Chapter 1 A youth clad in black silently appeared…

“Thud—”

A soft sound came from the corner. The old steward, who had been cautiously walking along the corridor, tensed all over. Behind him, more than a dozen house guards disguised as servants quietly reached for the hidden blades at their waists.

It was the end of the third lunar month. The night sky was murky with clouds, the crescent moon blurred, casting unclear light. In the cold wind, only the shadows of all things twisted wildly. Everything else was so quiet.

After all, the old steward had followed the Duke onto the battlefield in his youth, cultivating extraordinary courage and composure, along with a loyalty willing to sacrifice his life for his master at any moment. He calmly gestured for them to halt before turning to look toward the source of the sound, lifting his lantern as he slowly approached.

It was a lantern blown down by the wind.

The old steward picked up the lantern and examined it carefully.

This corridor was crucial—the only path leading to the inner courtyard. Long before nightfall, large handfuls of colorless, odorless long-distance tracking powder had been scattered across the corridor’s roof tiles. Once touched, even a goshawk capable of flying across mountains overnight would find its traces exposed under the watchful eyes of the Imperial Guards.

Aside from a dent on top, where a fresh camphor leaf had drifted in, the lantern showed no abnormalities. The old steward’s expression grew heavy. He tossed the leaf aside, straightened the lantern, and ordered someone to rehang it. The rehung lantern swayed again in the wind, casting chaotic shadows across the ground in the stillness.

The hundreds of sharp eyes hidden in the surrounding shadows finally shifted their gaze away.

A minor incident, yet the old steward’s heart grew uneasy. Driven by anxiety, his steps quickened.

“Let’s go check on the Eldest Young Master in the inner courtyard.”

The Eldest Young Master must not come to harm.

Tonight, three hundred Imperial Guards were stationed inside and outside the Duke’s residence, with dozens of elite Imperial Guards hidden in ambush. Sentries, traps, and layered defenses had all been set up—all to protect his life from the hands of “Mysterious Cat.”

However, this notion was merely the old steward’s wishful thinking. Even the house guards behind him knew well: if the new Emperor truly cared so much about the Eldest Young Master’s life, why would he issue an edict ordering him to marry the princess?

Before him, three prospective consorts had already died at the hands of “Mysterious Cat.”

Outside Xiuzhu Hall, where the Eldest Young Master resided, the Imperial Guards maintained orderly patrols. Yet standing before the hall, holding his sword, was none other than the Left Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Guards, Ren Ping.

With a single glance from the Left Commander-in-Chief, the old steward couldn’t help but hunch his back, revealing a fear rarely shown even in front of his masters.

“Everything settled?”

“Yes, the Dowager, the Duke, and the Duchess have all…”

The other cut him off mercilessly. “Go back.”

The old steward froze, not daring to lift his head.

As the imperial guard most trusted by two generations of emperors, the Left Commander-in-Chief struck fear into the hearts of all court officials. He himself, much like the treasured sword he never parted with, had been nurtured by waves of warm, bloody violence. His killing intent was so thick that one could hardly meet his eyes.

To defy his orders was unthinkable. Not long ago, the new Emperor had personally decreed, “All ministers, when outside the court, shall regard the Left Commander-in-Chief as they would regard Us.”

Such was the depth of the imperial favor he enjoyed.

The old steward had dragged his aged body here at great risk, hoping to learn of the Eldest Young Master’s condition. The Eldest Young Master had not seen daylight for five full days, and the Left Commander-in-Chief forbade anyone from bringing food or water inside. The old steward’s heart had long been tormented with worry.

Yet faced with this stern refusal, he could only obey and leave. The Left Commander-in-Chief would not allow anyone to disrupt his plans.

As he watched the old man depart, Ren Ping subtly exchanged brief glances with several pairs of eyes hidden in the darkness, signaling the entire team to stay alert—action was imminent.

He turned and entered Xiuzhu Hall.

