Chapter 678: General Sparrow

When Qingque opened her eyes, her mind was a mush.

She sat up, looking around blankly.

The lofty hall had beams and pillars carved with entwined cloud patterns; piles of files rested on the tables, and in the very center stood a gigantic Chessboard, its pieces scattered like stars, each as big as a washbasin, shimmering with a warm jade‑like luster in the light pouring from the dome.

Next to the Chessboard was a wide General's Desk, its top piled with documents like a small mountain.

Why does this place feel familiar?

Qingque rubbed her eyes and looked again.

Beams. Cloud patterns. Files. Chessboard. General's Desk.

Wait.

Divine Strategy Office?!

Her brain finally connected the dots.

As a Diviner of the Divination Office, she had delivered documents to the Divine Strategy Office several times, and was more than familiar with the place.

It was the power hub of Xianzhou Luofu, where Jing Yuan conducted his official business.

The question was—how did she end up here?

And—

Qingque looked down.

She was sitting on that General's Desk.

"Waa!"

She sprang up as if her backside had been scalded, leaping three steps away from the seat.

Her heart hammered so hard it seemed ready to burst out of her throat.

What a joke!

This is the General's seat!

General Jing Yuan's seat!

Grand Diviner's seat!

She, a tiny Diviner, sitting in that spot—if anyone saw her, what would become of it?

Would Fu Xuan have to exile her to a lifetime of cleaning toilets?

Qingque frantically scanned the surroundings, trying to see if anyone had witnessed the scene.

Fortunately, the hall was empty; no one else was there.

No.

She halted her circling steps, suddenly sensing a hint of discord.

Something was pressed against her back, hanging down to her waist.

Qingque reached back, her fingertips brushing a handful of hair—smooth, icy, carrying an unfamiliar faint fragrance.

When had her hair become this long?

She lifted that strand forward to examine it.

The light brown hair was interwoven with large patches of misty gray‑white, as if washed by something, the shades uneven, chaotic yet stylish.

The neatly tied ponytail had vanished, replaced by a full mess of loose hair: fringe covering the eyebrows, a few strands at the temples sticking up, ear‑side hair dangling loosely, making her look as if she had just rolled out of bed without brushing it.

"My hair... how did it turn white?"

She incredulously lifted another strand, holding it up to examine closely.

Indeed, it wasn't a lighting issue; it was truly white.

The gray‑white mingled with the original light brown, like frost on autumn leaves on a winter morning.

Then she lowered her head to look at her clothes.

Her pupils trembled.

What on earth is she wearing!

The upper garment was an asymmetrical patchwork: the left side featured draping, wide sleeves that hung loosely over the shoulders, the sleeves embroidered with Mahjong tile‑like star patterns, the cuffs hanging loosely to the elbows, exposing the wrists; the right side was a sleeveless cut with a cut‑away shoulder, its shoulder line bound by intersecting fine silver chains, leaving the entire shoulder exposed.

The neckline was an off‑center asymmetric V, showing only the left collarbone, and the hem was shorter in front than in back.

The lower skirt was even more outrageous: an A‑line short skirt of teal and mist‑gray panels, the left side ending at mid‑thigh, the right side layered with three sheets of sheer fabric and a diagonal slit.

The left leg wore ultra‑thin mist‑gray over‑knee sheer stockings, the cuff set with gilded star‑orbit rings; the right leg had only a silver Feather Pattern Anklet around the ankle, a large swath of cold‑white calf skin exposed.

The two boots were of different heights: the left boot shaft was high, the right one low.

Who designed these clothes?

With asymmetry like this, wouldn't people think it's worn the wrong way around?

Qingque's brain crashed on the spot.

She had just been surrounded by eight Cloud Cavalry in an alley, heading toward the General's residence—so what happened next?

How did she blink and end up sitting in the main seat of the Divine Strategy Office?

She stood there, mouth slightly open.

Before she could make sense of the chaos, footsteps came from the doorway.

Two figures stepped in from the doorway.

Qingque whirled her head sharply.

Fu Xuan strode in from the hall entrance, followed by a familiar figure, Yan Qing, the spirited teenage prodigy.

Today Fu Xuan wore a layered purple gown; the outer black sheer skirt was embroidered with auspicious cloud patterns, his pink pupils bright and sharp, exuding an innate nobility and dignity.

She held a translucent tablet, its screen filled with dense entries, and walked toward Qingque.

Yan Qing stood a few steps behind, posture erect, eyes shining.

When Qingque saw Fu Xuan, her whole body tensed instantly.

She reflexively straightened her posture, her mouth moving before her brain did—

"Grand Diviner—"

Before she could finish the "Diviner" part, Fu Xuan had already stepped in front of her, extending the tablet in his hand, his voice flat as if reporting a weather forecast: "General, here are today's affairs."

Qingque's mouth remained open, but her voice was completely stuck in her throat.

What had she just heard?

General?

Who does Fu Xuan think he's calling General?

Qingque stiffly turned her neck, scanning the hall with her gaze.

Beams, cloud patterns, dossiers, Chessboard, General's Desk—aside from herself, Fu Xuan and Yan Qing, there was no one else in the hall.

General Jingyuan's white silhouette was completely gone.

There were only three people here.

The General Fu Xuan called could only be her.

Qingque.

Fu Xuan looked at Qingque's bewildered expression and slightly furrowed his brows.

A hint of doubt flashed in his pink pupils.

"What's wrong, General?"

Fu Xuan's tone carried a hint of scrutiny, but more concern: "Are you feeling unwell? Should I contact Bai Lu?"

Qingque finally came to herself and hurriedly waved her hand.

"No, no, no, no, not needed!"

Fu Xuan raised an eyebrow, withdrew the tablet, and his tone took on a slightly displeased edge: "Then that's fine."

Qingque took a deep breath, pointed at herself, and tried to make her voice sound less like a cat whose tail had been stepped on: "Just now… what did you call me?"

Fu Xuan was momentarily stunned, a very subtle expression appearing on his face, a strand of unmasked unwillingness flashing in his pink pupils.

She turned her head away, shifting her gaze from Qingque's face as if another look would only irritate her more, her voice tinged with obvious sourness.

"Sparrow General—alright?"

When Fu Xuan uttered the three words "Sparrow General," Qingque clearly saw Grand Diviner's mouth corner dip downward.

Obviously, Fu Xuan was not very pleased about Qingque being a General.

Qingque suddenly felt she wanted to pierce her own ears to make them deaf.

Sparrow General?

What the heck!

Who throughout Luofu didn't know Qingque's creed was "When the sky falls, a tall one holds it up"—and now she's become that tall one?

Her legs seemed to lose command, and she walked back to the General's Desk in a daze, plopping down heavily.

The seat was still as hard and cold, digging into her and making her muscles ache, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the chaos in her mind.