071 The ability to turn stone into gold is truly essential.

Of course, the petite figure of the pseudo-king was also in the scene.

With a wicked grin, our certain someone, who had earlier smuggled herself into the royal chambers wrapped in medicinal powder and had spun quietly atop the canopy for ages, fearing the powder within her would fall out, finally heard the master's summons. Delighted, the wind set off toward its "assassination target." The pseudo-king, dozing at his writing desk, had no interest in tackling the stacks of documents piled before him—work that was never meant for him in the first place.

A breeze swept through, and the king never once wondered how such a strange thing as wind could appear in his sealed bedchamber. In the fog of sleep, his mind was perfectly muddled; after pulling his robe a little tighter, he sank into a deep slumber. By all appearances, short of a thunderclap at his ear, nothing would wake him.

This was the conclusion drawn after our certain someone swaggered into the pseudo-king's bedchamber, snapped her fingers three times by his ear, shouted that a delivery had arrived, and still failed to wake him.

The soldier followed her in, looking rather tense. "Where's the secret passage? Find it quickly so we can get the real king out of here. Someone could come by at any moment; it's not safe."

"Secret passage? How would I know where that is?!" she exclaimed in shock.

"...You don't know where it is, so why did we come here?!" The soldier was just as startled.

"Why? To look for the secret passage, of course," she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"...Fine then. Do you have any clues, intelligence, or information? Tell me everything," the soldier said, expression returning to normal, giving her a (questionably) gentle look.

She spread her hands wide. "Nothing at all. Just a guess."

"..." A strange silence fell over the room. The soldier bowed his head, fists clenched so tightly they cracked. She felt as though dark clouds were gathering, the day turning to night. The soldier, so serious just moments before, seemed to be summoning legendary dark energy. His pupils gleamed blood-red, his uniform mysteriously replaced by a black kimono patterned with flowers, his hair now flowing down to his waist. With a gentle wave of his right hand, the blossoms on his kimono scattered into the air.

A pitiful shadow lost in the darkness,
Wounding and scorning others,
A soul steeped in guilt.

Care to try dying once?

Wait, where did this familiar line come from?! She kept backing away, but no matter how far she retreated, she couldn't escape the darkness. In the end, she was blinded by the swirling flowers on the kimono.

When she came to, as expected, she was lying in a small boat, drifting down a winding river. The oarsman was none other than the soldier—well, not quite. He had now fully transformed into a straight-haired, red-eyed girl in a lavish floral kimono.

She sat frozen in the rocking boat, barely daring to breathe, eyes sweeping over the scene straight out of an animated film: mist swirling, soft yellow lanterns glowing along the banks, and, in the distance, the legendary Gate of the Underworld looming through the haze.

A voice whispered, "Your grudges—I will take them away."

Clinging to the gunwales, she wiped away tears: Heaven knows, I have no grudges for you to take, you’ve got the wrong person! Your lack of training is going to get someone killed—I’m lodging a complaint!

Crash! A loud noise snapped her from her daze. The bright lights and opulent furnishings reminded her it had all been a dream. But seeing the soldier, still in the throes of his dark transformation, tearing the room apart in a frenzy to find the secret passage, she snapped, "That’s what you get for cosplaying the Hell Girl for no reason—I curse you never to find the secret room!"

The soldier was far too busy to pay her any mind, rummaging madly. She didn’t dare say another word aloud and quietly stepped aside.

Not that she went far—she headed straight for the bed. After all, the Jordan Chan version of "The Duke of Mount Deer" told us that secret rooms are hidden in the walls behind beds; the Alec Su version of "Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber" insisted they’re under the bed.

One wonders if Miss Buhui ever felt a chill at her back sleeping there at night—if she grows old and gets rheumatism, she’ll have to dig up that troublemaker Yang Dingtian and flog his corpse three hundred times for building secret tunnels everywhere.

Muttering about various TV dramas, she began methodically searching the walls for a secret room. The method was simple: bend your forefinger and knock around to see if there’s an echo. She diligently tapped her way from wall to bed, determined to test the TV logic.

After a thorough search, the soldier finally broke his silence. "Can your wind magic detect the secret room?"

She replied, "If I could, I’d have found it when we checked for the king earlier. A secret room is another space behind a door—my magic isn’t strong enough to sense that." Finished, she shot back, "Why do you insist on addressing me so formally?"

"It’s the proper way to address a mage, even if you… well, I still insist," he answered without hesitation.

Knowing full well that the ellipsis hid nothing complimentary, she buried her head and pretended not to hear, unceremoniously tossing the king’s luxurious bedding onto the floor as she continued her search.

At the very center of the bed, toward the back, a gentle tap produced an echo.

"A secret room!" she tried to keep calm, suppressing a grin, but her eyes gleamed like a wolf spotting fresh meat. "It really is here!"

The soldier rushed over at her call, inspecting closely. Sure enough, after a careful search, he found a tiny seam between the floorboards. But the gap was so tightly fitted that brute force would require dismantling the entire bed to open it.

So close, yet so far—the soldier looked ready to fall back into his dark mood. She quickly patted his shoulder to calm him, fearing he might actually drag her off to the underworld this time. "Relax, young man, if we’ve found the spot, the button can’t be far!"

"There really is a button?" The soldier now seemed to trust her judgment completely, looking at her with utmost seriousness.

She felt as if she were leading an innocent youth astray, but couldn’t bring herself to say "I’m just guessing" again. Besides, even if she did, he’d probably start searching in earnest anyway. So, with a grand flourish, she boasted, "Don’t worry, the button must be nearby. Go look for it!"

He immediately dashed off to search, howling like a wolf.

Wherever he went, nothing was left standing. She watched, amazed, as the neat bed she’d just arranged was quickly turned into a battlefield from World War I. The devastation was too much to bear.

Despite her thoughts, she offered no help, instead wandering to the only untouched corner of the room to admire the decor.

There were precious few places the soldier hadn’t ransacked—one being the bedside table. There sat a delicate cabinet, a classic vase, and a fragrant bundle of calming herbs. The combined value of these three ordinary items could probably feed her for a year. Clicking her tongue in envy, she muttered, If I can’t steal them, surely I can at least have a look?

With this thought, she reached out to pick up the vase, but no matter how hard she tried, it wouldn’t budge.

"Wait—could it be?!" She felt lines of exasperation appear on her face. Since when did I become the legendary protagonist with the Midas touch, and why didn’t anyone tell me?!