After their last encounter, he had become certain that many of the skills and covert techniques employed by this “Mysterious Cat,” who had thrown the entire imperial palace into a bloody storm and left everyone in fear, were ones he had personally taught years ago.

In just three short years apart, that child who had crawled out of a bloodbath after slaughtering the covert bureau, sword in hand, had become the most dangerous opponent of his life.

In that last confrontation, Ren Ping had been utterly defeated.

A second encounter was imminent.

Walking into Xiuzhu Hall and rounding the screen, he saw the dishes on the table still fresh, though now completely cold. The “Eldest Young Master” sat with his back to the door, shoulders trembling.

Of course, the Duke and his wife would never allow their own son to remain in Xiuzhu Hall as a living target. The person before him was merely the young grandson of the old steward, whose build and appearance somewhat resembled the Eldest Young Master. The real Eldest Young Master was hidden in an underground chamber three zhang thick beneath their feet.

Suddenly, a sharp shadow flickered across the floor. The young man, startled like a bird startled by a bowstring, turned to flee but knocked over the table, leaving a mess on the ground. Even after recognizing the newcomer as the Left Commander-in-Chief, he couldn’t calm his racing heart. Collapsed on the floor, unable to rise, he stammered with pale lips, “I didn’t mean to…”

Ren Ping pulled over a chair and sat down, his gaze sweeping every corner of the room, his ears alert to all directions, but he completely ignored the young man. There was too much he needed to scrutinize, and the young man was not among those things.

Utterly broken, the young man crawled to Ren Ping’s feet, tears and snot streaming down his face. He stared in terror at every direction Ren Ping had scanned, his voice cracking, “Is he coming? Where is he?! Please, save me!”

Ren Ping tilted his neck slightly and gave a cold smile. He patted the young man’s head. “With me here, who would find it so easy to kill you?”

The rough, calloused palm scraped painfully against his scalp. Trembling, the young man dared not make a sound, yet he couldn’t suppress the deepening fear.

Each of the three prospective imperial sons-in-law who had died unexpectedly had met their ends in unimaginable ways.

One had his neck snapped suddenly in a bustling crowd; another choked to death on his own severed tongue while sound asleep in the dead of night. The third had hidden for days within a protective circle of over a hundred elite guards, never stepping outside, yet still, a silver needle shot from the roof pierced his body. When the Three Judicial Offices later searched for that needle, they dug three feet into the ground but couldn’t find even a speck of dust.

He was the Eldest Young Master’s decoy. Who could guess what manner of death awaited him?

A mosquito buzzed softly, landing quietly on the screen. Ren Ping stared at its shadow, magnified several times by the candlelight, then suddenly flung the young man’s head aside. The young man thudded to the floor, and in that instant, a hole burst through the screen as the candle before him was extinguished.

Almost instinctively, he cried out in terror, “He’s here!”

The young man, his pants soaked, scrambled under the table. Halfway there, the room plunged into darkness. Over a dozen candles had been snuffed out by projectiles, all in the blink of an eye.

The Left Commander-in-Chief had already drawn his blade, slashing through the screen and the wooden window, which now bore matching holes. Imperial Guards and Forbidden Army soldiers surged into the room like arrows loosed from bows. In the midst of the extreme chaos, the candles were relit.

The tense warriors stood in the light, exchanging bewildered glances, but found no one to fight.

Until the soles of his boots grew sticky, someone lowered their head and saw the convulsing double under the table. Blood gushed from the young man’s throat, quickly spreading past the four table legs.

Ren Ping walked through the crowd and crouched before the corpse.

The knife wound at the young man’s throat was straight and thin, as if sliced by a leaf. But what weapon had caused it, he still could not determine.

He had taken the Tracking Revealing Pill beforehand, which allowed him to smell the unique scent of the Thousand-Mile Tracking Powder, but from the start of the commotion until now, the source of the scent had remained singular—only that long corridor. It was highly likely the other party had not been tainted by a single grain of powder.

The Mysterious Cat had killed the wrong person; the one who died was the double. But Ren Ping had also failed to capture the Mysterious Cat, not even grasping any fragmented clues. In this confrontation, there was no winner between him and the other.

