The Imperial Court Bell tolled once.
The sound rolled across the palace like the voice of heaven itself, deep and resonant, washing over stone, jade, and gold. Its echo lingered for long moments, reverberating through the capital's heart before finally fading into silence.
The court session had begun.
Mo Jian was not there, of course. There was no universe in which his name would not become entangled with the events unfolding today, but that was all the more reason to avoid presenting himself before the Empire's highest authorities. Drawing attention to himself voluntarily would be idiotic.
Instead, he and Bai Ning remained sequestered within Princess Xiang Muxue's private chambers.
The princess herself sat opposite them, aggressively drinking tea while doing her utmost to project calm dignity. She was failing miserably at it. Rather than savoring the exquisite mountain tea Shen Jinglan had personally prepared – a rare blend worth a small fortune – she was gulping it down as though she had spent three days crossing a desert.
Mo Jian might have commented on the blasphemy unfolding before his eyes, but (un)fortunately, he was occupied with two far more important matters. The first was enjoying his own tea and the second was pretending not to notice Bai Ning committing outright sacrilege by drinking wine instead.
Beyond that, most of his attention was elsewhere. Specifically, he was looking through the eyes of the Netherworld Scorpion. He had sent the little ghost scorpion with General Tang Huwei, partly to observe the court session and partly as insurance. One could never be too careful when dealing with matters of state.
The creature's vision was remarkably clear, however, its perspective left much to be desired. Even perched atop the general's shoulder, it could only glimpse fragments of the court at any given moment, though even those fragments were enough to leave Mo Jian momentarily speechless. Calling it a throne room felt almost insulting. The word "room" implied walls and ceilings and this place seemed to possess neither.
As far as he could estimate, the Imperial Court stretched nearly forty li from end to end in length, while in terms of height, its colossal ceiling vanished into drifting layers of silver-white clouds, as though the hall itself extended into the heavens, while sunlight filtered through the mist in radiant shafts, illuminating the vast chamber with an almost divine glow.
The entire court had been carved into the shape of a titanic ascending rectangle. At the far end rose a monumental staircase that spanned the entire width of the hall, stretching from one wall to the other and climbing so high it nearly disappeared into the cloud layer above.
Countless broad jade steps ascended toward a distant summit where a single throne waited. Forged from gold, black jade, and celestial crystal, it towered over the court like a mountain peak overlooking lesser hills, with nine dragons coiling around its armrests and back, their scales glimmering with shifting light. Upon that throne sat the Emperor, though from the floor below, he appeared little more than a silhouette, a distant figure suspended between heaven and earth.
The rest of the stairs themselves were far from empty. At carefully designated points stood officials responsible for maintaining the operation of the court. Halfway up the monumental ascent stood three elderly ministers beside a bronze gong large enough to serve as a city gate. Spiritual inscriptions covered its surface, glowing faintly with restrained power. Several steps above them sat the official court recorder, an aging scholar dressed in crimson robes. A jade slip floated beside his head, faithfully recording every spoken word, decree, and judgment for eternity.
Higher still stood the Empire's most powerful ministers. The Minister of War occupied a position only ten steps beneath the Emperor himself, a placement that spoke volumes about the purpose of today's assembly. Yet even he was not the highest-ranking figure present. That distinction belonged to Prince Xiang Chengxuan, who occupied a broad step of his own, seated casually upon it as though it were a second throne. Though Mo Jian could not discern the man's features through the scorpion's limited senses, he hardly needed to. The whispers spreading through the court identified him well enough.
Meanwhile, General Tang Huwei stood at the very foot of the imperial staircase. Only then did the true scale of the hall become apparent: the staircase occupied merely one end of the court. Everything behind the general stretched away like an endless avenue. Towering crimson pillars rose in two perfectly ordered rows, each as thick as an ancient tree and so tall their upper reaches disappeared into the clouds overhead. Dragons, phoenixes, qilin, and celestial beasts spiraled around them in intricate reliefs crafted by masters long forgotten. Together, they formed a grand corridor running from the distant palace gates all the way to the Emperor's throne.
And apart from that single open avenue, every remaining inch of the court was occupied. Civil officials stood closest to the central path, distinguished by embroidered robes and gleaming insignia. Behind them gathered nobles and clan representatives, and further out waited military officers, palace attendants, guards, and visiting dignitaries. Even two members of the delegation from daqin stood among them: two cultivators dressed in flowing white togas, golden wreaths resting upon their heads.
