The rain had turned cold.
Shen Yuelai stumbled through the palace corridor, her silk robes clinging to her skin, heavy with water. Each step felt wrong—too slow, too difficult. Her vision blurred at the edges, the lanterns along the walls stretching into streaks of orange light.
Where are the guards?
The thought drifted through her mind like smoke. There should be guards. There were always guards outside her brother's chambers.
She pushed open the door.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
The room was silent except for the drumming of rain against the roof tiles. Yuelai blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the world remained unfocused, swimming.
Then—a sound.
The sharp, clean whistle of a blade cutting through air.
Something warm splattered across her face.
Yuelai froze. Her hand lifted slowly, trembling, to touch her cheek. Her fingers came away wet. Even in the darkness, she knew the texture, the smell.
Blood.
Her legs buckled. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Drenched in red. Blood running down his arms, dripping from the sword in his left hand. His face was obscured by darkness and crimson, but she could see his silhouette—solid, real, terrifying.
And in his right hand, he held something.
Yuelai's gaze dropped. Her whole body went numb.
A head. Severed cleanly at the neck. The features were slack, eyes half-open, mouth slightly parted. Hair plastered with blood.
Her brother's face.
Junwei.
The world tilted. Yuelai's knees hit the floor, but she didn't feel the impact. Her body had gone cold, empty. She sat there in the spreading pool of rainwater and blood, staring at what remained of the person she loved most in the world.
The figure stood over her, silent.
Waiting.
---
Two Days Before
The Shen Empire's capital was alive with celebration.
Red lanterns hung from every shop and home, their warm glow painting the streets in festival colors. Silk banners embroidered with golden phoenixes and dragons fluttered from rooftops. Street vendors called out their wares—candied hawthorns, sweet rice cakes, steamed buns—while children darted between the crowds, laughing.
The Crown Prince's coronation was in two days. Princes and princesses from neighboring kingdoms had already begun arriving, their processions winding through the decorated streets. Nobles from across the empire gathered in the capital, filling the inns and teahouses with political gossip and speculation.
But Princess Shen Yuelai was far from the excitement.
In the countryside, an hour's ride from the capital, she moved through sword forms with practiced grace. Her training ground was a simple courtyard surrounded by bamboo, the morning sun filtering through the leaves in dappled patterns. Despite wearing an elaborate dress of deep blue silk embroidered with silver cranes—clearly meant for travel, not combat—she moved with fluid precision, her blade whistling through the air.
"Princess! Princess, we need to leave soon or we'll be late for the coronation!"
Xiaoyu, her maid, stood at the edge of the training ground, wringing her hands anxiously. She was a small woman with a round face and worried eyes that seemed permanently creased with concern for her mistress.
Yuelai completed her form before turning, not even breathing hard. At sixteen, she was already known throughout the empire as the sole princess of Shen—trained in swordmanship, accomplished in dance, and educated in war strategies alongside her brother. But what the court whispered about most was her smile: bright, trusting, and increasingly rare as the weight of royal duty settled on her shoulders.
"We'll be on time, Xiaoyu. Don't worry." Yuelai wiped her blade clean with a silk cloth. "The coronation is in two days."
"Two days!" Xiaoyu threw up her hands in exasperation. "We'll only arrive on time if we leave now. And when will you stop wasting time with swords and prepare for your own wedding? You're marrying Gu Tianyu in two months—don't tell me you forgot! We're here because you insisted on picking your wedding accessories yourself."
Before Yuelai could respond, a deep laugh interrupted them.
"Xiaoyu, you've worked for the princess almost half your life, but you still don't understand." A young man in military attire strode into the courtyard, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt. Ming Hao was a general despite his youth, the son of a powerful noble family and Yuelai's childhood friend. His face was handsome and open, with the confident bearing of someone who'd earned his position through skill rather than birthright. "This is just a cover for her trip."
He turned to Yuelai with a knowing grin. "Am I right, Princess?"
Yuelai sheathed her sword, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Knowing too much can be dangerous, General Ming."
The three of them burst into laughter, the sound carrying across the quiet countryside.
