The capital teemed with visitors from distant lands. Among the many rulers gathered, none was more conspicuous than the young King of Hán, an honored sovereign personally summoned by King Tiān Lóngxuān to partake in the grand festivities.
The kingdom of Han was unlike most others—a land of restless minds and quick hands, famed for its scholars, artisans, and inventions that baffled even seasoned craft workers of Huǒyuán.
Their king, though still in the bloom of his youth, already commanded respect. Handsome and quick-witted, he carried himself with the unstudied grace of a man well aware of his charm.
Rumors followed him: his court overrun with concubines despite his unmarried state, his nights filled with poetry, music, and indulgence.
Yet even the finest guest chambers of the palace could not cage his spirit. He paced restlessly, the weight of silence pressing down upon him.
From the maids, he coaxed stories of the capital—the fire-breathers who performed in the market square, the dancers who spun like falling petals, the foreign spices and silks glimmering under lantern-light.
A spark of curiosity lit within him. The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him in their stillness. The streets outside, however, called like a siren's song.
A slow, mischievous smile curved his lips. Ignoring the protests of his attendants, he cast aside the comforts of his quarters. If the city were alive, then he would walk among its heartbeat.
Flanked by his personal guard, the young king drifted into the heart of the capital's bustling streets.
The air itself seemed to pulse with life—dancers twirled in the open squares, their silken sleeves unfurling like banners in the wind; musicians played bright, rising notes that tangled with laughter; vendors called out from stalls laden with jewels, candied fruits, and carved trinkets of every kind.
Drawn by the sweetness in the air, he purchased a sugared confection, breaking it between his teeth, its honeyed flavor bursting like sunlight on his tongue.
But then the revelry shifted. A hush swept the street like a sudden tide.
Murmurs dissolved into silence as the crowd parted, bowing their heads. Through the clearing rolled a chariot, its lacquered wheels glinting like fire beneath the sun. And from its curtained window leaned a maiden—her beauty striking, her presence luminous as moonlight upon water.
For an instant, it seemed as though the entire world had stilled to behold her.
The young king lifted a piece of his sugared candy with playful ease, his grin boyish against the swirl of noise. But then, her eyes lingered upon the candy stall; the young king was standing as her chariot passed, her lips curving into a faint smile, delicate as moonlight breaking through mist. In that fleeting instant, the King of Hán felt the world collapse into stillness.
His breath caught, his heart stumbled, and he watched as though the heavens themselves had slowed time so he might etch her face into memory. Then the chariot rolled on, and all that remained was the echo of her radiance.
His heart pounded, wild and unsteady, as though he had stumbled upon his first love. He shook his head vividly, trying to regain his composure, but a sudden hiccup escaped him. Another followed.
Embarrassed, he pressed a hand to his chest, but the hiccups only grew sharper. His attendants exchanged alarmed looks before one of them rushed into the candy stall, demanding water for the king.
Time seemed to thin around him. He stood frozen, hiccuping helplessly, watching as the chariot moved on, carrying her away like a dream already slipping from reach.
The noise of the street returned all at once, pressing in from every side. Whispers rose among the crowd.
"That's the dancer who brought snow from the heavens," someone said breathlessly.
"Are you certain?" another countered. "All I know is she's too beautiful. When she bared her belly in the dance, I nearly forgot myself."
Their laughter scattered through the air, crude and eager. But the King of Han remained silent, water glass in hand, the taste of sugar still on his tongue, her smile etched deeper than any sweet could ever reach. He smiled.
The young king's soldier smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Tell me, my lord—do you need help?"
The soldier chuckled nervously, but the king only grinned wider.
Not long after, the young king's gaze landed on a striking figure—General Yán Lǐng. Even dressed in plain local attire, his presence cut sharply through the chaos of the streets, impossible to ignore. The King of Han grinned, tapping his soldier's arm with amusement.
"This kingdom is overflowing with beauties," the young king said, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Tell me—why does Han not have such treasures?"