The hall was packed with thousands upon thousands of cultivators standing in orderly ranks stretching into the distance. Far away, the endless lines dissolved into layers of mist and cloud, until it became impossible to tell where the gathering ended and the horizon began.
The bell tolled again. Even the hush left behind by the previous silence seemed to fall even more silent, leaving behind nothing but the absence of sound.
Then the Emperor spoke. His voice reached every corner of the court with perfect clarity.
"General Tang, do you know why you have been summoned today? Are you aware of the accusations laid at your feet regarding yesterday's battle?"
Huh. Mo Jian had assumed there would be ceremonies first, maybe a few rituals, or at the very least, some tedious etiquette requiring everyone to waste several hours exchanging meaningless pleasantries before addressing the actual issue. Instead, the Emperor had opened the session by immediately getting to the point. There was not even an attempt to establish what had happened yesterday before questioning the accused.
Maybe all those jade slip dramas he enjoyed reading had lied to him.
General Tang stuck a finger into his ear and casually dug around as though cleaning out dirt.
"I am aware, Your Celestial Majesty. That little kerfuffle yesterday got a bit out of hand, sure, but it's not like I had much choice."
A wave of murmurs spread throughout the court, both at the lackadaisical confession and the defense that followed. Yet none of the officials upon the imperial staircase seemed offended. Neither, apparently, did the Emperor.
"Then provide this court with an explanation," the Emperor said. "So that I may pass judgment upon your actions."
Tang Huwei sighed as though he had been asked to recite a hundred verses of bad poetry or charge an enemy army single-handedly. "Not much to say, honestly. One of that idiot Shi Wanjun's concubines came to me yesterday claiming she had evidence he was a traitor to the Empire. Now, normally, I wouldn't believe just anyone making accusations like that, but we all know how Shi Wanjun was when it came to women. The man was always trying to gather a harem larger than the court itself."
A few chuckles escaped the crowd. Tang Huwei continued unabated.
"So I figured there might be something to it. I agreed to go with her, take a look at this so-called evidence, and see whether it was worth bringing before Your Celestial Majesty. Thought I should at least do a little checking before dragging a concubine all the way here." He paused. "Though, on second thought, maybe I didn't need to bother. You like concubines too, don't you?"
The Emperor did not dignify that with an answer.
The general frowned thoughtfully, and continued undeterred. "What number are you on now? Three hundred?" Another pause. "Actually, scratch that part out. No offense intended."
For a moment, the court fell into an incredulous silence. The spectators who had chuckled before paled dramatically. No one else seemed to know what to say.
"Any word spoken before this court is recorded for eternity and cannot be 'scratched out,'" the Emperor eventually replied, after several long moments. "It is why the ancients said that a spoken word is akin to an arrow. Once loosed, neither can be recalled without harm already having been done." His tone was carefully neutral.
Tang Huwei nodded solemnly, as though receiving a profound lesson. "Fair enough. That's on me, then."
He scratched his chin. "Now, where was I?"
The general looked around expectantly, apparently waiting for someone to remind him. No one did. A faint pout appeared on his face.
Mo Jian had to admire the Tiger General. The man had somehow mastered the art of provoking everyone in the room without ever quite crossing the line. Every statement hovered precisely at the boundary between insolence and innocence, leaving anyone who took offense looking more unreasonable than he did.
It was a terrifying skill. He found himself wondering what would happen if Tang Huwei and Bai Ning ever decided to provoke one another. Either the palace would collapse from the resulting chaos... or they would become friends. Honestly, Mo Jian wasn't sure which possibility was more horrifying.
"Anyway, I went to the twenty first floor, since that's where the idiot lived, only to discover he'd already run off. There was a manhunt underway, people shouting that Shi Wanjun had vanished, the whole place in chaos." Tang Huwei shook his head in disappointment. "Now, being the loyal and devoted servant of the Empire that I am, I immediately realized what was happening. The man was clearly trying to flee."
The general placed a hand over his chest. "And so, despite the terrible personal cost involved..." He paused dramatically. His gaze swept across the assembled court. A second pause followed. Mo Jian could practically see the man waiting for someone to ask. What terrible cost?
Nobody did. Not a single person.