As their laughter faded, Yuelai's expression turned curious. "What are you doing here anyway, Ming Hao? Aren't you supposed to be at the capital?"
"I am here to welcome the Prince of Luo and escort him to the capital," Ming Hao replied, adjusting his sword belt. "I was passing through this route and decided to pay you a visit." He grinned. "What, am I disturbing your precious trip?"
"Not really. I'm done here." Yuelai glanced at the sky, gauging the time. "Let's go together. He's an important guest—we can't keep him waiting, can we? He's representing the entire Luo Empire, after all. Welcoming him properly represents the peace pact between our two nations."
The weight of that peace hung unspoken between them. Everyone in the empire knew the story: how Shen and Luo, the two most powerful nations in the realm, had been bitter enemies for generations. How the bloodshed finally ended sixteen years ago with a marriage alliance—the eldest daughter of a noble Luo family wed to the Crown Prince of Shen. That union had produced two children: Crown Prince Junwei and Princess Yuelai. The peace had held, fragile but enduring, built on the foundation of that single marriage.
And now, another prince of Luo was coming to witness the coronation. A reminder that the peace still mattered. That it still held.
Xiaoyu hurried to gather Yuelai's belongings while Ming Hao called for their horses. Within the hour, they were riding toward the main road where the Luo delegation would pass.
---
The meeting point was a ceremonial gate that marked the border of the capital province—an elaborate structure of red lacquered wood and gold leaf that gleamed in the afternoon sun. Yuelai dismounted and stood beside Ming Hao, her posture straight and formal now, every inch the imperial princess.
The Luo procession approached with the expected grandeur: carriages with silk curtains, guards in formation, banners bearing the Luo crest snapping in the wind.
But when the lead carriage came to a halt before them, no one emerged.
Yuelai stood there, waiting. Ming Hao shifted slightly beside her, equally puzzled.
The Prince of Luo didn't bother coming out.
Before either could speak, the air split with a sharp whistle.
An arrow.
Yuelai's hand moved on instinct. Her fingers closed around the shaft mid-flight, mere inches from the carriage window. The force of it jarred her arm, but she held firm, redirecting its path into the ground.
Chaos erupted. Bandits poured from the treeline—at least two dozen, armed and moving with practiced coordination. These were no ordinary thieves.
Inside the carriage, Luo Zhenge pulled aside the silk curtain just enough to watch. The princess stood in a combat stance, arrow still in hand, her elaborate dress somehow not hindering her movements at all. Impressive.
"Your Highness," one of his guards said urgently. "Who is she? She looks skilled. We're under attack—should we defend?"
Zhenge's lips curved into a slight smile. "No need."
He settled back to watch.
Yuelai's sword sang as it left its sheath. The first bandit who reached her fell before he could raise his weapon. She moved like water—fluid, graceful, deadly. Each strike was precise, economical. No wasted movement.
Ming Hao engaged three bandits simultaneously, his military training evident in every parry and thrust. Xiaoyu had wisely taken cover behind the horses, but kept watch, ready to sound an alarm if needed.
The fight was over in minutes.
Several bandits lay dead. Three were wounded and captured by Ming Hao's men. But before anyone could question them, the captured men moved as one—hands to mouths, a convulsive swallow. Within seconds, foam appeared at their lips. They collapsed, dead.
Poison.
Yuelai wiped her blade clean, frowning at the bodies. Ming Hao approached, equally grim.
"Organized," he muttered. "Not random bandits."
Yuelai nodded, but neither pursued the thought further. Everyone knew that assassination attempts on Luo princes were common—the three princes and the Prime Minister engaged in constant power struggles. This was likely just another attempt from one of Zhenge's rivals within his own court.
Ming Hao moved toward the Luo carriage to check on their guest, but guards immediately stepped forward, blocking his path with crossed spears.
"The Prince requires no assistance," one said coldly.
From inside the carriage, there was no sound. No thanks. No acknowledgment.
Yuelai exchanged a glance with Ming Hao and turned away. As expected from the famous rude prince, she thought. Zhenge's reputation for arrogance had reached even Shen's court.
What she didn't see was the prince watching her through the gap in the curtain, his expression thoughtful.
---
The capital was alive with celebration when they arrived.
