Lace Glory Universe King GL - Chapter 8

Just as Sun Shangxiang had said, Xiao Qiao must not have leaked their whereabouts. Now, they had safely arrived at the He Luo border crossing.

After registering their information, Hua Mulan tugged Shangxiang toward the waiting area and pointed to the other side while addressing a border officer:
“Excuse me, I have some questions for your superior. Is his office over there?”

Of course, she already knew exactly where his office was—she knew it all too well.

“If you’ve got questions, ask me,” the man replied coldly.

“My questions aren’t ones you can answer.”

“Say it, let’s hear it.”

Hua Mulan’s smiling eyes gleamed through her snow-white hair.
“Looks like I’ve wasted too many words.”

With that, she drew out her long twin-bladed greatsword. The blade glowed with a cold blue light. Without even striking, it released a wave of physical force that instantly sent the officer staggering to the ground.

“The rules forbid guests from using force in the border passage. But you didn’t make a move—you only revealed your weapon. I’d say it’s about time we revised those rules.”

A booming voice came from behind the crowd.

It was none other than Pei Qinhu.

“Boss Pei,” Hua Mulan greeted, “not easy to see you in person.”

Pei Qinhu nodded and gestured for her to follow him to his office.

Mulan pulled the fallen officer to his feet, as if all was forgiven. Onlookers soon dispersed.

His office was cramped and filthy, hardly larger than the bathroom of a guest suite at Qiúmíng Villa.

“Don’t look down on this dump,” Pei Qinhu chuckled, pulling open a drawer to reveal a cup of amber liquid. “At least I get to sneak a drink on work hours. None of you have it as easy as I do, haha.”

Back in Chang’an, Boss Pei had been famed for his Six-Harmony Tiger Fist, but after an incident with drinking on duty, he’d been reassigned here. Old habits clearly died hard.

“Well, life is short. A little freedom isn’t so bad,” Hua Mulan remarked, finding nowhere to sit and simply standing.

“Go on, what do you want?” Pei Qinhu preferred plain talk to pleasantries.

“You know me,” Mulan smiled. “I want you to use your database to help me find someone.”

Pei Qinhu smirked, twisted off the cap of his flask, and took a sip.
“That’s classified work. Fair trade only—information for information.”

“This time it really will be fair,” Mulan replied. “I’ll give you a name in exchange, but only after you confirm the person I’m looking for exists.”

“No problem. I’ll run a search first.” He slumped into his chair, hammering the keys with the same heavy fingers that once launched tiger strikes.

“What are the parameters?”

Mulan had already thought this through.
“From six months ago until now: a woman, under 30, frequently traveling between He Luo and Eastern Wu, always crossing alone, and most likely using the VIP passage with tighter privacy.”

“‘Frequently’—give me a number,” he pressed.

“Six or more times.”

Tap tap tap.

“Let’s see who fits…” Pei Qinhu peered at the screen. “Five people.”

“Any of them officially registered?”

“Not one.”

That made sense. Since Sikong Zhen was in Chang’an, whoever he was using as a contact would avoid suspicion. No one tied to the Yuheng Office or officialdom would do.

“Any permanent residents of Chang’an?”

“Yes. That eliminates two.” He tapped the keys again.

“Of the remaining three, I want the most beautiful one,” Mulan said. Sun Quan had mentioned this woman to others—her looks must be extraordinary.

Pei Qinhu roared with laughter. “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder. How am I supposed to choose?”

“Just pick the one you, as a man, think is the most beautiful.”

“Got it.” He shut off the monitor, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s trade our snacks.”

Mulan stepped toward the desk, finger poised over the power button. He instantly grabbed her arm like a child guarding a treat.

“What’s with the nerves? Think I’d trick you?” Mulan bent low, whispering by his ear:
“Listen carefully—the girl who registered at the border with me under the name Sun Xiaoji is actually Sun Shangxiang, heir of the Wu Group of the Three Territories. You’ve probably seen her in the news. She’s seeking refuge in Chang’an.”

Only then did Pei Qinhu release her. Mulan pressed the button, and the name flashed onto the screen:

Gongsun Li.

The photo showed a stunning woman indeed.

Mulan studied it for two seconds, then straightened.
“Thanks, Boss Pei.”

Pei Qinhu reached for his address book, ready to report Shangxiang’s presence to the Chang’an guards.

Outside, Sun Shangxiang came up to Mulan and asked first:
“Done? Then this is where we part ways.”