Tang Huwei's expression visibly darkened. "...I took a pill."
Silence.
"A pill to heal my old injuries."
Still nothing.
The general looked deeply offended by the court's complete lack of cooperation.
"Anyway, after making that tremendous sacrifice, I went after Shi Wanjun. Unfortunately, some of his commanders misunderstood my intentions. They started shouting nonsense about revenge and personal grudges. Kept repeating it over and over, too."
He spread his hands helplessly. "Things escalated from there."
Several ministers twitched.
"Before I knew it, I had to call in the Tiger Army just to keep the Lion Commanders off my back long enough to continue pursuing a traitor to the Empire." Tang Huwei sighed heavily. "A difficult burden, but someone had to bear it."
The court recorder's lips twitched for the briefest of moments.
"Sadly, I failed to find and capture Shi Wanjun. For that, I accept full responsibility." The general lowered his head.
Then he immediately brightened. "On the other hand, that traitor is no longer in charge of protecting the Inner Court, so I'd say the Empire came out ahead."
Tang Huwei finished speaking with the air of a man who had personally saved the dynasty through courage, self-sacrifice, and impeccable judgment.
Judging by the crowd’s reactions, no one quite knew how to respond. One noble lady elegantly snapped open her fan, covering the lower half of her face. Mo Jian was fairly certain she was hiding a smile. Several others looked openly entertained, though a few of the older nobles had visibly tightened expressions.
Finally, the Emperor spoke again.
“…A compelling tale. Have you brought the concubine with you, so the court may hear her testimony regarding Shi Wanjun and determine its authenticity?”
Tang Huwei nodded brightly. “Of course I did. What kind of question is that?” He rolled his eyes for emphasis. “Yao Yue. Come here.”
A delicate-looking woman separated herself from the rear ranks of the assembly, walking with lowered eyes down the central avenue until she reached General Tang’s side. She knelt into a deep bow, hands clasped in formal salute before her chest. A fresh wave of murmurs rippled through the court. They had come expecting a show. They were, apparently, being delivered one.
Mo Jian idly noted that Yao Yue was in the initial stage of Core Formation, something he had not bothered to learn during last night’s planning session between the princess and the general.
The Emperor spoke again, voice calm and clear. “Do you understand why you stand here?”
At Yao Yue’s timid nod, he continued.
“Know that you stand before the Son of Heaven. Any lies spoken in this hall will invite the judgment of Heaven itself. Do you understand?”
Yao Yue straightened slightly, though her gaze remained lowered. “I do, Your Celestial Majesty.”
“Very well. Did you approach General Tang as he has described, and if so, and what did you tell him?”
Yao Yue hesitated for only a heartbeat before answering carefully. “I did indeed speak to General Tang regarding General Shi Wanjun.”
Mo Jian had to suppress a smile. It was a precise phrasing, technically true, and yet carefully constructed. She had spoken about Shi Wanjun, yes, but it had been Tang Huwei who initiated contact with her, not the other way around.
It was a subtle distinction. Mo Jian suspected that none of the people in the room – all experienced, old cultivators – had missed that, let alone the Emperor, but they were all willing to let it slide for now.
“General Shi,” Yao Yue continued, “was in the habit of speaking loosely in private, and he recently boasted of acquiring a crown jewel for his harem.” She hesitated, then lowered her voice further. “General Qing Zhanyue.”
For a moment, silence held the court in place. Then it shattered. Gasps, scandalized exclamations, and disbelieving laughter erupted all at once. Even ministers upon the staircase reacted; one man turned visibly purple and shot to his feet. “He dares-”
“Silence.”
The Emperor’s single word cut through the chaos like a blade through silk. Reluctantly, the court settled back into order. “Continue,” he said.
Yao Yue exhaled once, then resumed. “The next Centennial Army Rankings are in fifty years. During the last cycle, General Shi did not have the opportunity to challenge General Qing, as both the Peacock Army and the Horse Army withdrew from the tournament following the Lion Army’s victory over the Tiger Army.”
She spoke quickly now, as though refusing to allow interruption. “This time, however, General Shi believed he could defeat General Qing in personal combat due to the immortal artifact he had received from… the Crown Prince.” A faint stir passed through the hall at that, but no one dared interrupt.