The palace gates stood open, welcoming dignitaries from across the realm. Servants hurried through courtyards carrying bolts of silk, crates of wine, and ceremonial instruments. The air hummed with anticipation. Tomorrow, Crown Prince Junwei would be crowned Emperor of Shen.
As they entered the main courtyard, a tall figure in military regalia strode forward to greet them.
Gu Tianyu cut an impressive figure—broad-shouldered and commanding, with the bearing of someone born to lead. As the son of the Prime Minister and one of Shen's most accomplished generals, he'd earned his reputation through skill and strategic brilliance. His handsome face was composed in formal welcome as he approached the Luo procession, though his dark eyes scanned the crowd until they found Yuelai.
Something softened in his expression.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing to the still-closed carriage. "Prince Luo, the Shen Empire welcomes you. We are honored by your presence at the coronation."
The carriage curtain twitched but remained closed. A voice from within, cool and aristocratic, replied: "The honor is ours. Luo is pleased to witness this historic moment."
Tianyu's jaw tightened slightly at the dismissive tone, but he maintained his diplomatic composure. As the Luo guards began directing the procession toward their prepared quarters, he finally turned to Yuelai.
His entire demeanor changed. The formal mask dropped, replaced by genuine warmth.
"Yuelai." He closed the distance between them, his voice lowering. "You look exhausted. Was the journey difficult?"
She managed a smile despite her fatigue. "We encountered some trouble on the road. Bandits."
His expression darkened with concern. "Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine. Just tired."
His hand rose as if to touch her face, then dropped—propriety demanded restraint in public. But his eyes held worry, affection, all the warmth of someone who'd known her since childhood. "Go rest. Tomorrow will be a long day, and you need your strength."
Yuelai felt the familiar comfort of his presence, the safety she'd always associated with him. They'd grown up together, trained together, laughed together. In two months, they would be married—a political arrangement that had somehow become something more. At least, for her.
"I will," she promised. "Thank you, Tianyu."
She didn't see the way his eyes followed her as she walked away, something unreadable flickering across his features before the mask of the dutiful general slid back into place.
---
Yuelai woke to evening shadows stretching across her chamber. She'd slept longer than intended—the exhaustion from travel and battle catching up with her. For a moment, she lay still, listening to the distant sounds of the palace preparing for tomorrow's ceremony.
A servant had left fresh tea and light refreshments on the table by her window. She rose, stretched, and was about to call for Xiaoyu when she heard voices in the garden below.
Tianyu stood beneath the plum trees, apparently waiting.
She smiled and made her way down.
The garden was peaceful in the fading light, lanterns just beginning to glow among the carefully manicured paths. Tianyu had arranged a simple tea service on a stone bench beneath the blossoms. He looked more relaxed now, out of his formal armor, though he still moved with a soldier's precision as he poured tea.
"I thought you might be hungry," he said as she approached. "And I wanted to talk before tomorrow's chaos."
Yuelai settled beside him, accepting the cup he offered. The tea was fragrant, steam curling in the cooling air. "Talk about what?"
"Everything. Nothing." He smiled, and for a moment he looked younger, like the boy who used to sneak sweets from the kitchen with her. "Do you remember when Junwei was about seven? You convinced him to let you practice your painting skills on his face while he slept."
Yuelai burst into laughter. "He woke up and looked in the mirror—"
"And screamed like he'd seen a ghost!" Tianyu's own laughter joined hers. "He ran crying to your mother, showing her his 'beautiful decorated face,' demanding to know why you'd turned him into a 'festival dragon.'"
"We both got punished for that," Yuelai said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "You helped me mix the paints, remember? Mother made us scrub all the palace floors for a week."
"Worth it," Tianyu said softly. "To see you laugh like that."
The mood shifted, grew warmer. More intimate.
"He'll make a good emperor," Yuelai said, looking toward the palace where her brother was likely being prepared for tomorrow's ceremony. "He cares about people. Really cares."
"He will." Tianyu's voice was steady. "And you'll be there to support him. As will I."
He glanced at her tea cup, still full in her hands. "You should drink. The night air is getting cold."
