Lace Glory Universe King GL - Chapter 23

Di Renjie had been buried in cases at the Dali Temple for three straight days without returning home.

That day, after returning from an investigation outside, he began leafing through the piles of old unresolved files. Before long, exhaustion overtook him, and he dozed off right at his desk.

“Lord Di?”

Di Renjie jolted awake. Before him stood none other than the Grand Academician, Lady Shangguan Wan’er.

“Oh—it’s you, Lady Shangguan. My apologies.”

“It seems the Grand Minister of Works has not spared you much peace of late.” Shangguan sighed softly, taking a seat nearby.

Since the day Di Renjie had secretly reported to her in the palace, Shangguan Wan’er had already noticed something amiss with the emperor. The mechanical double bore Wu Zetian’s likeness, but its responses were stiff and mechanical. They had discreetly sent word to the Yaotian organization, seeking guidance from Her Majesty on how to act jointly within and without—but word returned that the Empress had left Luoyang to seek aid. Perhaps the Ministry of Works had sensed something, for soon both Shangguan and Di Renjie were excluded from the core of imperial authority.

First, Sikong Zhen memorialized a proposal to construct the “Treasure-Image Flower Pagoda” to welcome envoys from all nations—an idea the “Empress” approved at once. Then, imperial edicts stopped passing through the Grand Academy entirely, bypassing Shangguan’s oversight.

Now, Sikong Zhen, together with the false empress, had concocted a so-called “Hundred-Day Special Campaign for Public Security,” demanding that the Dali Temple sweep Chang’an clean of crime so that nothing marred the empire’s reputation during the grand gathering of nations. Thus Di Renjie was shackled day and night to his office, forced not only to resolve old cases but even to file reports on petty thefts of purses from the street. The endless chores were maddening.

“Since you still find leisure to call upon me, Lady Shangguan,” Di said with a teasing tone, “perhaps the programs for the Chang’an Grand Entertainment are already taking shape?”

“Don’t even mention it.” Shangguan’s face clouded. “If I fail to find suitable performers soon, I’ll have to learn to sing and dance myself.”

Her plight was no better than his. At least Di Renjie still worked within the duties of his office. She, however, had been assigned the unwelcome task of organizing the entertainment to welcome foreign envoys—an exhausting, thankless responsibility far removed from her talents in prose and memorials. It required endless negotiation with countless parties, and any misstep could mean disgrace for the dynasty.

“I would recommend someone for you,” Di recalled the talkative short fellow. “The capital’s secret agent, Li Yuanfang. He’s a walking information-broker.”

“One of your men from the Dali Temple? I need performers, not spies. What could he possibly know of songs and stagecraft?” she asked, doubtful.

“No harm in trying. Much of what I hear in the city comes through him,” Di replied, already reaching for a brush. “I’ll write to him right away.”

“Then why not have him investigate where our true Empress has gone?” Shangguan pressed, desperate for her sovereign’s return—if only so she could be rid of her burden.

“Anything beyond Luoyang is beyond his reach,” Di shook his head, continuing to write.

“Then can he at least pry into the Ministry of Works?” Shangguan thought again.

“He cannot.” Di’s answer was firm. Sikong Zhen had ruled the ministry for years; its agents and guards were his personal loyalists. No ordinary network could infiltrate them.

Shangguan pursed her lips in frustration.

The Ministry of Works, Main Hall

The shadow guards who had returned from the canyon reported softly to Lord Sikong.

“What? You searched the spring and found no body?!” Sikong’s face darkened with anger and alarm. Not good—if Wu Zetian lived, there was no telling what she might do. Worse still, her whereabouts were unknown, entirely outside his grasp.

“My lord, do not be alarmed. We can begin a citywide sweep of Chang’an at once,” the leader of the guards advised.

A severely wounded woman—where could she go upon leaving the canyon? Surely to the Sunfall Shrine, to heal with crystal energy. No—that would be too obvious, and Wu Zetian would never walk into such a trap.

“Very well. Begin the sweep. And every shop that sells healing equipment—question them thoroughly.”

“As you command.”

The guards moved quickly. Within three days, they uncovered a lead.

In the western quarter of Chang’an, a 24-hour supply shop had sold an item called the Eye of the Phoenix. The buyer deliberately pulled her hood low, concealing her garb, but she was clearly a tall, fair-skinned woman—different from the usual rough clientele. The purchase had been made at four in the morning, the very night after the floating imperial barge returned to the city.

Beyond the Inverted Heavens, the spotless sky gave way to Jiemu’s stormy gloom and autumn winds.

Two figures stood upon the late-autumn plain. Only a sparse line of trees marked the horizon, while above hung heavy clouds.

Wu Zetian suddenly felt dizzy, as if the very ground had been sucked away.

