"What? The Second Miss of the Yun Family accepted the Luo Chan Sect's invitation?"
Gasps rippled through the teahouse outside Mu City like waves over calm water. The Cold Tea Pavilion buzzed with whispers, the faint fragrance of jasmine mingling with gossip. Teacups clinked softly, carrying the rhythm of scandal.
"Isn't the Imperial Clan's selection next month?" a merchant asked, disbelief sharpening his tone. "Why would she join a sect now of all times?"
"I heard she almost ruined the Blessing Gathering," another voice murmured from behind a folding fan. "They said the Yun Family found her wandering the back garden afterward alone. Doesn't that sound suspicious?"
A chorus of laughter followed.
"Then how did someone like that get chosen by the Luo Chan Sect?"
"Apparently, their disciples came in person," a man said with a smirk. "It doesn't make sense… unless someone in the Yun Family pulled strings."
A woman in embroidered silk leaned closer, voice dripping with curiosity. "Isn't Yun Qianyi her half-sister already a disciple of Luo Chan Sect?"
"Ah yes," another answered knowingly. "The concubine's daughter who joined five years ago and already holds authority within the inner ranks. The Great Elder of the Yun Family surely knows how to plant seeds in fertile soil."
Quiet chuckles circled the pavilion.
"It seems it won't be easy for Yun Muqing to secure the patriarch's seat now," someone added slyly.
At a shadowed corner table, a woman dressed in plain travel robes placed her teacup down with deliberate grace. Beneath her veil, her lips curved slightly not in amusement, but in cold understanding.
They would never stop whispering.
Yun Qianyue rose silently, set a few silver coins on the table, and left the teahouse with the small figure resting in her arms. The chatter behind her faded into the hum of the afternoon.
"Mother, are we not going back to the Yun Family?" Yun Xiaosa's innocent voice rose from beneath her cloak, his wide eyes blinking curiously.
"Shh." Qianyue pressed a finger to her lips.
The road ahead was quiet until it wasn't.
The thunder of hooves echoed from the distance, growing sharper with each heartbeat. A carriage approached, its wheels slicing through dust far too fast for any merchant convoy.
Then came the killing intent cold, sharp, and deliberate.
"Hand over your goods, and you can live," a female voice demanded, its edge like polished steel.
Yun Qianyue's gaze hardened. That voice… she knew it well.
Qi Siqing.
The corner of her mouth lifted into a bitter, knowing smile. So it begins.
The carriage driver tensed, hand drifting toward his sword, but Qi Siqing was faster. Her blade flashed a streak of silver lightning under the sun.
Steel met flesh.
The driver collapsed, blood blooming darkly through his tunic.
Qi Siqing stepped closer, her once-gentle face now twisted by greed and hatred. "Tell me who sent you," she hissed. "Answer, and I may let your spirit rest."
The dying man's lips trembled, but no sound came. He crumpled, lifeless.
Hidden among the trees, Yun Qianyue watched the scene unfold with the stillness of a blade before it strikes. Once, she had called this woman sister. Once, she had believed in the soft smiles and tender words that now reeked of poison.
"Such fine acting," she murmured to herself, voice low.
The silence shattered again this time by the rhythmic gallop of approaching riders.
Qi Siqing's head jerked toward the sound. Panic flickered briefly in her eyes. Then, with a swift motion, she dragged her dagger across the driver's throat again, splattering blood onto her sleeves before collapsing beside the carriage like a frightened maiden.
Moments later, the riders arrived.
"Who goes there?" The voice that cut through the air was deep, steady, commanding.
Yun Qianyue's heart stilled for half a breath. She knew that tone.
Ji Changye. The Third Prince of the Eternal Kingdom.
Qi Siqing's eyes welled with tears on cue. "Third Prince… thank heavens you came! I was attacked by bandits. My guard—he… he was killed trying to protect me!"
Ji Changye's horse stopped a few paces away, his dark eyes sharp as blades. "Who are you?"