"I'm not really thirsty—"
"Please." Something in his tone made her look up. His eyes were intent, concerned. "You barely ate today, and tomorrow will be exhausting. Just one cup. For me?"
It was such a simple request. He was looking after her, as he always did. Yuelai raised the cup and drank, the tea warm and slightly sweet on her tongue.
Tianyu watched her finish it, his expression unreadable for just a moment before the warmth returned. "Good. Now, there will be a drinking party tonight—you know how these political gatherings go. It'll be loud and run late. You should sleep early, get your rest. Stay in your room and don't let the noise disturb you."
"I suppose you're right," Yuelai said, stifling a yawn. She was suddenly very tired.
"Come, I'll walk you back."
He rose and offered his arm. Yuelai took it, grateful for the support as an unexpected wave of exhaustion washed over her. They walked slowly through the garden paths, his presence steady beside her.
At her chamber door, he paused. His hand came up to gently touch her cheek—a rare public gesture of affection.
"Sleep well, Yuelai," he said softly. "Tomorrow everything changes."
She smiled sleepily up at him. "Tomorrow Junwei becomes Emperor."
"Yes," Tianyu said. "Tomorrow."
He watched until she disappeared inside, then turned and walked away into the gathering darkness, his expression transforming into something cold and purposeful.
---
Yuelai wasn't sure what woke her.
She lay in darkness, her mind foggy, her body strangely heavy. The room spun slightly when she tried to sit up. How long had she been asleep? The sounds of the drinking party Tianyu had mentioned were absent—the palace was eerily quiet.
Her eyes focused on something gleaming on the pillow beside her.
A pendant. Jade, carved in the shape of an orchid, suspended on a delicate gold chain. And beneath it, a letter in Junwei's familiar handwriting:
Little sister,
For your wedding. May you bloom with happiness.
- Your brother who loves you
Emotion swelled in her chest. Junwei. Always thinking of her, even on the eve of his coronation. She had to thank him. Had to see him, let him know how much this meant.
Yuelai struggled to her feet. The room tilted alarmingly. Why was she so weak? She grasped the bedpost for support, breathing hard. Something was wrong. Her limbs felt like lead, her vision swimming.
But Junwei's chambers weren't far. She could make it.
She stumbled to the door, pulled it open. The corridor beyond was empty. No guards at their usual posts. Strange. Where was everyone?
The rain had started—she could hear it drumming on the roof tiles, feel the damp wind coming through the open walkways. By the time she reached the covered corridor leading to Junwei's quarters, her clothes were soaked.
No guards here either. The wrongness of it cut through her drugged haze. There were always guards outside the Crown Prince's chambers. Always.
Fear gripped her. She began to run, stumbling, her hand trailing along the wall for balance.
She heard something. A sound from inside Junwei's room. Voices? Movement?
Yuelai's hand found the door. She pushed.
It swung open into darkness.
She stepped inside, completely drenched, rain water dripping from her hair and clothes. The room was pitch black. Silent except for her own labored breathing and the rain.
Then she heard it.
The clean, sharp whistle of a blade cutting through air.
Something wet hit her face. Warm. She touched her cheek with trembling fingers, brought them before her eyes.
Even in the darkness, she knew.
Blood.
Her body froze. Every muscle locked. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Drenched in red. Blood running down his arms, dripping from the sword in his left hand, coating his face until his features were obscured. He moved like death itself, deliberate and unstoppable.
In his right hand, he held something.
Yuelai's eyes dropped. The world narrowed to that single point. Everything else—the rain, the darkness, her own body—ceased to exist.
A head. Severed cleanly at the neck. The features were slack, peaceful almost. Eyes half-open. Mouth slightly parted. Hair plastered dark with blood.
Her brother's face.
Junwei.
A sound tore from her throat—not quite a scream, not quite a sob. Something animal and broken.
Her legs gave out. She crashed to her knees in the spreading pool of water and blood, but she didn't feel the impact. Her entire body had gone numb. Cold. Empty.
The pendant around her neck—his gift, his last gift—felt suddenly, unbearably heavy.
The figure stood over her, silent. Waiting.
Rain continued to fall.
---
END OF CHAPTER 1