Early the next morning, Shen Xiheng once again entered the Imperial Palace.
He had not slept at all the previous night, his mind constantly pondering over Jiutu's words.
At the moment, his face was etched with a layer of frost, expressionlessly walking toward Zhaixing Pavilion.
Perhaps because when he and Jiutu had come together yesterday, Jiutu had not given any specific instructions, so the guards did not hinder him much, merely asking a few simple questions before letting him in.
Ascending the wooden staircase slowly, one tier at a time, Shen Xiheng's doubt deepened.
From the outside, Zhaixing Pavilion showed no signs of anomaly; compared to the other buildings in the Imperial Palace, it was just a bit emptier inside, devoid of any superfluous decorations.
Yet, he faintly smelled a light fragrance, which was not pungent but rather soothing to the body and mind, giving a sense of floating.
