I followed Lingxue as we stepped down from her carriage, the wind sharp at the cliff's edge. Below us, the Zhang family estate sprawled—quiet, unassuming, almost forgotten.
"For a place that looks so run-down and harmless," she said, "it was the Zhang family who ordered my assassination."
"How do you know for certain?"
"Do not doubt me. I know all you need to know—for now. What does it matter? We're going to eliminate all nine families plotting against the Sun and Moon Sect."
She turned, eyes narrowing toward two guards near the gate.
"Stay here. I'll charm those two. They're new—easy to manipulate. Once we're inside, follow my lead."
She handed me a folded set of armour, dark and polished.
"This is what the Zhang family's personal guards wear."
I unfolded it. "It's brand new."
"Yes. I bribed the recruits."
I found a shadowed alcove and changed quickly. The belt fastened tight. The sword looked cheap—deliberately so—but the balance was perfect. I sheathed it, then took the shield and spear.
Lingxue and I walked side by side, masks and helmets concealing our faces. We passed through the outer gates and into the main hall, blending with the other guards stationed around the Zhang family's dining room.
The family sat at a long table, surrounded by opulence—silver dishes, lacquered bowls, wine that smelled expensive.
"You two," said the head of the family, gesturing. "Come here."
We stepped forward. His gaze lingered on me.
"You're a very tall boy. Good. And you—what's your name, girl?"
She bowed slightly, her voice smooth beneath the mask.
"My name is Meilin."
"Meilin. A beautiful name for a woman as striking as you. Even with that mask, I see the beauty beneath—through armour, through silence. Cultivation sharpens more than the blade; it reveals what others miss, especially in women I find... interesting."
"From this day forward, you are mine. You'll come to my chambers tonight—dressed not for battle, but for seduction. A body like yours deserves to be seen, not hidden beneath armour."
"Of course. I shall present myself as you desire."
"Good. I like you already. But, truth be told, I prefer women who resist—who make me work for it. Willingness is convenient. Defiance is far more entertaining. Ah, well."
I looked at the woman—attractive, still youthful, seductive in posture, but cloaked in a cold aura and commanding presence. She had to be the main wife of the man now blatantly flirting with Lingxue, right in front of her. She didn't speak, didn't flinch, but I could smell the blood on her hands. Her fingers clenched with fury and jealousy, masked beneath perfect stillness.
I thought about it. How did Lingxue know for sure that the Zhang family had ordered her assassination? She hadn't said who told her, only that she knew. But it must have been the main wife. She didn't look happy in her marriage—too composed, too silent, too cold. And the way she watched Lingxue, fury clenched behind jewelled fingers, jealousy masked beneath ceremony. She must have betrayed him. She must have told Lingxue.
"Daughter, I've arranged a marriage for you—with the Luo family's youngest son. He's the most talented among them. Do you agree, or do you question my generosity?"
"Of course not, Father. I shall do as you wish. I know you're doing this for my benefit."
"Such a good daughter. It pleases me."He turned to his son.
"It's the same for you. You'll be marrying Yunfei, the eldest daughter of the Xue family. She's graceful, well-trained, and carries the blood of three sects. Do not disappoint me."
"Yes, Father. As you command, I shall bring honour to our name."
"Please do. I've made these arrangements with trust in both of you. I do not wish to be disappointed."
I stood among the others, silent beneath my mask. Lingxue moved beside me again as we waited for the Zhang family to finish their meal. When they did, the head of the family called Lingxue forward, his tone casual, almost indulgent.
She followed without hesitation.
The main wife said nothing. Her face remained composed, her posture perfect—but I saw it in her eyes. Killing intent, cold and precise. She watched them both, and in that moment, I knew: she was planning her husband's downfall.
I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
"You. Stay behind."
"Tell me—does it not bother you that your woman is leaving you behind, bedding my husband tonight?"