“Are you alright?” Nuwa turned back, seeing her companion’s pallid face.

Since the canyon, Wu Zetian had barely survived by clinging to shards of crystal. On leaving Chang’an, she had purchased the Eye of the Phoenix. Her magic surged instantly, granting her the strength to march without pause, as though she were uninjured.

“I’ll manage. We must keep moving,” Wu Zetian shook her head.

Nuwa, seeing the empress’s stubborn will, said nothing more. She simply walked beside her now, their footsteps crunching dry leaves in the endless desolation.

“The Inverted Heavens brim with energy. Mortals entering or leaving often suffer bodily strain. This time coincides with the waxing of the moon—naturally, you would feel discomfort.” Nuwa’s words sounded half explanation, half murmur to herself.

But Wu Zetian’s will was too strong; soon the dizziness passed.

In truth, her body was being drained hollow.

By the time they reached the Jiemu Sea, it was midnight. The ferries had ceased, so they rested in the coastal forest, waiting for dawn.

With only the faintest use of her power, Wu Zetian lit a bonfire. Its glow warmed their faces—the Creator and the Queen—in the cold night.

“Sikong Zhen is always meticulous. He will soon discover that I live. Since you accompany me back to Luoyang, Creator, we must strike swiftly.”

Nuwa sighed inwardly at this mortal woman, always so consumed by duty. Though the matter of the demonic gemstone weighed upon her, Nuwa herself felt little urgency. Sikong Zhen was an obvious foe, but the mysterious figure who had first assaulted the Storm Dragon King remained hidden.

“First of all, call me Xiao Wa. ‘Creator’—in this wilderness, who knows who might be listening?” Nuwa’s playful tone returned. “Second, haste is useless. Watching what your grand minister schemes could be… entertaining.”

Wu Zetian could not treat it as mere entertainment. “Xiao… Wa.” The name felt oddly intimate upon her lips.

Nuwa arched a brow, visibly delighted.

“Xiao Zhao, hearing you call me so makes me happy.”

The intimacy of the address made them seem dangerously close.

Wu Zetian ignored the warmth in the air, continuing coldly: “With your power, you could simply teleport into the Ministry of Works, reclaim the gemstone for the gods’ keeping, and the matter would be done.”

Indeed, Nuwa possessed a divine art: to rend vast space and appear anywhere at will—Descent of Divine Radiance.

But Nuwa only laughed aloud, shaking her head. “Mortals think so strangely. If it were as you say, I should never have created this world, never sown civilization. Wouldn’t that have been simpler?”

“Very well—say what you like. ‘The Great Way is impartial; good and evil rise together; nature cycles endlessly.’ Is that what you mean?” Wu Zetian conceded. As long as Nuwa helped, the method mattered little.

“No, no.” Nuwa was far livelier than the solemn figure described in texts. “The Way is partial, just as I have a special fondness… for you.”

Another confession.

Wu Zetian could not bear to meet those entrancing eyes.

“Your plan lacks the spirit of the game,” Nuwa continued, suddenly like a scholar turned rebel. “If a battle ends in a second, what joy is left? Xiao Zhao, you focus only on Sikong Zhen—have you forgotten another? The one Galo spoke of, the figure who repeatedly struck at the Storm Dragon’s defenses, has yet to reveal himself.”

Wu Zetian realized she had indeed overlooked this.

“You mean to uncover him as well, the true instigator. A drama worth witnessing,” she admitted.

“So—when you were in the canyon, you noticed nothing unusual? The Storm Dragon’s defenses must have shown some trace.” Nuwa pressed.

“Little enough.”

Wu Zetian explained.

A powerful barrier shielded the Storm Dragon. Yet the “breaches” Galo described were like a honeycomb of tiny holes, scattered across the defense. They did not seem the work of a single hero’s attack, but rather of countless small strikes gnawing persistently—like swarms of minions.

“Tiny holes, but many—until together they tore a gap. It felt as if some force dealt countless small blows, patiently, endlessly gnawing at the dragon.”

Nuwa could not guess who would use such tactics. All that was clear: whoever had labored so often, only to be thwarted by the empress’s party, would not give up easily.

“Whoever it is, he must know the gemstone now lies with Sikong Zhen. He will be watching,” Nuwa concluded.

“The Ministry of Works is sealed tight, bound by Sikong’s loyal men. That enemy cannot strike,” Wu Zetian said firmly.

“Understood.” Nuwa lay back beside the fire, ready to sleep. “Then we wait. When Sikong unveils the gemstone in his ritual, that will be the time to seize both him and our hidden foe.”

“You…” Wu Zetian faltered. By then, the gemstone’s power could already be consumed. Where did this goddess find such confidence?

But Nuwa had already closed her eyes, crystalline shapes drifting faintly around her in slumber, glowing soft in the night.

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