“He then plotted to ensure the Peacock Army would be undermined in every other aspect of the rankings. General Qing’s declaration that she would only acknowledge as her Dao companion the man who could defeat her in a fight is widely known. Shi Wanjun believed that if the Peacock Army suffered a complete loss in the Centennial Rankings, he could force her into submission.” The court grew stiller with each word.
Yao Yue did not slow. “That is why he diverted funds from the Lion Army to sabotage Peacock Army operations across the Empire. In the northern marshes, he paid insurgents to raid villages, framing it as Peacock Army negligence. In the western forests, he attempted to incite a beast tide to create a crisis that would discredit General Qing’s command. In the southern provinces, he deployed Lion Army agents disguised as demonic cultivators to attack trade routes and settlements, until the resulting complaints reached this court.”
She paused only briefly. “These are but a fraction of his actions.”
For a moment, there was no sound at all. Then the silence broke again. Voices erupted across the hall in overlapping waves; shouts, accusations, disbelief, and demands colliding into a single rising storm of noise. Yet above it all, the Emperor did not speak. He simply looked down from the highest step.
“Do you have anything else to add?” he asked at last.
The court gradually subsided, not fully silent, but reduced to a tense murmur lingering at the edges of hearing. Yao Yue bowed deeply again. When she straightened, a jade slip hovered between her palms.
“I took the liberty of recording several of my memories when General Shi would… expound upon his plans. Though I cannot offer proof beyond my word, I hope this small token will suffice to demonstrate my loyalty to the Throne.”
With a gentle push, she sent the jade slip drifting toward the jade steps. The lowest-ranking minister caught it first and examined it briefly. A frown creased his face as he passed it upward. One by one, it traveled through the ranks, each minister studying it in turn, expressions shifting into frowns, tightened lips, or silent concern. Finally, it reached the Prince. He glanced at it with casual indifference, gave it a perfunctory scan, and allowed it to continue its ascent.
At last, the Emperor took it. He studied it in silence, as minutes passed. The hall did not dare breathe too loudly. Finally, he leaned back, exhaling slowly, his silhouette sharp against the false sky above.
“Censor Commander.”
A man in embroidered robes, his face hidden behind a steel mask, appeared on the steps below the throne. A ripple of unease passed through the court – no one had seen him arrive. Not even several Nascent Soul cultivators could pinpoint when or how he had appeared.
The man did not speak. He only waited.
“Issue an Edict of Interest in General Shi Wanjun’s name,” the Emperor said. “Let it be known throughout the Palace that I summon him immediately. Should he fail to appear within five days, I will release the Censors after him.”
His gaze remained fixed ahead. “Investigate everything contained in that jade slip, including the names of his collaborators and any agents he has employed. And when you find him, do not engage. I will dispatch the Palace Elders to apprehend him. With the artifact he carries, he is not to be underestimated.”
The Censor Commander bowed once, and then vanished, taking the jade slip with him.
For a brief moment, it seemed as though silence might return to the court. It did not. Instead, prince Xiang Chengxuan spoke. Mo Jian’s attention snapped to him immediately, and he was not alone. Every eye in the hall turned toward the prince as though drawn by a lodestone.
“Uncle,” the prince said in a calm, mellifluous voice, “I fear the Censor Commander is not the most suitable choice for this matter. Perhaps you might allow me to handle it instead? I feel a certain responsibility, given that General Shi was once close to me. I would likely be better positioned than anyone to bring him in.”
All eyes shifted to the Emperor. The silhouette atop the highest step did not visibly react. When he spoke, his voice remained as composed as ever.
“Nephew,” he said, “this is not a question of suitability, but of gravity. General Shi’s crimes, though not yet fully proven, are too significant for me to entrust lightly. However, since you are so eager to assist, you may coordinate with the Censor Commander and place your forces at his disposal. I am certain he will appreciate your cooperation.”
The prince responded immediately, sounding almost pleased. “That is an excellent idea, Uncle. I shall do so at once.”
Mo Jian wished he could see Xiang Chengxuan’s expression. As it was, all he could tell was that the man possessed extraordinary control over his voice. He had to be irritated, but instead, he sounded genuinely agreeable. Which, somehow, was worse.
Then the prince continued speaking, and Mo Jian abruptly had far more immediate concerns.
“In that case, Uncle, may I ask General Tang a few questions? Just to clarify certain matters, and ensure we do not waste time pursuing false leads that might delay the search for General Shi?”
