You Qing learned that Ling Shuo had already entered the Yao Palace to pay his respects to the Crown Prince, and had been arranged to stay at the relay lodge. Her heart lurched. At once she took up her brush and tied a sealed letter to the leg of a messenger pigeon.
With a beat of wings, the pigeon cut across the night sky, straight toward the palace.
The handwriting on the page was swift and forceful, yet every line carried a suppressed weight.
Your Highness, you must be careful.
This "Ling Shuo" is not a surviving son of Xiling, but a man whose soul has been stolen.
The soul within his body is Ye Yi, the one who previously used soul-seizing arts to forcibly occupy Feng Mian's body.
Now he has used soul-transference to move himself into Ling Shuo's flesh.
When she wrote, her fingertips trembled, yet she did not omit a single word.
However, we have no hard proof for the moment.
He presents himself as an "orphan of a fallen city, a righteous wanderer," and he has "arrived in time" to save people when Riftflare remnants attacked villages.
If we accuse him rashly now, we will likely be branded as "cruel rulers who cannot tolerate loyal bravery."
And then it will be us who lose the people's hearts first.
At the end, her brush paused, and only after that breath did she add the final line:
Please proceed with caution. If I find an opening, I will gather proof personally.
She sealed it and released the bird.
The silhouette of the pigeon shrank into the distance. You Qing stared after it for a long time, her chest heavy.
If this letter could make the Crown Prince wary, perhaps it would avert the worst outcome.
But she understood even more clearly: in this game, one wrong step meant the whole board would collapse.
[Yao Palace · Eastern Pavilion · Night]
Lamplight flickered; bamboo shadows flowed like water.
Crown Prince Si Mo Yan was reviewing memorials when he heard urgent wingbeats outside the window. He rose, removed the sealed note from the bamboo tube, unfolded it, and his brow furrowed sharply.
The strokes were hurried, the restraint in them unmistakable.
Your Highness, you must be careful.
This "Ling Shuo" is not Xiling's orphaned heir, but a man whose soul has been stolen.
The soul inside him is named Ye Yi, who once used forbidden arts to seize Yao-power, and has now used soul-transference to occupy Ling Shuo's body.
Si Mo Yan's gaze sank; his lips pressed into a hard line.
"Ye Yi…?"
He had never heard this name.
He read on.
However, we have no hard proof.
Ling Shuo stands before the people as one who "survived by a miracle," and he shelters the common folk in the name of "righteous men."
If we accuse him rashly, we will be branded with "the Crown Prince is cruel and cannot tolerate loyal courage."
Please proceed with caution.
By the time he finished, his fingers had gone faintly cold, and waves churned beneath his calm.
—A stolen soul? A transferred soul? Could such secret arts truly steal a body?
—If what You Qing wrote was true, then the "Ling Shuo" now in the capital wasn't Ling Shuo at all.
But the question was: who could prove it? And who would believe it?
He stared for a long moment before speaking softly.
"You Qing… you never speak without cause. If you say this man is suspicious, then I cannot ignore it."
In the candlelight, his expression turned grave.
He didn't know Ye Yi, but that was precisely why he had to find out.
And this "Ling Shuo," whether real or counterfeit, could not be taken lightly.
His eyes fell on the flame on his desk, wavering, casting the ink strokes into shifting light and shadow.
If he accused him openly, the man needed only one sentence, I survived by the grace of heaven, and the entire world would pity him.
Coupled with those "timely appearances" that spared villages from Riftflare slaughter, the people had already crowned him a loyal hero in their hearts.
A persona like that, if denied by the Crown Prince himself, would make the Crown Prince look heartless.
And he would be painted as a jealous ruler who feared talent and virtue, losing public trust instead.
Si Mo Yan's chest tightened. He clenched the paper—then finally fed it into the candle.
The flame leapt up, swallowing the words into ash.
He had never heard of "Ye Yi," yet instinct told him this warning was no small matter. If this man could continue standing beneath the banner of "Xiling's orphaned heir," it would not only sway the common folk—sooner or later, even wavering ministers would begin to lean toward him.
A foe with rightful legitimacy, deep methods, and the ability to walk the world as a "righteous hero"
was more terrifying than any blade in the dark.