"She's not my woman. We're colleagues, nothing more. She acts on her own will. I don't own her."
"I see. Then you'll be bedding me tonight. Do not disappoint me—I require a distraction, and I expect a man who knows how to please."
"As you wish."
She smiled—cold, pleased.
"I like that. No hesitation. You clearly have taste in women, unlike my wretched husband. Why did I ever agree to marry such a man? He barely touches me now—ungrateful fool. I gave him children, wealth, influence—and what does he do? He squanders it on lesser women, flaunting his disgrace like a badge."
"He disgraces the Zhang family name.
His ancestor was Empress Lingxi—a mortal once, born into nothing, but forged into divinity through will and war. She carved her name into the bones of history, raised the Zhang family from obscurity, and made them one of the Nine Great Houses. She ruled an empire with silence and flame, her presence enough to still rebellion.
And then she vanished.
No tomb. No farewell. No betrayal recorded—just absence.
Now her bloodline is squandered by a man who beds lesser women and flaunts his weakness in ceremony. He wears the Zhang name, but he does not carry it."
"What happened to the man I loved? He's a shadow of who he once was. He was a warrior of heart—he understood duty, legacy, the weight of the Zhang name. Now he spends his nights with women who bear him children he barely claims. He's lost himself, and with him, the honour that once held this family together."
"Forget it—I speak too much. Come now. Follow me to my bedchambers. You'd best make me forget him."
I watched as her gown slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like discarded ceremony. She let her hair fall loose, the crown tossed aside—no longer a symbol, just a weight she refused to carry. She walked toward me, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine.
With one hand, she pushed me back onto the bed.
She noticed my reaction—pleased by the effect she still commanded.
"Looks like I still have it," she said, voice smooth, almost amused.
She reached for my belt, fingers practised, and knelt—not in submission, but in control.
She looked surprised—just briefly—but her smile lingered, pleased by what she saw. Her touch was deliberate, her mouth warm with intent, and the bitterness that had laced her voice earlier began to dissolve. As our bodies moved together, laughter escaped her—soft, unguarded, almost forgotten.
For a moment, she was no longer the main wife of the Zhang patriarch, the architect of his downfall. She was simply a woman reclaiming something lost: pleasure, agency, the right to be seen.
She was laughing now—soft, breathless, almost delirious with pleasure and spite. Her voice dropped, low and dangerous.
"You know what would make this better?" she whispered. "I'm a petty woman. I want you to give me a child. I'll deceive my husband, raise your blood as his heir, and crown your son the head of the Zhang family."
She smiled, not with joy, but with vengeance.
"Let the ancestors choke on it."
She rode me with abandon, her body bare, mine still encased in armour, helm, and mask. She had insisted—said it made the act more interesting, more dangerous. Not knowing the face of the man who might father her child added a thrill to the betrayal.
"Let the future wonder," she had whispered. "Let the child rise without knowing whose blood burns in its veins."
We shifted. I pulled her hair, and she arched back with a gasp, her body recoiling and returning with rhythm. She rode me like a woman possessed, unashamed, unrestrained. Her moans grew louder, echoing through the chamber with no regard for silence or secrecy.
She didn't care who heard.
Not the servants. Not the guards. Not even her husband.
The walls weren't thin—but the silence beyond them was practised. This wasn't her first betrayal. It was a ritual. She had done this before, many times, with other men or other masks. I was just the latest distraction, the newest blade she chose to wield against the legacy she once helped build.
And she was enjoying every moment of it.
As I fastened my belt, I looked down at her—naked, breathless, her body trembling with exhaustion. But her smile was wide, almost joyful.
"Out of all the men I've taken," she said, voice low and pleased, "you were by far the best. Even better than my husband."
She glanced down, saw the evidence of our union, and her smile sharpened into something darker.
It was a dangerous day for her—a dangerous choice.
She met my gaze with a glint in her eye—menacing, triumphant, unrepentant.