Lace Glory Universe King GL - Chapter 31

“Work hours are over, all right?” Jing’s gaze was always touched with a trace of coldness, yet when it fell on Yunying, it carried a faint allure.

Yunying gave silent consent, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the token at her waist. After all, she had obtained the information—she had to fulfill her promise. It was only one wasted evening. She wasn’t going to eat her alive.

“Where to?”

…

Jing took Yunying to the back of Zuixian Tower to tour the lake. Dusk draped the sky, the lights of the marketplace glimmered faintly through the willows along the shore, and beyond them only the ornate lanterns of the pleasure boats glowed.

The two rode together beneath the canopy of a boat, drinking and conversing. It was both leisurely and discreet. To those at the Dali Court, however, their contact would hardly seem proper.

Yunying realized that tonight’s weather was pleasant, the breeze gentle, neither too cold nor too warm. The ends of her hair lifted lightly in the wind, and under the hazy moonlight, a soft halo shimmered around her—Jing found herself glancing several times.

What Jing did not know was that Yunying deliberately avoided her gaze, that dangerous and enchanting gaze.

On the low table between them sat a few plates of pastries and a pot of wine. Beyond the cabin lay the shimmering lake, the sound of water swaying with the boatman’s oar.

“I remember you like osmanthus wine.” Jing’s voice was soft as she lifted the pot.

Yunying’s fingers paused at the rim of her cup. “I’ve never… Have you been investigating me?”

And in that instant she understood. She had never cared for such trivialities as clothes or food, and her work rarely allowed for it. The first time they met, Jing had asked; she’d said she didn’t understand wine. Each time afterward, Jing had chosen something different, watching closely. Clearly, she had been observing her reactions all along.

“Just concern,” Jing’s eyes lingered on her face. “Work at the Dali Court must be exhausting. Last month’s case just wrapped, and now you’ve crossed paths with that Dongjun.”

The lake breeze drifted through the carved lattice window, carrying a damp coolness. Yunying took a sip—bittersweet, and yes, she liked it. “It feels strange to me.”

Jing laughed lightly, like water beads rolling off the boat’s edge. “Lord Yun, you are truly adorable.”

“No grown adult likes being called adorable,” Yunying replied flatly.

Leaning forward, Jing’s fingertips brushed her sleeve. “There’s ink here. Another late night writing case files?”

Yunying jerked back, her heart racing despite herself. That touch, like a spark, left her arm tingling. “Please, behave yourself.”

Jing withdrew her hand, though her gaze never left Yunying’s face. “I admit… sometimes I climb the high towers of the city just to watch you patrol. I’ve memorized the faces of those little subordinates of yours. I don’t know why I do it. On months when you don’t show up at that little tavern, I even feel disappointed—has Chang’an truly become so peaceful?”

The boat drifted toward the lake’s heart, the moonlight now bright and clear, filtering through gauze curtains to scatter across the cabin. Jing confessed as if commenting on the weather, her tone light, unburdened.

Yunying didn’t know what to say. She was unprepared for such words. Years at the Dali Court had trained her in other rules. In the end, she merely said: “Chang’an has never been peaceful.”

Jing swirled her cup, the amber liquid reflecting in her dark eyes. “Yes. Seven years now—you chase criminals, pore over files. Have you ever thought about your own future?”

The question was a blade, cutting straight into her softest place. Indeed, she often asked herself in lonely nights—is this truly the life she wanted?

“I…” Yunying’s voice faltered. She rose and stepped outside the canopy.

Once, she had loved the Dali Court—her teacher Cheng Yaojin with his fondness for pig’s trotters, her endless enthusiasm for patrols, her red spear always at the ready. After her promotion, however, that fondness grew complicated. Truth be told, she preferred being a simple constable. Now she had higher authority, direct access to the Palace of Ziwei… but much of the joy had gone.

Jing followed, stepping to her side. The wind rose suddenly, whipping her hair loose. “The wind is picking up.” She slipped off her gauzy outer cloak and draped it over Yunying’s shoulders.

The fabric carried Jing’s warmth, her faint fragrance. Yunying’s fingers tightened around the edges instinctively. Jing’s hand lingered briefly on her shoulder, the heat seeping through the cloth.

Jing’s voice was close to her ear. “Watching you from those towers, I thought of many things. Most of all, I thought—someone so radiant should never be bound by rules and chains.”

Yunying lifted her eyes, meeting Jing’s gaze. For a fleeting instant, she saw something true there—not pride, not allure, but something gentler.

The boat rocked gently, their shadows overlapping across the cabin wall. From afar came the strains of a zither, blending with the rhythm of water against wood—a silent song.