The soldier's face darkened, his hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of his sword. "My lord... this land is not what it seems. Many of those you admire are not entirely human."
The king threw his head back in laughter, his voice rolling above the noise of the marketplace. "Ghost stories," he scoffed, waving it away. "Tales to scare children at night."
But the soldier did not laugh. His jaw set, and when he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of iron. "My lord... had you seen the ceremony with your own eyes, you would not speak so lightly."
For a moment, the king tilted his head, curiosity sparking—but just as quickly, he brushed it aside. With a playful shrug, he tossed coins onto the vendor's table and snatched another sweet, raising it high in mock salute.
"This," he declared with a grin, "is the truth I believe in—food in my hand, freedom in my steps. Eating among the people—this is life itself!"
He bit into the candy with relish, savoring its simple sweetness. Yet as he laughed, his soldier's eyes never left the shadows, every muscle tight, as though he alone could sense the unseen danger stalking the streets.
At Lord Chen's house.
General Yán Lǐng stood at the door, still as stone. His eyes closed briefly, the air shifting—there it was again, that faint, familiar presence. Then, his knuckles rapped firmly against the wood.
Silence.
He waited and then knocked again.
From the end of the passage, the innkeeper stirred with irritation.
"Who pounds like that just to be noticed?" She grumbled, stomping closer. "This is a rented room, not your private hall. Don't break my door!"
But as she drew nearer, her words caught in her throat. A tall figure loomed before Lord Chen's door—broad-shouldered. Her eyes widened, then she quickly turned back, muttering under her breath.
She felt something weird while approaching the person.
"Hmph... so even royals come crawling here. Well, with a daughter like that dancer, what else should I expect?" She sank back onto her stool, feigning disinterest, though her heart raced.
The door creaked open. Yù Xuān stepped into view, laughter spilling from her lips—until her eyes landed on him. Her smile died instantly. His presence pressed against her like an unseen weight. Calm. Low. Unreadable. His gaze was low as usual.
Why do I sense you? Who are you...? Yán Lǐng's inner voice stirred like a shadow.
"My lord..." Yù Xuān whispered, nearly stumbling. Aunt Rong was just in time, steadying her.
"Why are you falling? Who's at the door?" Aunt Rong demanded.
"—I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Yù Xuān stammered, bowing so low she shook. "I didn't run away from the palace."
Yán Lǐng's eyes lingered on her. He already knew.
She and Mò Lián had been close since childhood.
Aunt Rong pushed the door wider, her gaze narrowing the moment recognition struck.
"You again? Did you come to give me more money? Because I've already spent what you left us," she said sharply, though her voice wavered at the memory of that heavy sack of gold coins.
She studied him harder. The first night she saw him, his aura had been raw and terrifying. The second time, it had been subdued, almost ordinary. But now—though calm—he seemed taller, sharper, undeniably handsome.
"Yes... It's you," she muttered, rubbing her eyes as if to clear them. She flicked her glance to Yù Xuān, who still knelt in a bow.
"What do you want? And who are you, really?" she asked coldly.
"I am the military general, Yán Lǐng," he replied without hesitation. His gaze swept the room, sharp as a blade, noting instantly that Mò Lián was not there.
Aunt Rong folded her arms with a scoff. "Why so many visits today? Is this house a palace now?" A smile curved her lips despite her tone. "Still, my lord, this shabby room is honored. You're welcome."
"His Highness sent me," Yán Lǐng said flatly. His eyes were fixed on her. "Where is she?"
"Who is she, hmm? If you're hunting for Mò Lián, she's not here," Aunt Rong shot back quickly.
"Sir, Mò Lián is not here. The Queen already—" Yù Xuān began, but Yán Lǐng had already turned to leave.
"Wait!" Aunt Rong called after him. "You can't just barge in and vanish again. What do you expect me to do? Sit here bored to death?"
Without turning, his voice cut like steel. "Pick what you need."
"I have nothing to pick," she muttered, tugging at her dress.
