The dignitaries' banquet ended in a haze of laughter and half-slurred farewells. Some nobles staggered to their chambers, while others wandered through the lantern-lit halls, letting the cool night air calm their flushed faces.
The general had summoned the chief maid, the one who oversaw the banquet hall. She issued brisk orders to her assistant before hurrying out, unease gnawing at her chest.
The general never called her at such an hour. Something wasn't right.
Two royal maids followed closely as she crossed the dim walkway toward the general's quarters. But on the way, she slowed — indistinct murmurs drifted from the maids' lodge ahead.
A crowd had gathered. Curiosity tugged at her steps.
She pushed through the group — and froze.
Bodies lay sprawled across the floor. Her breath hitched; her eyes widened in horror. Before she could speak, soldiers burst into the lodge, boots pounding against the wood.
She stepped back quietly and slipped away toward the General's quarters, fear pressing down on her chest. The royal maids trailing her trembled, their faces pale as ash.
Only royals could cause such chaos, she thought, quickening her pace. But why now? And why summon me?
"Lord, please help me..." she whispered under her breath.
Behind her, the royal maids began to slow. She spun.
"What is it?"
"My lady," one said, falling to her knees, "I'm still young and tender. I... can't go to the General's quarters."
The chief maid's expression hardened.
The second maid knelt beside the first, tears gathering in her eyes.
"My lady... that scene earlier — it could only have been the royals' doing. Please—"
The chief maid struck her across the cheek before she could finish her sentence, her palm hanging in the air, her face cold and unreadable.
"Enough!" she snapped.
"You were born to serve this palace. You have no choice. Or do you wish to run?"
Her tone sliced through the air like steel.
"Too many soft hearts among you. It's time I fixed that."
She turned on her heel and strode away. The maids, trembling, ran after her — until she barked, "Get lost!" They stopped, weeping quietly as they watched her go.
Then, with fear twisting their steps, they returned toward their hall.
The general's chamber was dim and silent.
Candlelight reflected their shadows; the room was calm as the night air flowed.
General Yán Lǐng laid Yù Xuān gently on his bed, his brows drawn tight.
He turned to the case board and reached for a towel, but his thoughts were divided and unfocused. He set it down again, checking on her.
She lay motionless, her breathing shallow. The stillness of her chest made his pulse quicken.
Just as he reached for the towel again, a sharp cry tore through the air.
He froze. The towel slipped from his hand. Power flared from him instinctively, humming through the chamber like a restrained storm.
Yù Xuān's skin flushed crimson; her body trembled violently. Pain rippled through her abdomen, forcing another cry from her lips.
In an instant, Yán Lǐng was beside her.
"No... I can't stay here. It might be—my time of the month," she gasped, clutching her stomach, her words breaking apart as her body shook.
She tried to stand, but her knees gave way. Before she could fall, his arm caught her waist, pulling her close. Her breath hitched, his hold steady — her warmth searing through his sleeve.
For a heartbeat, the world went still. His aura flickered faintly in the air — steady, protective, and strangely gentle.
"Stop struggling," he murmured, voice low and calm.
"I'll take care of you."
He lifted her again, laying her back on the bed. She tried to rise, but her hand struck his arm, throwing him slightly off balance. He fell forward — close enough to feel her breath brush his lips.
Her eyes widened..., and then the pain vanished. Just like that. Her breathing steadied, her body relaxing under a strange, pulsing warmth.
Yán Lǐng stilled, sensing the shift.
"Does my power affect you?" he asked softly.
She shook her head faintly. "No..."
"Do you feel better now?"
"Yes," she whispered, hesitant to meet his gaze.
He studied her quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The lamplight caught the curve of it — a mix of relief and curiosity. He straightened, moving out of the bed.
Then, with a wave of his hand, the chamber door swung open.
The chief maid stood outside, startled but composed. She walked in graciously, noticing the dimmed candlelight.
"My lord," she murmured, bowing.
"Dress her," Yán Lǐng ordered curtly as he moved sluggishly, studying her.
He withdrew his power, and immediately, Yù Xuān's body convulsed with pain again. Her scream ripped through the air.
The chief maid froze, horror flashing across her face.
"My lord—" she began, but the words died when she saw his expression.
Yán Lǐng was already at the bedside, his palm pressed against Yù Xuān's shoulder.
Heat radiated from her skin, far beyond normal.
"Hot... so hot..." she gasped, trembling as sweat glistened along her temples.
His expression darkened.
"Leave," he commanded.
