In the woods, two people were walking on the stone-paved path of the palace. In the sky was a full moon. Fan Xian’s back was entirely drenched, chilling him despite it being a summer night. He sighed and patted his chest—there was still some residual fear—and complained to Haitang: "You guessed I was the… author. Then why didn’t you say something to me? That emperor of yours almost scared me to death."
Haitang laughed. "It’s your fault for fooling everyone for so long." She rolled her eyes. "Say, if it wasn't about your identity as the author, what could His Majesty possibly say that would make you so afraid?"
Fan Xian didn’t even think about his answer. He smiled warmly and asked, "What do you think?"