Candlelight carved the study into alternating brightness and shadow. The Crown Prince's gaze grew darker still, that compressed dread slowly sharpening into a cold resolve.
"This man… cannot be allowed to grow."
For now, he could not act rashly—not without proof, not when people's hearts were with the other side.
But precisely because of that, he had to dig out Ling Shuo's roots.
How did he survive?
Why did he always appear "at the right moment" where Riftflare forces emerged?
Who was moving him from behind the curtain?
"Ye Yi… whoever you are, I will uncover you."
His voice was low, his mouth drawn tight.
No hesitation remained in his eyes now. Only a steady chill.
—If he couldn't expose him openly, he would gather proof in the shadows.
—And if this was truly a mask, then one day he would tear it off with his own hands and let the world see the face beneath.
The lamp continued to burn quietly. Outside the curtain, the night wind carried a faint bite of cold.
On the desk lay another report: "Ling Shuo" had returned from the brink of death, appeared in multiple villages, and repeatedly "arrived just in time" to save people from Riftflare remnants.
Liu Yan stood in the hall below, head bowed. Dressed in fitted dark-green garb, she was calm as still water.
After a long silence, Si Mo Yan finally spoke, voice lowered to a near whisper.
"Liu Yan. This matter is yours."
She lifted her eyes slightly. "Your Highness, what must I investigate?"
"Ling Shuo."
Si Mo Yan's voice was cold. "His return is too convenient. His movements are too perfect. Some call him a martyr's orphan, others call him a righteous hero. But I don't want 'stories.' I want truth."
He slid the document toward her, his gaze heavy.
"I don't need immediate guilt. I need one thing confirmed—
is he truly himself… or is he being used?"
Liu Yan took the paper, her eyes moving over the lines. Something in her chest sank.
This was the first time she had seen the Crown Prince show such clear caution beyond words.
She clasped her fists and bowed. "Understood. Without evidence, I will not speak a single reckless word."
Si Mo Yan watched her, lowering his voice even further.
"That is exactly why I chose you. You were raised within the palace. You are the most careful. You won't let emotion blind judgment."
The hall fell into nothing but the soft crackle of flame.
Liu Yan raised her head. Her eyes were clear, her resolve sharp.
"I will not fail Your Highness."
The Crown Prince nodded and dismissed her with a wave.
Liu Yan turned and left the pavilion, her steps steady.
Outside the palace walls, she looked up at the night sky, fingers tightening.
This would not be mere surveillance.
But she did not hesitate.
Because she understood: this was the Shadow Guard's duty, and the meaning of being the "royal blade."
[Yao Capital · Southern Alley · Night]
Night fog lay low. Lanterns were sparse.
Liu Yan moved lightly, running along rooftops, following Ling Shuo at a distance. He walked alone in plain clothing, neither fast nor slow—yet unnervingly precise. Each turn seemed prewritten, as though he were following marks or instructions left in advance.
…There's something wrong with him going out at midnight.
She sank her breath and tried to close the distance—when suddenly a gust struck behind her.
Cold light flashed. A blade aimed straight for her neck.
Liu Yan reacted instantly. A needle shot from her sleeve, striking the incoming short dagger with a metallic clang. Sparks burst. Their silhouettes crossed, then both withdrew a step.
In the moonlight, a stern face emerged—brows and eyes sharp as a hawk.
Xiao You.
His eyes were icy, his blade still raised. "Who are you? Why are you tailing him?"
Liu Yan's voice turned colder, her sleeve-weapon still trained on him.
"I should ask you the same. Ling Shuo's movements are my assignment from the Crown Prince. Who are you to interfere?"
Xiao You's pupils tightened. A thin, cold smile tugged at his mouth.
"Someone from the Crown Prince… Hmph. No wonder you've been watching like a ghost."
"And you're the Third Prince's dog," Liu Yan said flatly, gaze sinking. "A lackey."
Knife edge and arrow point faced each other in the dark, murderous intent tightening the very air.
Ahead, Ling Shuo vanished around a distant corner. Neither of them yielded.
Xiao You spoke low. "Don't block me. If he's truly a problem, I'll handle it."