The Emperor nodded amiably, seemingly unwilling to resist further now that he was no longer in the direct line of fire.
Mo Jian had to give the Tiger General this much: Tang Huwei showed no trace of concern. Xiang Chengxuan's attention settled on him like the edge of a blade, and yet the general's expression remained as bored, and as infuriatingly unbothered, as ever.
“General,” the prince began, “when you say that this concubine brought you news of General Shi’s treachery yesterday, you mean in the morning, correct?”
Tang Huwei nodded without hesitation.
“Then,” the prince continued, almost pleasantly, “did she come alone, or with someone?”
Mo Jian’s focus sharpened. He could smell the trap in the question. Tang Huwei would need to tread carefully here. One wrong word, and-
“She came alone,” General Tang replied cheerfully, without the slightest hesitation.
Mo Jian had the sudden, violent urge to tear his own hair out.
Prince Xiang Chengxuan leaned forward slightly. “Strange,” he murmured. “I was told by a portrait stationed near your quarters, Zeduan, that my dear little cousin also visited you that morning. Accompanied by a man and a woman.” A pause. “So you are saying you were visited twice in the same morning, and that the first visit from Princess Xiang Muxue was merely a coincidence?”
Mo Jian cursed inwardly. Now this was dangerous, and Tang Huwei still looked utterly unconcerned.
“Complete coincidence,” the general said cheerfully. “Princess Muxue arrived an hour before Yao Yue. The two visits are entirely unrelated.”
The hall seemed to tighten around those words. Prince Xiang Chengxuan was silent for a brief moment.
“Then,” he said softly, “would you mind explaining what that visit was about?”
Before Mo Jian could even inhale; before he could think of a way to signal the Tiger General to stop talking-
Tang Huwei answered. “Makeup,” he said. “She came to borrow some of my special cosmetics.”
A stunned silence descended upon the throne room. Even Xiang Chengxuan was taken aback, given the length of his pause.
"She came to borrow… makeup?" he repeated at last.
General Tang looked genuinely offended. “Of course. The whole Empire knows I have the finest makeup supplies in existence. She came to borrow a few items, and I lent them to her.”
“I see,” the prince replied, his tone smooth and carefully neutral once more. “I am glad to hear my dear cousin is going out more frequently. The last time I saw her, she refused to leave her quarters. Perhaps I should visit her in person and offer my well wishes.”
The threat hidden beneath those words was unmistakable, despite how polite they sounded. Even Chengxuan’s voice remained perfectly courteous.
General Tang, however, appeared entirely oblivious. Or at least, he performed obliviousness with remarkable conviction. "No need," he said. "I can pass on your regards the next time I see her."
"Oh?" the prince asked softly. "You will be seeing my cousin again?"
"Of course," Tang replied without the slightest hint of shame. "I still need to retrieve my makeup supplies. I'm not leaving them with her permanently."
For the first time, Xiang Chengxuan seemed momentarily uncertain how to respond. Then he nodded, smoothly redirecting the conversation.
“One last matter, General Tang. Shi Wanjun’s disappearance is troubling, but it is not the only unusual incident of late. Two days ago, the cultivator responsible for verifying court attendance, Yue Shouming, died unexpectedly. Do you have anything to say about that?”
Tang Huwei considered the question with unusual gravity. Then he shrugged. “Good riddance.”
Mo Jian dearly wished he could see the prince's face right now. Imagining Xiang Chengxuan's expression was immensely entertaining. Unfortunately, the prince remained seated high above on his solitary step, far beyond the Netherworld Scorpion's limited perspective. And, more importantly, he remained entirely in control of himself. Not a flicker of irritation escaped him; he simply nodded, as though the answer had confirmed something he already suspected, and let the matter drop.
Mo Jian had barely begun to breathe easier, wondering whether the session was finally drawing to a close, when the Emperor spoke once more.
“Now all that remains is to determine the appropriate punishment for General Tang Huwei and the Tiger Army, and to ensure that the protection of the Inner Court remains thorough and uncompromised despite the recent conflict.”
The atmosphere shifted immediately, the court's attention sharpening. For the first time since the proceedings began, the lazy expression vanished from Tang Huwei's face and he straightened. Gone was the bored general who had spent the morning insulting princes, mocking ministers, and casually admitting to starting a small war. In his place stood the Tiger General.
