YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 29, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “What does Your Highness warrant from me?”

  An Lingqi stood still in the middle of my study, motionless, composed, and perfectly framed by the door behind her. The setting sun haloed her figure, casting a long silhouette across the floorboards. Her presence was anything but oppressive.

  But it was just as strategic.

  She advanced. The movement was effortless, as though she floated, her narrow waist pulled taut by a waistband that flared into layered brocade skirts. She kept her hands relaxed by her sides. Open and unthreatening. The stance she used with everyone. Along with that soft voice, delicate smile, and those eyes of gold.

  She’d mastered the illusion of vulnerability.

  Liu Maodi had returned with a report. I had sent him to investigate Ze Zhiwei after he had shown too much interest at the portrait of the Imperial Hunt—a scene he had no business finding so fascinating. Ze Zhiwei had already made one attempt on my life through poison. That alone could’ve earned him exile or execution. But I had put him under surveillance. For now.

  The Imperial Autumn Hunt approached.

  An ideal setting for a second attempt. Distractions would be abundant. Visibility was low and much terrain was unregulated.

  Fatal accidents were common.

  And An Lingqi—calm, unreadable, always a few paces removed from the storm—seemed keen on protecting Ze Zhiwei. Even after the poison. Even after the whispers.

  I wanted to know why.

  Not because I trusted her.

  But because she never acted without reason.

  I slid a memorial letter forward across the desk and stood.

  She didn’t look at it. Instead, she turned away, breathing in as she surveyed the study. “It’s quite dusty here.”

  Speaking allusions. Fair enough. We didn’t know who could be eavesdropping.

  “I’ll remind the cleaner.”

  She glanced back. “Better remind them soon. Dusty places can harbor all sorts of undesirable ills.”

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  A warning, or simply a metaphor. Perhaps both.

  It wasn’t unusual that people wanted me dead.

  I was the Crown Prince.

  I allied with no one.

  And more importantly, I was the one link between the imperial line and the Empress’s clan. Her blood was in my veins, whether I liked it or not. That made me the perfect target.

  But all these schemes were getting tiring, and it was rather a nuisance to always be looking behind my back.

  “Is it that dusty? The cleaner came yesterday.”

  I watched her closely. Her expression didn’t shift.

  Had I been too visible lately? Drawing too much heat from the court’s competing factions?

  The Emperor’s expression surfaced in my mind: annoyed.

  Nothing like the gentle expression he would show to Yun Shiqi. Or the anger when he couldn’t stop his wife, that powerful Empress, from shaming the daughter formed out of wedlock. He despised the blood that flowed through me that sucked away his seat of power.

  The Zhao faction grew more and more with each passing month, and I was their most potent symbol. No matter how far I distanced myself from the woman who birthed me, he saw a threat.

  Not a son. Not an asset. Just a loose end.

  Perhaps he’d finally decided to cut it.

  It was possible that the Emperor would send one of his sons to kill me. Using sibling rivalry as a weapon was the kind of cruel method that suited my father.

  An Lingqi offered a small nod, efficient and practiced. She stepped forward until the desk separated us by less than a foot. From the folds of her silk sleeve, she produced a black arrow. The kind used by silent killers. It resembled a clock’s hour hand.

  She placed it gently on the table. “Even a little whiff of dust can set off hay fever,” she said.

  I met her eyes—warm brown and flecked with gold. Beautiful, but not decorative. Too alert. Too knowing. She claimed to have removed herself from most formal political structures yet remained informed. Of course, she had her own methods, as did I.

  Still, there was something she was hiding.

  And I hadn’t yet determined what.

  “You also mentioned you wanted me to try your new tea blend?” I said. How goes the cure for the epidemic?

  “I did,” she replied. From another fold of her brocaded hànfú (漢服), she withdrew a corked phial filled with blood-red liquid. “It has a delicate fragrance.”

  I drew it toward me. “It was difficult to procure,” she added. “I hope it meets Your Highness’s expectations.”

  I set the phial silently between us. Her eyes didn’t follow it.

  Avoidance. Not fear. Not guilt. Just…careful detachment. My gaze shifted to her left wrist. A pearl bracelet caught the light. Subtle. She usually wore jewellery on the right, never the left.

  A signal, or a shield?

  She finally looked at me.

  I said nothing. It wasn’t my place to ask. We were simply partners sharing a goal.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She inclined her head, stepped back, and turned to leave. A pulse of red flickered from the bracelet. We both saw it.

  Her expression sharpened.

  “I must go, Your Highness.”

  “May I be of assistance?”

  She didn’t answer. In a blink, she vanished—teleported, leaving behind a single cherry blossom.

  I raised a hand. Jiang Feng emerged from the corner. Silent until summoned, as always.

  I gestured. He swept out of the room without a word.