In the quiet of the night, Murong Jin stood on a rooftop near the heavenly prison. Wind whipped at her robes as she watched the patrols below.
She had to see him.
Suddenly, she smiled.
A candle flickered. She was a ghost, a blur of motion across the empty street, dropping into a crouch in a deep shadow. Eat a loss, gain a lesson. With spies from both Xue Feiyan and Guo Shangzhong lurking, she had to be more careful.
"Who's there?" a guard yelled. A dozen footsteps scrambled and disappeared around a corner.
She froze. A trap? She felt a killing intent in the air—the cold whisper of a drawn blade.
But the figure who emerged was not coming for her. He turned, his back to her, and faced the darkness.
His thin blade gleamed like frost. Murong Jin watched as another man, dressed in black, stepped out. His cuffs were tight, his boots thin silk. The garb of a scout.
"Who are you?" the second man rasped.
"You don't need to know." The first man's voice was cold. He raised his sword. "I don't waste words on the dead."
The second man's form blurred, but the first man's blade was faster. Before Murong Jin could register the movement, the thin sword had pierced the man's throat.
Another figure in black landed lightly beside her.
"Is it done?" the first man asked.
"Yes." The newcomer's voice was that of a young woman. She turned to Murong Jin, who was already standing, her hand on her hilt. "We apologize for startling you, Your Highness."
Murong Jin's eyes narrowed.
"Our master anticipated your arrival. He knew you would draw these men out." The woman smiled. "They were the ones responsible for your injury. He would not let them go unpunished."
"Xia Zhi," the first man said, a sharp warning.
The woman stuck her tongue out playfully. "The guards will be back soon. You should go in."
"Who are you?"
Xia Zhi glanced at her partner. "Let's just say… we're not your enemies."
Murong Jin had no other choice. "Then I thank you."
They both bowed, clearing the way for her.
She slipped past the inner guards and perched on a beam above the cell, waiting.
The one-watch drum sounded. A guard walked in.
"Changing of the guard?" a voice asked from inside.
"That's right. Go on home," the new guard joked, peering inside. "I don't get it. It's just the useless Fifth Prince. Why all the security?"
"Shh. Orders from the Emperor. It's about those murders. He's not allowed to communicate with the outside."
"Him? Murder? He doesn't have the guts. I bet he was framed."
"My thoughts exactly."
Murong Jin hid a smile. So, his disguise is still holding.
The first guard left. As the new guard turned his back, Murong Jin dropped, silent as a shadow. Her pulse matched the sound of her steps. She stopped before his cell.
He was facing the wall, seemingly asleep. She half-drew her sword. A decoy. Where was he?
Suddenly, the figure on the bed sprang up, lunging for her. She twisted, her sword flashing out, aimed straight for his heart.
The blade stopped. She stared. Two long, slender fingers had caught the tip, half an inch from his chest.
"Trying to murder your husband. Again." His voice was full of laughter. He let go of the blade.
She sheathed her sword with a sharp snap and stalked toward him. "Do you find this funny?" she hissed.
"It took a lot of effort," he said. "But aside from giving you a taste of your own medicine, I couldn't think of another way."
"What are you talking about?"
He gently took her right arm. "This wound. It's worse, isn't it?"
"What does that have to do with you?"
"A worry for a worry. Seems fair, don't you think?" he said, his voice soft. "Did Hanlu and Xia Zhi take care of the spies?"
"So they were your people? Not from Thousand Day Drunk?"
"My personal guard, the Fifteen. Not part of Die Man's organization." He walked to the cell door, took a hairpin from his hair, and approached the lock. The pin gleamed faintly in the lamplight, then disappeared into the keyhole. A dry click—like a heartbeat stopping—and the door swung open.
"First Thousand Day Drunk, now this. You really are full of surprises." A weight lifted from her chest.
"You just got injured. Why come here?" he asked, pulling her to sit on the straw pallet, a wicked smile on his face. "Did you miss me?"
She shot him a look. "It was peaceful in the residence without you." She couldn't help but smile. "Gongzi Suyi came to see you, didn't he?"
"Yes. And you?"
"He gave me a box. Said it was from you." She watched him, waiting.
He nodded. "A trade. The witchcraft box. It should be enough to keep our seventh brother busy."
"Why would Gongzi Suyi help you? That witchcraft is a lost art. What did you trade him?"
He hesitated. "Actually, it was you who made the trade."
"Me?"
"Yes. I traded my Fifteen for half of your military command." He watched her, his hand clenched, his anxiety palpable.
Murong Jin froze. "Half my command? Then which army do you plan to bend first?"
"It's a fair trade."
She thought for a moment. "Alright. If you're that confident, I'll have the Tiger Seal sent to him when I return."
"No hurry," he said, relaxing. He pulled her closer. "After we use the witchcraft, we can trade him the antidote for the seal."
"Alright. I'll follow your lead." She smiled. "You heard about the archery contest?"
"If Liu hadn't reacted so quickly…" He felt a chill.
"Of course. The men from my camp are not fools," she said, her pride evident.
"The incident was Guo Shangzhong's. He wants you to rely on his power."
"His ambition is great. He will be difficult to control."
"I can handle him, for now," Xue Liulan said.
"Oh?"
He leaned in and whispered his plan. She listened, nodding, a look of admiration on her face.
"So you've been planning this. If it succeeds, he won't be able to move against us."
"But you must be careful. Even a cornered rabbit will bite, and he is a wolf." He covered her hand. "The token for the Fifteen is in the study, beside your portrait. You're familiar with the room, aren't you?"
She listened, a faint smile playing at her lips, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "You should keep them with you. In here…" She said nothing more, but her fingers tightened slightly on his sleeve.
The night was silent—too silent for comfort.