"Qi Siqing," she answered softly, lowering her lashes demurely. "We met at the Blessing Gathering. I am Yun Qianyue's cousin."
At the mention of that name, Ji Changye's expression flickered an unreadable mix of cold amusement and contempt.
"Yun Qianyue?" he echoed.
Qi Siqing stiffened inwardly. Even here, even now, that cursed name eclipsed her.
"I… I grew up in the Yun household," she said meekly. "But I was never treated as kindly as she was. My mother—she was only a concubine." Her voice trembled perfectly, the picture of fragility.
The wind caught the edge of her blood-stained skirt, fluttering it like a wounded flag.
"If not for Your Highness, I would have perished here," she whispered, lowering her gaze.
Ji Changye's men examined the scene. One dismounted, checking the driver's body. "He's dead, Your Highness. The carriage appears empty."
"Empty?" the prince repeated, his tone flat.
Qi Siqing's lips parted in feigned shock. "They must have taken everything…"
No, Yun Qianyue thought from the shadows, lips curling faintly. Not everything.
Beside her, a mischievous giggle rose.
"Mom, there are so many shiny things here!" whispered a small voice.
She turned to see Xuanji her little dragon in human form kneeling by the stolen goods, his tiny arms filled with glittering treasures.
Yun Qianyue nearly laughed aloud. Even disguised as a child, he remained a menace.
"Mom, look!" he said proudly, holding up a glowing emerald crystal. "A Level 8 Green Spirit Stone! It's perfect for martial cultivation!"
Her gaze softened then froze. That stone… In her previous life, Ji Changye had always carried one, a supposed gift of fate from Qi Siqing.
Her smile turned razor-sharp. How poetic that fate had been rewritten.
"Keep it," she said quietly.
Xuanji's eyes brightened. "Really?!"
"Yes," she whispered, "but next time, be quiet when you steal."
"Hehe, Mom's the best!"
Her hand brushed over another vial filled with pale powder that shimmered faintly. "Spiritual Lime," she murmured.
"What's that, Mom?"
"A tool for sealing blood contractsand altering destinies."
Her expression darkened. So this was how Qi Siqing had won the Bai Family's favor and the Luo Chan Sect's recommendation in the past through deceit and stolen secrets.
Below them, Qi Siqing had regained her composure. "Your Highness," she said sweetly, "please accept this Spirit Stone as a token of my gratitude."
Yun Qianyue's gaze sharpened. A Level 5 Red Spirit Stone just like before.
"Mom," Xuanji whispered again, tail flicking invisibly under his robe, "should I take that one too?"
Yun Qianyue's chuckle was soft, lethal. "No. Let her dig her own grave. Every performance leaves traces."
The prince's gloved hand closed around the Spirit Stone. "Very well," Ji Changye said coldly. "You should return to the city. The roads aren't safe for women alone."
Qi Siqing's eyes shimmered with false gratitude. "Thank you, Your Highness. I shall remember this kindness always."
As the riders departed, she exhaled shakily, a smirk ghosting across her lips.
From her vantage in the trees, Yun Qianyue's gaze followed them until the dust settled. Her fingers brushed against the cold steel of her dagger.
"Mother?" Xuanji's small voice broke the silence. "Why didn't you stop her?"
Yun Qianyue's veil fluttered in the wind, her eyes calm and distant.
"Because," she murmured, "some debts must ripen before they are collected. When the mask cracks, the fall is greater."
She turned away, her robes gliding through the shadows like liquid moonlight.
Xuanji trotted behind her, still hugging his pile of glittering loot. "So… we're going after her later?"
A faint smile curved her lips. "Later," she said. "For now, we watch. The board is set the players simply don't know it yet."
Above them, the sky deepened into twilight. The faint echo of temple bells drifted from the city below, mingling with the cry of distant crows.
And in the gathering dark, Yun Qianyue's eyes gleamed with a quiet promise one forged not of mercy, but of vengeance.
This life, the prey shall learn to fear the shadow it once pitied.