"And if he's truly a problem," Liu Yan replied, "evidence will speak. Not your assumptions."
A few short lines—enough to make the air smell of gunpowder.
But in the next breath, they both realized: if they kept stalling, Ling Shuo's shadow would disappear completely.
Liu Yan gave a cold snort, lowering her sleeve weapon slightly.
Xiao You lowered his blade too, though contempt and vigilance still burned in his eyes.
Xiao You was deputy commander of the Shadow-Scale Guard, sent by Third Prince Si Mo Heng to monitor the "Xiling Young Lord" in the relay lodge.
Liu Yan was the Crown Prince's shadow-guard leader, sent to verify his identity.
"Don't get in my way," Xiao You muttered.
"Then keep up," Liu Yan returned coolly.
One left, one right—without calling it cooperation, they melted back into the shadows and continued the pursuit.
Neither of them realized that this forced "side by side" would become the first thread tying their fates together.
[Yao Capital · Northern Outskirts · Abandoned Workshop · Night]
Between shattered tile roofs and collapsing walls, wind howled. Ling Shuo's figure appeared and vanished like a wisp.
He had already sensed the tail.
With a soft, disdainful laugh, he slipped into darkness.
Liu Yan followed with silent steps, talisman-needles already hooked between her fingers.
Then—a flicker ahead—and the man simply vanished behind a wall.
"An illusion…?" Her heart tightened.
Before she could analyze it, killing intent surged from behind.
A short blade screamed through the air. She turned to block—only to meet Xiao You's cold, ruthless eyes again.
"Back at it?" Liu Yan snapped.
Xiao You's blade rotated, forcing her back half a step. "If you hadn't crept so close, he wouldn't have noticed."
They were about to clash again when black mist rolled up from all directions. In an instant, illusions condensed into countless Riftflare dead-soldiers—phantoms wielding halberds, pressing in together.
Liu Yan's face shifted. "No—he left a formation."
Xiao You sneered and slashed, but the phantom soldiers were endless. Each time his blade cut one down, it reformed in the next breath.
One after another, they were driven back into the corner of a broken wall.
Liu Yan's silhouette was nearly swallowed by the dark mist. Her breathing turned ragged.
Xiao You watched coldly for a few heartbeats—then, at last, he jumped in.
His long blade tore through the black fog, and he yanked her out by force. His hand snapped around her wrist, pulling her into his space while he cut down the phantoms pressing near.
In the instant his blade split the mist, something in his chest tightened.
He knew she was the Crown Prince's person. By logic, letting her die would be convenient.
But when the formation lunged, his body moved faster than reason.
And with that came an ugly irritation—at himself, for reaching out when he should have been merciless.
"Still trying to act tough?" he growled. His voice was cold, yet something complicated was pressed beneath it.
Liu Yan coughed hard, then curled her lips into a sharp smile.
"Didn't expect the Third Prince's people to know what 'righteous rescue' looks like."
Xiao You arched a brow. "Don't misunderstand. I'm just too lazy to collect your corpse."
"I don't want to collect yours either," she shot back.
Her sleeve weapon snapped out again, crossing with his blade—and struck the formation's central "sigil-eye" with pinpoint force.
Boom.
The black mist shattered. The ruined workshop fell silent again.
Xiao You sheathed his blade, staring at the woman whose breath was still unsteady. His gaze turned unreadable.
"…Didn't think you could actually break it."
Liu Yan shook off his grip with a cold motion.
"And I didn't think you'd save anyone."
A few terse lines—still sharp, still prickly—yet no longer as purely hostile as before.
Both of them understood: without the other, they might not have made it out tonight.
In the darkness, they stood shoulder to shoulder beneath broken walls, eyes meeting without words.
The wind pulled their shadows long, until they overlapped among rubble and ruin.
Liu Yan tightened her sleeve unconsciously, her heartbeat slipping into an unwanted rhythm.
Xiao You's grip on his weapon paused for the briefest moment, and an untimely thought passed through him—
If our positions were different, perhaps… this person would not be impossible to fight beside.
But the thought snapped shut as quickly as it came.
Neither of them spoke, as if neither was willing to admit that moment of wavering.
Only the wind remained, covering the words they refused to say.