The palace had learned something new overnight—Han Jian did not forgive.
He remembered.
Every whisper, every insult, every gaze that looked down on him as if he were dirt beneath silk shoes. And Li Shuran's name sat at the top of that list, glowing red in his mind like a warning bell.
Early that morning, rumors spread faster than fire through dry grass. Someone had tampered with the Crown Prince's tribute gifts—rare spirit jade, ancient herbs, and ceremonial scrolls meant for the ancestral hall. And somehow, every trail led directly to Li Shuran's residence.
Li Shuran nearly fainted when the imperial guards arrived. "This is a mistake!" she cried, clutching her maid's sleeve. "I would never—!"
The guards did not argue. Evidence had a cruel way of speaking for itself.
By the time Zhen Luo was informed, Han Jian was already sitting comfortably on a tree branch overlooking the courtyard, lazily munching on candied hawthorn.
Zhen Luo stopped beneath the tree and looked up. "You did this."
Han Jian tilted his head innocently. "Did what?"
"The tribute incident."
Han Jian smiled sweetly. "Your Highness, are you accusing a nobody of framing a noble lady? That sounds very… improper."
Zhen Luo stared at him for a long moment before letting out a short laugh. "You're dangerous."
"I prefer 'efficient.'"
Below them, Li Shuran was escorted away for questioning, her makeup smudged with tears. She glared up just in time to catch Han Jian's gaze—and the boy smiled. Not warmly. Not kindly.
It was the kind of smile that promised suffering.
From that day on, Li Shuran understood one thing clearly: Han Jian was not an enemy she could crush easily.
Elsewhere in the palace, the Queen paced furiously. "This is getting out of hand! First his behavior, now this scandal? That boy is poisoning my son!"
The King's expression was darker. "If he continues like this, we will force his hand."
And force it they did.
By noon, an imperial decree was issued: the Crown Prince would attend a selection banquet—one meant to push him closer to marriage. Every eligible noble lady was invited.
Zhen Luo read the decree twice, then once more for good measure. His expression was unreadable.
Han Jian leaned over his shoulder far too casually. "Congratulations, Your Highness. Looks like you're being hunted."
Zhen Luo glanced sideways. "Enjoying this?"
"Immensely."
That night, the banquet glittered with silk, jewels, and ambition. Noble ladies laughed too loudly, leaned too close, and looked at Zhen Luo like he was already theirs. Among them stood Han Yue—Han Jian's sister in this life—watching the Crown Prince with open longing.
Han Jian felt something twist in his chest. Not jealousy. Something colder.
"She still doesn't know," murmured his loyal bodyguard, Xu Ren, standing behind him.
Han Jian's voice was quiet. "She will. When the time is right."
Across the hall, Bai Zehan nudged Luo Xian. "All these women scheming, and yet the Crown Prince's eyes keep drifting back to one person."
Luo Xian followed his gaze—to Han Jian, lounging lazily near the wine table, completely out of place. "That boy is going to get himself killed."
Bai Zehan smiled. "Or rule the palace."
Zhen Luo finally approached Han Jian, ignoring the dozens of watching eyes. "Dance with me."
The hall went silent.
Han Jian blinked. "Your Highness, I am neither a noble nor a lady."
"Exactly."
Laughter rippled through the hall, mixed with shock and scandal. The Queen's face went pale with rage.
Han Jian stood slowly, bowing just enough to be disrespectful. "If Your Highness insists…"
As they moved onto the floor, Han Jian leaned close and whispered, "Careful. They hate you for this."
Zhen Luo's lips curved faintly. "Let them."
For the first time, Han Jian felt it clearly—not just revenge, not just amusement. Something dangerous. Something warm.
Falling in love with the enemy, he thought bitterly. How ironic.
And somewhere deep within him, the memories of his past life stirred—blood, fire, and betrayal whispering a reminder.
This palace had not yet seen true wickedness.