Then—so fast neither woman could react—Yán Lǐng pivoted back, seized both their wrists, and the world around them collapsed. In the blink of an eye, they vanished.
The sun beamed as the rays fell on the capital.
Within the Queen's quarters, the air was hushed and perfumed with sandalwood. Curtains of pale silk swayed lightly, stirred by the faintest breeze.
The Queen sat at a low table, sipping tea, while the lingering notes of a zither drifted from a corner of the chamber.
A maid entered, bowing deeply. "My Queen, the head maid has arrived."
"Bring her in," the Queen replied, setting down her cup.
The head maid entered with Mò Lián by her side. Both lowered themselves into formal kowtows onto the polished floor.
"How are you, my daughter?" the Queen asked warmly, her gaze softening as it rested on Mò Lián. "Raise."
They stood.
"I apologize for fleeing yesterday," Mò Lián said, folding her hands gratefully. "I am deeply grateful for your care."
"You danced beautifully. The King himself was impressed."
The queen said before sipping her tea.
Mò Lián's face brightened, her lips trembling into a smile.
"Thank you so much, Your Highness. I never thought such honor would come to me."
"You shall be rewarded," the Queen said, her voice rich with affection.
"Dance for me again—here and now."
"Now?" Mò Lián asked, startled.
The Queen's laughter chimed softly, indulgently.
"Yes, child. Now."
At once, the maids shifted into place. The air thickened as though unseen eyes had entered with them.
The King had arrived—silent, hidden, yet felt. Mò Lián, unknowing, focused only on the music.
The zither began its notes pressing forward.
Mò Lián moved with grace, her sleeves trailing like flowing water. Yet this time the dance felt lighter.
She gave each step she knew, one after another, until, breathless, she finally whispered.
"I have done all I know."
The stillness broke. The Queen's brows lifted in quiet thought before she offered a gentle smile.
"You tried your best."
Then, with a sip of tea, she asked, "Would you like to stay in my personal mansion?"
Mò Lián noticed the chief maid's subtle nod and bowed deeply.
"Yes, my Queen."
"Mei Lin," the Queen called the chief maid by her name, rising.
"Give her the building next to mine."
She walked slowly toward her little lake, her personal maid following in silence.
The chief maid's eyes widened. "Yes, my Queen."
That building was not ordinary. It once belonged to the Crown Prince. Before his birth, the temple priest had foretold that her child might be a girl—an impossible prophecy, for Priest Tiān's lineage had only ever borne sons.
Yet the Queen had longed for a daughter. She herself had been the only girl in her family. Perhaps that was why she loved Fuyao as her own.
But her tenderness for Mò Lián was deeper still.
At the capital's temple within the palace, Yán Lǐng appeared with the two women.
Lord Chen's sister froze in place, blinking rapidly as though her thoughts lagged behind reality. Her gaze darted about the temple grounds before settling on Yán Lǐng and Yù Xuān beside her.
Yù Xuān lowered her head, already worrying how she would slip back into the maids' quarters without facing punishment yet again.
"My house..." Lord Chen's sister muttered, dazed.
"What about my house? What about the apartment I rented? My things are still there!"
She pointed vaguely behind her—though nothing stood there.
Folding her arms, she murmured on, "I need to stay somewhere safe. Yes... I'm old enough to be respected."
She nodded at her own words, as if convincing herself.
Yán Lǐng's stern expression never wavered. He stood silent, his sharp gaze fixed on her—until he sensed someone approaching.
"They are here. Join them," he said curtly. Without waiting for her reply, he turned and strode away. The king had summoned him.
By the time Yán Lǐng reached the gates of the audience hall, he had shed every distraction. He entered and bowed deeply.
"Greetings, Your Highness," he intoned, noting the king seated in quiet patience. The prince's chair stood empty, yet a guest already occupied a seat.
"This is my military general, Yán Lǐng," King Tiān Lóngxuān said.
