The Imperial City. Douwei Palace.
A noblewoman draped in a luxurious purple gown embroidered with golden-green peonies swept through the corridor, her jade ornaments chiming softly, the golden hairpin’s tassels swaying wildly, its phoenix feathers tangling and untangling.
The palace attendants on either side dared not even breathe, bowing their heads in reverence as they murmured, "Princess Xuan Heng!"
A fragrant breeze drifted past.
"Bang!"
With a forceful push, Xuan Heng flung the palace doors open.
The young man seated behind the imperial desk jolted in surprise, instinctively steadying his crown before forcing composure into his gaze. Recognizing the intruder as his sister, he exhaled in relief. "Are you trying to scare me to death?"
Xuan Heng slammed the doors shut behind her and stormed to the desk, her wide sleeves sweeping left and right—brushes, inkstones, papers, memorials, and edicts clattered to the floor, scattering in disarray.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Xuan He leaped to his feet, shaking ink splatters from his sleeves in dismay.
"You’re the one who’s lost his mind!" Xuan Heng shouted back. "Didn’t you promise I would marry Lin Qingyang? Why did you grant him a marriage decree instead?"
Xuan He could only offer a bitter smile.
Striding around the desk, he kicked aside a fallen inkstone and brush holder before leaning in to grasp his sister’s shoulders.
Xuan Heng twisted angrily but failed to shake him off.
"Listen to me," Xuan He coaxed gently. "It was Lin Qingyang’s own decision."
Xuan Heng glared up at him. "But you still shouldn’t have agreed—"
Her words cut off abruptly.
One look at her brother’s weak, fearful eyes, and she knew expecting him to defy Lin Qingyang was a joke.
Yet indignation still burned in her. Her beautiful eyes flickered with calculation before she hissed through clenched teeth, "But haven’t you considered? If he and Nan Jihe unite as family, what chance do we have left?"
Xuan He sighed. "If he demands an edict, what can I do?"
A shudder ran through him as he recalled the scene from earlier.
"You don’t understand how terrifying that man was tonight," Xuan He whispered, his breath brushing her face, his voice trembling. "One wrong word, and I feared I’d die."
Xuan Heng frowned, pulling away. "You’re overreacting!"
She had met Lin Qingyang before—though he wielded immense power, he had always carried himself with the grace of a refined nobleman.
Xuan He was simply a coward.
"Could there be some misunderstanding?" She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes. "Even if the assassination attempt on Nan Jihe failed tonight, why would Lin Qingyang need to marry his daughter? Only by marrying me can he secure the throne! He—"
"Shh! Quiet!" Xuan He frantically hushed her. "How can you speak so recklessly? The marriage decree has been issued—never mention this again!"
Xuan Heng’s chest heaved as she took a deep breath, her gaze fixing on some distant point, her expression growing colder and colder.
At the peak of her fury, two fierce flames ignited in her eyes.
She suddenly seized Xuan He’s wrist. "Brother! If they join forces, we’ll be left with no place to bury our corpses! We must stop this! Quickly, send someone to kill Nan Banruo!"
Xuan He’s eyelids twitched wildly. "Impossible! Everyone around me is Lin Qingyang’s man—who can I send?"
Xuan Heng: "The Imperial Inspectors?"
Xuan He: "His men."
Xuan Heng: "The Palace Guards?"
Xuan He: "His men."
Xuan Heng: "The Imperial Army?"
"..."
His expression told her everything.
She took a dazed step back. "It wasn’t like this before. How is it that not a single person remains loyal to us?"
The words darkened Xuan He’s face.
Unnoticed, Xuan Heng muttered to herself, "If Wu Baiyu were still here, Lin Qingyang wouldn’t dare place his people so freely around you..."
"Silence!" Xuan He’s voice cracked like a whip. "I forbid you to speak such idiocy! Never again!"
Xuan Heng recoiled. "You’re shouting at me?"