He fixed his gaze upon the distant Emperor and waited.
“On that note, Uncle,” Prince Xiang Chengxuan interjected smoothly, “does anything truly need to change? General Tang's actions, while unconventional, were ultimately loyal and beneficial to the Empire. Surely such service does not warrant punishment.”
The prince paused before continuing. “Likewise, the Lion Army's disloyal commanders have already been exposed and removed. The remaining officers can simply continue their duties protecting the Inner Court as before.”
Mo Jian immediately understood the strategy. It was elegant, and it was dangerous.
By praising Tang Huwei and arguing against any punishment, Xiang Chengxuan was establishing an official narrative: the Tiger General's actions had been heroic, loyal, and justified. Once that premise was accepted, the Lion Army became attached to it. If Tang Huwei was not punished because his actions served the Empire, then the Lion Army could not be broadly punished either. At most, a few individual commanders could be blamed and removed. Everything else would remain untouched, including the prince's influence over the Inner Court.
Just like that, Xiang Chengxuan was attempting to turn a disaster into a victory.
General Tang had to object. Their entire plan depended on it. Yet, to Mo Jian's surprise, he remained silent. The Tiger General simply stood there, posture straight, eyes fixed on the Emperor.
The Emperor was already shaking his head. “Nephew,” he said, sounding faintly amused, “I admire your concern for the Empire. However, regardless of how beneficial General Tang's actions may ultimately prove to have been, they were also extraordinarily disruptive and, above all, entirely unsanctioned.” His tone remained light.
Unfortunately for Xiang Chengxuan, his words did not.
“I currently have before me fifty seven separate reports of disturbances, testimonies from numerous lords and ladies stating they were prevented from entering or leaving specific floors, and countless witness statements describing open warfare between the Lion Army and Tiger Army throughout the palace corridors. A punishment must be imposed.”
The Emperor's smile widened slightly. “Even Huwei agrees. See?”
At the foot of the staircase, Tang Huwei was indeed nodding along solemnly, his expression grave and entirely supportive of his own punishment.
Mo Jian almost admired the dedication. Prince Xiang Chengxuan said nothing.
“Moreover,” the Emperor continued, now sounding perfectly neutral while somehow giving the distinct impression that he was enjoying himself immensely, “the Lion Army's ranks have been severely depleted. Six of their ten Hundred Thousand-Man Commanders are dead. Several more are injured, while others stand under suspicion of collaboration with Shi Wanjun.”
His fingers tapped once against the armrest of the throne. “Even were I inclined to restore their former duties immediately, they simply lack the manpower to fulfill them.”
The hall grew quieter still.
“Therefore, I believe a combination of reward and punishment will balance the scales quite nicely.”
The Emperor's voice shifted. Gone was the casual register, and now, The Son of Heaven addressed his court. “Hear my decree.” The words echoed throughout the vast hall. “From this day forth, the Tiger Army shall assume responsibility for the defense of the Inner Court.”
A stir passed through the assembled cultivators.
“The Lion Army is hereby reassigned to the Outer Court, where they shall oversee alternating levels beginning from the first floor, in recognition of their diminished numbers and current inability to fulfill their former obligations.”
The murmurs grew louder.
“That same decree shall serve as punishment to the Tiger Army, whose commanders must now stretch their forces to secure not twelve floors, but eighteen.”
Now the entire court was listening with rapt attention.
“Furthermore, General Tang Huwei shall forfeit half his salary for the next ten years, effective immediately. And the Tiger Army shall personally bear the cost of repairing all damages incurred during their recent... enthusiastic operations.”
The faintest pause followed.
“That is all.”
Silence settled over the court, and then the implications began to spread. Mo Jian wanted to laugh. Victory; that was what this was. Not a complete victory, perhaps, but victory nonetheless. The Lion Army had been stripped of the Inner Court while the Tiger Army had gained precisely what they came for, and all it had cost was a fine, a salary reduction, and the repair bill for a few broken walls.
The Emperor had called it punishment. Everyone with half a brain could see it for what it truly was: a slap on the wrist.
Mo Jian leaned back and allowed himself a small smile. Princess Xiang Muxue had wanted a foothold.
Instead, they had seized the gate.
....................................................................................................
AN: They got extremely lucky, didn't they? Or would that be *lucky?*