Yán Lǐng straightened, turning toward the visitor. "Greetings, King Hán Wáng Ān from Han." He inclined his head, his manner steady.
"I've heard your men are... both scholarly and ruthless," the young foreign king remarked with a light laugh.
"Would you like to experience it firsthand?" Tiān Lóngxuān joined his laughter, though there was a dangerous glint in his eye.
"Indeed, I would like to explore," Hán Wáng Ān replied, raising his cup of tea.
At once, the air shifted. The chamber grew blisteringly hot, as if molten oil had been poured across the stone floor.
The walls seemed to breathe with heat, warping the air itself. Sweat burst from the young king's skin, sliding down his back in rivulets. His grip tightened around his cup, though his hand trembled.
Then—without warning—the Crown Prince appeared in his seat.
The suffocating pressure shattered like glass. The air cooled at once, though the phantom burn still clung to Hán Wáng Ān's flesh. He blinked rapidly, chest rising and falling, struggling to steady himself.
When he lifted his eyes, he found Yán Lǐng watching him with that same unreadable stare—calm, merciless in its indifference.
This palace is not safe.
"Son," Tiān Lóngxuān addressed the crown prince, "you have arrived at last. This is Hán Wáng Ān. Let us begin."
The king had long sought a capable ally—someone like Hán Wáng Ān—to advance his vision for innovation.
The meeting stretched on, weighty and precise. By its end, Hán Wáng Ān agreed to provide raw materials for a grand project: a bridge that would link the capital to the outside world.
"Your wisdom grows daily," Tiān Lóngxuān said, his praise sincere.
"Thank you, my king," Hán Wáng Ān replied smoothly. Then, lifting his cup, he added, "But there is something I wish to request."
"Speak, young king," Tiān Lóngxuān replied, returning the toast.
"I wasn't able to attend the general feast held recently. I heard there will be a feast tonight for all foreign dignitaries." Hán Wáng Ān's grin widened.
"Yes," the king confirmed. "You are already invited."
"If you do not mind," the young king said smoothly, tilting his cup as though it were a casual request, "bring with you the Phoenix Dancer."
The chamber seemed to darken. Tiān Jùn's eyes ignited with venom, a flicker of poison sparking into the air. The air itself writhed, thick with the stench of something lethal, ready to lash out.
"It is rare to meet a phoenix in human form," he hissed, his voice low, every word vibrating with restrained fury.
"Phoenix dancers are very dangerous... and nearly impossible to control."
"Young King." Tiān Lóngxuān's voice cut through, calm yet absolute, steel wrapped in silk. "We will see you at the night feast."
At once, the venomous aura broke, scattered by the King's authority.
The Crown Prince vanished, leaving behind only the echo of his poisonous wrath. Yán Lǐng followed in silence, his steps heavy, final.
Hán Wáng Ān forced a smile as he lifted his cup again, but his hand betrayed him with a faint tremor. For the first time, the playful young king wondered if the feast he so eagerly awaited might cost him far more than he imagined.
At the queen's quarters.
Night fell. In the queen's upper chamber, her secret soldier appeared silently.
"Greetings, my queen. I have finished the investigation."
"Speak." She didn't turn, eyes fixed on Mò Lián practicing below.
"Mò Lián is Lord Chen's only child. Her mother, a dancer from the West, died in childbirth. Lord Chen now lives on Huǒyuán's border. His sister, Chen Rong, is here at the palace temple. Since her birth, Mò Lián has been called cursed, an 'evil child.' She has only one genuine friend—Yù Xuān, now a free-service maid. Recently, she has grown close to a man, though his origins remain unknown. She also befriended Huā Yuán, an orphan maid in Lady Li Fuyao's quarters. Currently... King Hán Wáng Ān has shown a strong interest in her."
The Queen's lips tightened. "And the unknown?"
"My queen... I could not uncover them."
Her voice chilled. "Open every secret. Leave nothing hidden."
"Yes, my queen." The soldier dissolved into the night.