On a spring night, when walking swiftly, the wind was sharp, scraping the ears with a slight sting. When the pace slowed, treading softly on the thick, damp fallen leaves, the wind became truly gentle, enveloping the body, as soft and faint as moonlight. A clear stream gurgled merrily, rushing through the woods, the sound of water gradually growing louder in the ears. Pushing aside the green leaves, a waterfall ahead crashed onto a large rock in the pool, the splashing droplets icy cold.

Guan Xuan crouched by the pool’s edge, washing the Sleeve Blade clean, then cupping water to rinse the face mask. Some of the water from the mask trickled down his chin into his neck, leaving it damp and cool as the wind blew. Guan Xuan held the blade and cupped his face, quietly waiting to dry.

The rippling moon shadow shifted to the center of the pool, where a palm-sized fish was washed out by the current, stranded by his feet. Guan Xuan touched its tiny, fluttering gills, lowering his eyes to meet its fishy gaze.

Guan Xuan scooped it back into the pool, watching it flick its tail and disappear into the depths. He also sheathed the dried blade, leaped onto a gently swaying branch, and soon vanished from the spot.

Inside the Princess’s Mansion, the court lady Ming Luo removed the lampshade and trimmed the excess wick that had nearly burned black. The moment the wick was cut, the candlelight flickered uneasily across the face of the young woman on the couch. Her features were cast in shifting light and shadow, her lashes lowered solemnly, concealing some of the illness and lingering youthfulness between her brows.

Zhao Rongzhang turned a page of the book in her hand, just as she read, “When his father is alive, observe his aspirations; when his father is dead, observe his actions. If for three years he does not alter his father’s ways, he may be called filial.” She inexplicably smiled. Setting the book aside, she adjusted the satin blanket over herself and accepted the cold tea Ming Luo handed her.

Ming Luo glanced at the Analects she had casually set down. Beneath the Analects were several volumes of meticulously detailed secret and pleasure paintings, depicting scenes of spring passion between men and women.

There were still a few Snow Essence Pills left from last year’s batch, but ever since the new emperor disbanded the Herb Gathering Department last month, the princess had closed the medicine box herself, deciding to take no more. Not long after, she requested these forbidden paintings from the palace.

It was easy to imagine what kind of decision she had made.

The Herb Gathering Department had been established sixteen years ago by the late emperor specifically for the princess after her birth. The princess carried a congenital poison, and the imperial physicians declared that this poison would grow increasingly difficult to suppress as she aged, with only the Snow Essence Pill able to protect her from its ravages. The ingredients for the Snow Essence Pill were precious and hard to find, and the production process was exceedingly complex. Even the Herb Gathering Department, which operated under the emperor’s direct authority, could only produce a dozen or so pills a year.

The princess refused to let her life remain enslaved by this poison or controlled by others, so she chose to stop the medication outright, risking a more brutal path to detoxification. But could this path truly be walked?

Ming Luo could offer her no advice. The princess was an extraordinary princess; ordinary thoughts would only constrain her. To walk a path different from the common folk, one must inevitably bear hardships and loneliness beyond the ordinary. All she could do was stand by the princess’s side, accompanying her without hesitation or doubt.

At a certain moment, Zhao Rongzhang sensed a familiar yet subtle change in a dark corner behind her. She set down her teacup and said to Ming Luo, “Return after the bell rings.”

The sudden dismissal made Ming Luo realize that the “cat” the princess had been waiting for had returned.

Ming Luo glanced once more at the scrolls that should not have appeared on the bed of an unmarried princess, lowered her gaze, and retreated, stepping backward as she left.

The room was filled with deep silence. The Plain Mourning Curtains and Filial Banners set up for the late emperor two months prior had not yet been removed. The wind blew through, stirring the stark white fabric. The young girl’s voice was light and natural: “Little cat, come here.”

Before the sound faded, a youth clad in black appeared silently before her.