“…Actually, I’ve got a new plan. I need to find someone in Chang’an. We could travel together.” Mulan noticed something off in Shangxiang’s expression.

“We don’t have to travel together, do we? Long Wall Sentinel?” Shangxiang locked eyes with her, waiting to see her reaction.

Mulan stayed silent for a beat—calmer than Shangxiang.
“You just found out?”

“News may grow old, but it never disappears. Last summer’s report of you leading the Wall Guard to wipe out assassins wasn’t hard to dig up. How long did you plan to lie to me?”

“Once I knew you and Sun Quan were enemies, there was no reason to lie. The name I gave you was real. I just didn’t mention the Wall—out of caution. Besides, I hold no post now,” Mulan answered truthfully.

“Then why keep following me?” Shangxiang pushed.

“I can protect you.”

That same excuse again. She had to admit Mulan had been protecting her all along, but who would do so without a reason? A sudden wave of irritation welled inside her.

“I don’t need a bodyguard. Leave.”

Mulan could see what she was thinking—winning her goodwill was useless. She had to give a solid reason instead.
“I need a decoy too. We’re both benefiting.”

“A decoy?”

“If I’m your bodyguard, then in both Wu and Chang’an I have a role. People’s curiosity about a fallen princess will keep their eyes off the attendant beside her.”

“…Sounds reasonable. But I’ll only believe half of what you say.” Shangxiang mocked.

Mulan blinked, knowing Shangxiang was at least half-convinced. That was enough.

“Then shall we, my lady?” Mulan gestured politely.

Chang’an—so different from Dongwu’s Jiangjun.

Jiangjun was prosperous, but Chang’an was vast, as grand as its empire. Towering skyscrapers mingled with Tang-style palaces; streets teemed with banners and throngs. Samurai from the Eastwind Seas muttered in their tongue, golden-haired warriors from the Sunset Sea strode past, mages in eccentric garb strutted arrogantly…

“When you get to Honglu Temple, just state your purpose. If they doubt your identity, tell them to check your border records,” Mulan instructed as they walked. She suspected Pei Qinhu had already reported Shangxiang’s name to the capital.

“You’re not coming with me?” Shangxiang asked.

“Too many people there know me. Not convenient.” Mulan shook her head. “Don’t worry—they’ll probably put you up at a guesthouse. We’ll meet again then.”

“Fine. Where will you be?”

“Nearby. I’ve got a lot of phone calls to make. Don’t worry about me.” She mimed holding a phone.

Shangxiang chuckled.

After parting, Mulan bought a tourist guide from a street vendor. Inside were contact numbers for every local business.

If her instincts were right, finding Gongsun Li wouldn’t be hard.

Sikong Zhen’s dealings with Sun Quan were highly secret. That meant no use of his own men as messengers. His go-between must be someone with no traceable ties—someone like Gongsun Li, probably just temporarily hired.

A beauty like that, free to come and go, able to pick up odd jobs—how would she make a living?

Mulan started calling teahouses and taverns one by one.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is the Immortal Teahouse.”

“Is Ali there? Put her on.”

“No one here by that name. Wrong number.”

“Sorry, my mistake.”

Next number. Mulan dialed again.

An hour later, dizzy and drained, she stumbled out of the phone booth and casually circled past Honglu Temple.

All quiet at the gate. Things must have gone smoothly for Shangxiang, she thought.

Back she went to continue dialing.

The entire afternoon slipped away. By nightfall, she was starving—still no results.

Heading down the stone steps in search of food, planning to check the guesthouse after dinner, she suddenly froze.

A towering sign, all in peach-red, loomed before her:

“Phantom Dance Exquisite – Frost-Leaf Ali”

Beside the bold characters, an image of a dancer in scarlet, orange bangs shading a pair of seductive eyes peering from under a paper parasol.

Wasn’t this the same face Pei Qinhu had shown her in that photo?

Mulan glanced up at the shop’s name: Chang Le House. A newly opened music hall, not listed in the guidebook.

Inside, rows of painted screens of delicate white paper glowed with soft light, shadows of musicians flickering behind them. The air hummed with music, teasing guests with mystery.

A plump woman in flowing silks greeted her.

“The beauty on the signboard—will she perform tonight?” Mulan asked.

“Ali will be on stage starting tomorrow night, three shows in a row. But please, let me show you tonight’s entertainment?” The woman’s smile was heavy with honey.

“No thanks. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Mulan declined politely, her mood lifted. At least the day’s effort had not been wasted.

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