And suddenly Yunying realized—this was no exchange of intelligence at all. It was a carefully laid date. Worse still, she discovered she did not wish to end it.

If she wanted to crack the case, the quickest lead was to find Ying herself.

By logic, Ying was wounded—seriously. She would need treatment. A sweep of the apothecaries around the Western Market should have yielded something.

But Yunying’s subordinates found nothing.

Could it be this reborn Ying possessed some power of regeneration, needing no medicine at all?

With no choice, Yunying tried bait.

She enlisted Zhao Huaizhen, borrowing the name of his Xuandu Temple.

The temple’s front street held a bustling market every ten days, full of varied goods, drawing all manner of people.

There, disguised as a vendor, Jing set up a small stall among the trinket-sellers—offering only a single black feather, priced at twenty taels, firm. If anyone asked, it was a talisman against evil.

Two plainclothes guards lingered nearby to watch for suspicious interest.

All day, only gawkers stopped by.

By evening, with the crowd thinning, Jing was ready to pack up. “Honestly, me—a dignified intelligence officer—reduced to hawking goods on the street.”

A sudden sound behind her.

She turned—just as several blade-like projectiles whirled toward the feather, wrapped in fiery red currents. In an instant, the feather burned.

The weapons resembled her mirror shards, yet were wholly different. With a flick of her Mirrorblade, she deflected, drawing a cry of pain from the attacker.

But the figure pressed on, brandishing long crimson feather-blades.

“Wait—you’re Ying?” Jing called, unwilling to fight. The mission for Yunying mattered more.

But the feather-blades struck, slashing her arm.

In the instant her Mirrorblade split, a circular space arose, filled with prisms of mirrored glass, every facet reflecting Ying’s crimson glow, cold starlight falling like rain.

Ying staggered back, clutching her chest, clearly wounded, yet sneered: “Is hiding in illusions all you know?”

Jing emerged from her own shadow, Mirrorblade tip poised just half an inch from Ying’s throat.

“Stop!!”

She never meant to kill. The blade hovered, glittering, making Ying seem all the more ghostly.

“She’s badly hurt. Leave her to me.” Yunying appeared, her red spear flaring as if still hot from battle.

Jing lowered her weapon.

Ying tried to speak, but blood spilled from her lips, golden pupils dimming—

Before she collapsed, Yunying caught her, wrapping her cloak around the exposed wing and carrying her eastward.

“Where are you taking her?” Jing called.

“She’s a key witness. We’ll talk once she wakes.”

At Yun Mansion’s gate, the servant boy gaped. “My lady? Who is—”

“Not a word. Fetch Doctor Chen. Say I was injured practicing my sword.”

Inside, Ying was laid in the guestroom. Even unconscious, her brows were furrowed, as if in ceaseless pain. Her face was strikingly fine, but sharpened with an inhuman edge. One black wing drooped helplessly over the bedside.

After examining her, the old doctor frowned. “Excessive blood loss, deep wound at the shoulder, caused by some sharp weapon. But the worst…” lowering his voice, “This girl’s wing may not survive.”

Yunying’s heart jolted. “What do you mean?”

“Infection has set in. If the damaged part isn’t removed, her life is at risk.”

Yunying’s gaze lingered on the unconscious Ying. She bit her lip. “Do what you can first. The rest—we’ll decide when she wakes.”

It was three days before Ying stirred from the fever.

Yunying was in her study when the maid rushed in with the news. She hurried to the guestroom.

Inside, Ying was already half-sitting, her remaining wing flared warily. At the sight of Yunying, her eyes turned sharp. “Why did you save me?”

Yunying dismissed the maid, closed the door, and said simply: “Because you’re tied to the disturbances in Chang’an. I need answers.”

A cold laugh. “This is my affair. The law has no place in it.”

“Maybe so,” Yunying said evenly. “But you need protection. The feathered clan… there’s only you left, isn’t there?”

Ying’s eyes flicked to her bound, broken wing, pain shadowing her gaze. “So you’ve already guessed. People in Chang’an—always so meddlesome.”

“If I’m right, you’re being hunted.”

Silence stretched, long enough that Yunying thought she’d never reply. Outside, the night watch’s gong echoed. Moonlight striped her pale face.

“These medicines—I don’t need them. Since the calamity, I have the Phoenix Rebirth. A few days’ rest is enough.” A smirk ghosted her lips. “You offer protection—don’t think that earns gratitude.”

Yunying matched her tone. “Is that so? Then at least keep hold of the half-wing you have left.”

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