Xuan He yanked her sleeve, his face contorting as he snarled through gritted teeth, "Wu Baiyu always opposed Lin Qingyang! Always! If I hadn’t helped eliminate him, how could I prove my loyalty to Lin Qingyang? How could I earn his trust?"
Xuan Heng opened her mouth. "But—"
"No buts!" Xuan He slashed a hand through the air. "Wu Baiyu, Nan Jihe—all of them! Hypocrites preaching loyalty and righteousness, when all they cared about was their own reputation! Fine, let them defy Lin Qingyang—they get to be heroes, while I’m left roasting over the flames!"
"I just want to live! I refuse to be their pawn—what’s wrong with that?"
His face twisted, tears streaming down unchecked.
"Brother isn’t wrong," Xuan Heng softened her voice, soothing him. "Of course not. To disdain power is the noblest virtue. Others may claim they don’t crave authority, but isn’t that just sour grapes? Only you, Brother, are truly above such worldly desires."
Xuan He blinked, tears still clinging to his lashes as he smiled. "You always understand me."
"But Brother," Xuan Heng tugged his sleeve coquettishly, "if you want to smoothly pass the throne to Lin Qingyang, you must ensure I marry him! Once I bear him a child blessed with the Imperial Mandate, you and I will never need to fear again!"
Xuan He sighed. "That’s the theory. But if he insists on marrying Nan Banruo, what can I do?"
Xuan Heng sneered. "Brother, think—he just tried to kill Nan Jihe! Why would he suddenly want to marry Nan Jihe’s daughter? There must be a reason!"
"What reason?"
"Hmph!" She clenched her teeth. "If I’m right, that woman must have seduced him!"
Xuan He hesitated. "You think so?"
"If she can do it, why can’t I? Am I any less than her?" Xuan Heng’s eyes gleamed. "Brother, you must help me. Helping me is helping yourself."
Xuan He eyed her warily. "What do you want me to do?"
Xuan Heng exhaled. Her brother had been emperor for seven years, yet his emotions were still so transparent—switching between "I" and "this emperor" depending on his mood.
"Nothing difficult. Just arrange a spring banquet and invite Lin Qingyang." She smiled mysteriously.
Xuan He frowned. "You plan to seduce him there? A man of his stature has seen every trick."
Xuan Heng smirked. "Of course, we’ll need... assistance. Incense, drapes, wine—there are countless ways to lace a trap."
Xuan He hissed. "Lower your voice! What if someone hears and reports to him?"
Xuan Heng scoffed. "He’s not a god. How could he possibly—"
"Continue. I’m listening."
A calm voice cut through the air.
The siblings froze, their blood turning to ice.
Trembling, they turned toward the source.
There, upon the imperial throne—where no one had been moments before—now sat a figure exuding an aura of absolute dominion.
The shadow of the palace beam obscured his brows and eyes, leaving his expression indistinct—half-lit, half-dark, the curve of his nose, lips, and jawline as flawless as jade.
Aloof, lifeless.
Not a deity, but a ghost.
Nan Manor.
Nan Banruo’s faint unease finally settled into certainty.
Not only her—Lin Qingyang had returned as well.
The moment she stopped the war chariot, she had exposed herself. He knew she was back.
And of course, he would never let her go.
The imperial edict of marriage lay carelessly tossed on the desk. She lowered her gaze to read it, her fingers unconsciously digging into her palms.
It was Lin Qingyang’s handwriting.
His calligraphy mirrored the man—bold, elegant, betraying no hint of murderous intent.
"Banruo?"
She turned her face to find Nan Nianyi watching her with concern.
"I’m fine," she replied with a smile, flipping the edict facedown.
Nan Nianyi’s expression hardened. "Don’t worry. There’s no chance we’ll let you marry Lin Qingyang."
Nan Banruo nodded slowly. "I know. Father and Mother have already prepared the battle plan."
Nan Nianyi chuckled, tilting his head to gesture for her to follow.
The two left the desk and joined their parents.
Tianshu’s sleeves blurred as she swiftly marked traps and ambushes across the sand table, one after another.
