Rania’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She clearly remembered mentioning the Pavilion three days earlier, when Quentin had nodded and promised to watch for news. Even preoccupation should not erase memory so completely. Still, even if Quentin had been busy these few days, he should not have reacted as though he had never heard of it… Could the trusted steward be compromised?
It was not his voice or face that troubled her, but a subtler shift in Quentin’s unique aura and mental rhythm. Yet she lacked proof and could not accuse the Grand Chamberlain on a hunch.
If he was an imposter or puppet, the implications were terrifying… And if Mr. Fay has actually been impersonated or controlled, that would be truly frightening!
