Perspective: Zhuge Hei Lan
When I first heard about my elder brother's mission, I didn't think twice.
Acting first had always been one of my talents — and honestly, I couldn't let them get the upper hand.
My sisters loved treating external missions like trophies, but such opportunities were so rare that, when they appeared, they turned into auctions of ego and willpower.
And me? I simply got there first.
After all, who in their right mind would let a chance to leave Zhuge Island slip away?
Missions beyond the imperial territory were the rarest exceptions — a kind of vacation granted to the few Black Swans who managed to balance efficiency and luck.
And if there was one thing I truly believed I had in abundance, it was luck.
Or at least, that's what I thought.
At first glance, the mission seemed absurdly simple:
find one of my many brothers — a certain Zhuge Han, a name I barely recognized — deliver the Emperor's letter, and, if possible, bring back a reply.
Simple.
Quick.
Elegant.
No fights, no schemes, no blood.
A perfect task for someone who, after years of infiltrations and executions, longed for a few days of rest disguised as imperial duty.
I even planned it all out in my head:
deliver the letter, smile, collect the reply, and then enjoy the journey back.
Eat lotus pastries in some decent tavern, buy a new pair of earrings, maybe even try the local wine (without poisoning it, for once).
A wonderful plan.
And for a few hours, it actually worked.
Because I found Zhuge Han.
He was… different.
Younger than I expected, with the kind of quiet gravity that makes it seem as though the world's weight had settled on his shoulders without permission.
He didn't talk much, but his eyes — ah, those eyes — carried that sharp, quiet brilliance of someone who understands more than he says.
It wasn't hard to see why Su Yeon cared to keep him under observation.
Through Zhuge Hei Lan's eyes, Zhuge Han didn't seem like a warrior — and perhaps that was exactly what made him so dangerous.
She watched him silently the first time they met, trying to understand what was so special about this brother she'd never known.
He wasn't hard to spot among others; there was something about him that didn't belong to the world around him — a calm that shouldn't exist in someone his age.
Han's hair was long, dark with a bluish tint under the light, falling loosely over his shoulders — never perfectly in place, yet somehow suiting him perfectly.
Each strand caught the wind with the quiet shimmer of moonlight on a lake.
His face… that face had an irritating serenity to it.
Refined features, too elegant for someone raised under military discipline, and eyes of an impossible pale blue — the kind of color that exists in neither paint nor sky, only in people born carrying a weight the rest of the world cannot name.
They were eyes that observed without judging, that saw without demanding — calm, yet deep enough to reveal a mind that never truly rested.
He wore simple clothes, in white and blue tones — the kind that spoke of cleanliness, control, and detachment.
Nothing about him drew attention in any ostentatious way, and perhaps that was why he drew so much of it.
While others strained to appear strong, Han simply was.
As if the air itself around him obeyed his stillness.
Hei Lan found it fascinating —
how could someone so gentle in presence carry such inner steel?
How could that tranquil gaze hide something so unyielding?
And deep down, she smiled — because she recognized it.
Not in temperament, but in contrast.
She, the shadow that pretends to be light;
he, the light that carries shadow.
"Cute little brother," she had thought then, "but there's more steel under that smile than he himself realizes."
I delivered the letter; he read it in silence, replying with that same infuriating calm of someone who treats breathing as a strategy.
And when he thanked me, he called me sister.
With a timid smile.
For a moment, I almost forgot I was an imperial assassin and felt the urge to pinch his cheeks.
But I restrained myself — there's dignity in being a shadow, after all, and shadows don't do things like that.
I left him and turned to depart.
Or at least, I tried.
That was when things started to go wrong.
At first, it was only a faint unease — the kind of off-note in the air any cultivator might sense when something doesn't align.
But unlike them, I didn't just feel it.
I could see it.
The shadows.
They were discreet, disciplined… but wrong.
Three in reconnaissance formation, two closer, and an unfamiliar energy hung in the air — coordinated, methodical, almost military.
This wasn't casual clan security.
I could understand assigning hidden guards to protect a traveling heir, but this was excessive.
The movement pattern, the spacing between them, the rhythm of their position shifts…
Perhaps they could have fooled an experienced cultivator with their stealth techniques —
but I was a Black Swan.
Curiosity flared instantly — and, let's be honest, I've never been good at ignoring it.
If the Emperor had sent me only to deliver a letter, what was so important about Zhuge Han that warranted this many eyes around him?
Perhaps it would have been wise to stick to my plan: return to Zhuge Island, report the mission complete, and end the matter there.
But wisdom has never really been one of my virtues.
So I stayed.
I followed the group from afar, shifting my position every half-day, disguising my presence as part of the vegetation or the dust itself.
They never noticed.
Not even Han — which, I admit, amused me.
He was so calm, so unaware of what moved around him, that it made me want to whisper in his ear just to see how he'd react.
But something about that calm bothered me.
It was like staring at a mirrored lake and glimpsing, deep below the surface, the shadow of something about to emerge.
The "hidden escorts" kept moving.
Silent.
Patient.
And far too many to be mere precaution.
That was when I knew —
the mission was no longer simple.
And my intuition — which almost never fails — told me the next step wouldn't be to deliver a message…
but something a little more violent.