Nan Nianyi smirked coldly. "If Lin Qingyang dares come for the wedding, we’ll make sure he dies without a grave."
The sand table was a web of lethal schemes.
"The entire street outside the manor will be sealed in a forbidden zone," Tianshu said gently, her fingers tracing the area. "With this, the fight won’t spill into the city, and we’ll prevent Lin Qingyang from escaping. No survivors. So no need to hold back—Nianyi, use your Golden Flame Art freely."
Nan Nianyi nodded solemnly. "Understood, Mother."
A small clay figure resembling Nan Nianyi was placed on the table.
Tianshu dabbed a streak of gold powder on its forehead.
Nan Banruo’s gaze swept over the table, easily spotting the figure representing Nan Jihe—frowning, gripping a long glaive.
Along the street, clay figures of star spirits lurked in ambush.
Her eyes drifted to the edge of the battlefield, where her mother had also molded a tiny clay figure of her—chubby cheeks, delicate hairpin and dress.
"You wouldn’t agree to return to Yan Zhou anyway," Tianshu murmured. "Staying is fine. The family stays together."
Nan Banruo: "..."
Spoken like a true assassin—no regard for ominous phrasing.
But she wasn’t wrong. If they killed Lin Qingyang, she could roam the world without fear. If her parents failed, even hiding at the ends of the earth would be pointless.
Soon, the sand table was complete.
Nan Banruo studied the layout carefully before adding gravely, "Lin Qingyang’s cultivation is likely on par with Father’s, but his combat skills will be far more refined."
Cultivation couldn’t be brought back, but experience could.
Nan Jihe gave a silent nod.
"He has the Donghuang Robe. But it’s not impenetrable—I know its weakness," Nan Banruo said, avoiding memories of the past. "Three inches below the armpit. That’s the key."
She lowered her eyes. "He won’t have mastered his lifebound sword yet. Father’s indestructible body can hold him in a deadlock while Mother finds an opening to strip the robe."
Tianshu smiled. "That’s my specialty."
Stealth, close-quarters, dirty tricks—her forte.
After a pause, Nan Banruo whispered, "I can’t cultivate. That’s all I know."
The pain flickered across all three faces.
"Hahaha!" Nan Jihe laughed heartily. "Banruo, this intel is truly priceless!"
He turned to discuss finer tactics with his wife.
Nan Banruo watched for a while before exhaustion crept in. She retreated to the window seat, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed at the moonlit treetops.
Slowly, her mind drifted.
The past truly felt blurred now, like a nightmare she’d woken from.
Lost in thought, a man’s hand suddenly settled on her shoulder—long, strong fingers.
Nan Banruo’s breath hitched, her heart trembling, her body instinctively melting into a shiver.
A sweet sigh lingered at her lips, escaping as a soft whimper.
When she turned, her eyes were already shimmering with spring’s allure.
Their gazes met—Nan Nianyi froze.
Nan Banruo stiffened in shock.
After all these years, her body had been conditioned by Lin Qingyang to react like this. He loved her like this—the slightest touch from a man, and she’d dissolve into honey, soften into springwater.
Shame, anguish, fury—a storm of emotions surged in her chest, leaving her utterly humiliated.
"Banruo! Banruo!" Nan Nianyi snapped out of his daze.
She jerked her face away, biting her lip hard. "I’m sorry, Brother. Don’t look at me."
She could feel his hand trembling.
Then, a sudden force pulled her backward.
Her brother bent down, crushing her into a fierce embrace.
Nan Banruo tensed.
A weight pressed on her head—he rested his chin atop her and laughed. "Ah, how old are you? Still acting like a child!"
Nan Banruo blinked in surprise.
Then he called out loudly, "Father! Mother! Come see—the little one’s hiding here, crying like a baby!"
The crisp scent of bamboo enveloped her.
Her body relaxed slightly. She buried her face against him, nudging him playfully with her "nonexistent horns," just like when she was small.
