Ocean Province, Bright Moon Prefecture, the Xie residence. Inside the study a half‑drunk man lounged over a book, swigging wine between lines. He hiccupped, cheeks glowing crimson; several grey‑flecked locks drooped over his temples, lending him a touch of weather‑worn gravitas. “Master, Young Master Ximen has been waiting ages for you,” a messenger announced from outside. The man gave a tipsy grin. “Oh? Got it, coming! Hic, coming… Hahaha.” Few would believe this shambling figure was none other than Xie Jian’an, Governor of Ocean Province. Reading while plastered was undignified enough. Draw closer, and you’d find the book was lurid spring‑palace paintings. Most folk would be utterly flabbergasted that this was a respected provincial governor. Yet Xie Jian’an leafed through the pages of his book with relish. Squinting happily, he called out, “Hey, Xiao Wu, come with me to the county next month. I’m thinking of taking five more concubines.” The messenger surnamed Wu could only stare. Just then a tearful voice drifted in. The sound came nearer, fragrant perfume rolling into the courtyard. From the scent alone, Xiao Wu knew it was the Fourth Madam. The Fourth Madam, wed at the start of the year, enjoyed outrageous favor; she had pushed the Second and Third Madams into effective exile. The First Madam, Xie Jian’an’s original wife, had died 20 years earlier, right as he took office, back when he was only at the peak of seventh rank. Now he was fifth rank. Once a martial artist reached fifth rank, having children with ordinary or even sixth rank women became nearly impossible. So the governor had produced only three offspring, Xie Feng, Xie Wei, and Xie Yu. The wider Xie Clan, though, was massive thanks to his many brothers. “Master…” The Fourth Madam burst in sobbing, “I simply can’t control Yu’er anymore! She’s brought Young Master Ximen right into the inner quarters and says she’s going to draw his bath. An unmarried girl behaving like that. Where’s our clan’s face? Boohoohoo!” Behind her strode a broad‑shouldered, steady‑eyed giant, Fang Tong. In raw power, Fang Tong actually outclassed the governor himself. Xie Jian’an beckoned from the window. “Old Fang, tell me what happened.” Fang Tong gave a calm, factual account while the Fourth Madam piled on embellishments. “This whole son‑in‑law business was arranged by the Patriarch,” Xie Jian’an said at last. “Stop making a scene.” The moment the patriarch was referenced, the Fourth Madam froze. She still looked unwilling but swallowed her protest. “Look,” Xie Jing’an went on, “those two will be wed sooner or later. So what if she draws him one bath first? You and I bathe together all the time, don’t we?” The Fourth Madam’s cheeks flamed. “Must you mention that here?” Xie Jian’an’s eyes turned lecherous; he chuckled, then peppered Fang Tong with a few more questions. Satisfied, he rummaged through the study, produced a thumb‑sized jade gourd, and handed it over. “Old Fang, inside is a drop of fourth rank blood. Pour it into our prospective son‑in‑law’s bath.” Fang Tong accepted it with a bow. “As you wish.” “Anyone wanting into my Xie Clan must show his true face,” the governor laughed. “If he’s relying on ghost items, too bad for him.” With that, he waved a hand. “Off you go. I’ll inform the Patriarch. Should anything go wrong, the old man will keep things under control.” Grinning ingratiatingly, he trotted off toward the estate’s depths. Fang Tong hurried away as well. Long service had taught him plenty about the world’s paranormal side. Shape‑shifting tools powered by ghosts were real and terrifying. Still, one drop of fourth rank blood could expose every disguise. In this world, a person only had one face; a second meant the use of a ghost item. This strict verification would apply to anyone marrying into the clan, including Ximen Gucheng and even the Emperor himself. A short while later, Fang Tong appeared beside Xie Yu. He merely shook the jade gourd; she understood at once. She knew the blood was meant for the future groom, originally to be used after the tournament, the night before the wedding feast, the final test. Yet her father had produced it early. Did that mean a single report from Steward Fang had convinced him? Softly, surprise in her voice, Xie Yu asked, “Was his blade really that impressive?” “Third Miss,” Fang Tong replied, “it was nothing less than extraordinary.” He let out a rueful sigh. “That slash used power so exquisitely that even an ordinary fifth rank expert couldn’t grasp its secrets, let alone you, my lady. I’ve picked up a thing or two on the path of the blade, so I could tell. Otherwise, I’d have been staring at a living god before me and never known it. I would have looked like a complete fool.” “A living god?” Xie Yu’s eyes widened. “To anyone who lives and dies by the blade,” Fang Tong said, “his blade is exactly that, divine. It looks calm and simple, yet hides an unfathomable abyss.” A glow of longing flickered in his gaze. Then he gave a slow shake of the head, uncorked the jade gourd, and tipped it over. Drop! One scalding drop of blood splashed into the bath. Warm steam curled up; the blood dissolved into fine crimson threads. Xie Yu scooped handfuls of red‑lotus petals from a basket and scattered them over the water. The petals floated, releasing a faint perfume. Only then did she summon the maids to carry the tub to a side room. Li Yuan dismissed the maids, sniffed the air, shed his clothes, and slid into the water. Deep inside the Xie residence. Half drunk, cheeks flushed, Xie Jian'an knelt before a small pavilion and reported, “Patriarch, Yu’er’s prospective groom has arrived, and we’ve used that drop of fourth rank blood you gave us. A‑and, er, I came to ask your venerable self to keep an eye on things. Hic.” A voice as old as winter answered from within. “Jian’an, in your youth you were all fire and pride. How have you ended up a tippling lecher? Are you sulking because I handle the great affairs, so you gamble on childish nonsense to annoy me?” “Never, Patriarch!” Xie Jian'an trembled. “I was only tired. Thought I’d relax a little. No debauchery intended.” “Reeking of wine, soaked in lust, drenched in feminine perfume. If this isn’t debauchery, what is?” the old voice snapped. “Patriarch, I was wrong!” Xie Jian'an kowtowed again and again. The tone eased. “When a raptor stoops to strike, it folds its wings; when a tiger goes for the throat, it crouches low. Look at you…wings folded, belly on the ground, think I can’t see it? But I’m 451 now; how much longer will I live? All this will be yours in the end. Why rush?” Only then did the governor lift his head, grinning. “Exactly, Patriarch. I’m lying low, not indulging. With you here, the Xie Clan can sleep easy. Surely I can enjoy myself a little? I swallowed all the hardship when I was young; now I’d like a taste of pleasure.” New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on Nov3lFɪre.ɴet Silence from the pavilion. Outside, Xie Jian’an tilted back his head and laughed, a scholar’s face twisting into that of an aging rogue. Several breaths passed. “I understand,” the Patriarch said at last. “Go. If anything happens to Yu’er, I’ll act at once.” “Many thanks, Patriarch!” Jian’an kowtowed. “Ah, one more thing. I was hoping to take a fifth consort this month…” “A fifth? More like the fiftieth!” “But Patriarch, you wrong me. I have only four official madams.” “And the ones you keep outside don’t count? You’d swap women 365 days a year if you could!” The governor’s eyes lit up. “What a splendid idea.” He scuttled away at once.