The authority in his tone left no room for hesitation. The maid bowed and fled, closing the door behind her.
Silence fell — only her ragged breathing remained.
"Yù Xuān..." His voice softened, almost breaking. She clutched his robe, her body shaking.
He gathered her into his arms. Her face turned toward him, her eyes half-open, feverish. "Hmmm..." she tried to speak, her voice weak and fading.
Yán Lǐng's brow furrowed, his pulse rising.
"Why are you burning up? What are you?" he whispered, his grip tightening.
She didn't answer. Her gaze was distant — trapped between pain and delirium.
Then she slipped into unconsciousness.
He lingered for a moment, watching her face — serene yet flushed with warmth. A few strands of her hair clung to her skin; he brushed them aside, his fingers grazing her cheek.
The softness startled him. He exhaled slowly, as though the air itself carried her scent. Her breathing was calm, but the heat between them pulsed.
His gaze deepened, a flicker of heat stirring within him. The warmth from her body seemed to seep into his own, slowly and consuming. He loosened his upper robe, the fabric sliding from his shoulders as the air grew heavier.
Clad only in his inner garment, he eased onto the bed beside her, adjusting her gently — her head resting against the pillow, his breath faintly brushing her skin.
She stirred, but before he could move, her fingers seized his arm. He fell forward — close enough to feel her breath brush his lips. Her eyes widened... and then the pain vanished again, pressing him down with a strength that startled even him.
A surge of energy exploded between them — his power slipping free.
He froze, breath caught. Yù Xuān flared wildly and unrestrained. Her eyes opened — silver light shimmering in her irises like a storm unbound. Her body trembled with strange heat.
"Yù Xuān..." he breathed, unsure if she even heard.
She climbed over him slowly, her breath brushing his skin like fire. He could feel her energy — raw and uncontrollable — as she settled upon his thigh. The motion drew a quiet breath from her lips.
Her gaze locked on his. Her pupils gleamed silver, her lips parted, and her breath was ragged.
The air thickened. She released herself from her robe; it slipped as she shifted forward, silk brushing against his thigh. Her breath deepened — uneven, torn with desire she couldn't restrain.
He kept his gaze fixed on her, silent, unreadable. She moved with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his.
When her trembling fingers slipped to his inner robe, she eased it open, revealing the faint glow of his golden skin beneath the dim light. Her breath hitched; she bit her lip, then traced it with her tongue as a slow, knowing smile curved across her face.
Her palms pressed against his chest, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen as if drawn to his strength. She leaned closer, her lips hovering just above his chest. She licked her lower lip, biting it slowly.
A faint smirk curved her mouth — dangerous, teasing, yet proud. There was full hunger in her eyes, a silent plea wrapped in defiance.
She lifted her hair with one hand, gathering it away from her face — and in that small, deliberate gesture, the world seemed to hold its breath.
As she leaned closer, her waist arched slightly, and she pressed a soft kiss to his chest, the warmth of her lips brushing his skin.
When her fingers pinched his nipple, he felt a spark — a deep, stirring pull, as if she was about to awaken something buried within him. His hair shimmered faintly gold, transforming.
Her hair fell forward as she tilted her head, lamplight glinting off her flushed skin.
Before it could rise further, his hand struck her pulse gently. Her body stilled, her breath caught — and she collapsed into a deep sleep against his chest.
He exhaled slowly, steadying his heartbeat. Lifting her carefully, he laid her back upon the bed. Her skin still glowed faintly, warmth radiating even in slumber.
For a long while, he simply watched her — the rise and fall of her chest, the sheen of sweat across her brow. Finally, he sat beside her, leaning against the pillow, drawing her into his arms.
His fingers brushed through her hair, slowly and rhythmically, soothing.
The night stretched on, silent but for her breathing. He stayed awake until midnight, guarding her as her fever eased away. Only when her body cooled and her breathing steadied did he close his eyes.
Morning came softly. The dawn star gleamed brightly above the horizon.
Light filtered through the curtains of Yán Lǐng's chamber, scattering across the polished floor in golden streaks.
Yù Xuān stirred beneath the sheets, her arms wrapped tightly around what she thought was her pillow. A faint smile graced her lips — until she opened her eyes.
She froze. She was in the general's arms, her hands clutching him tightly. Startled, she loosened her grip bit by bit, her heart racing wildly.
For a moment, she simply looked at him. His long blonde hair had fallen aside — and for the first time, she saw his face clearly. The sharp line of his jaw, the calm of his sleeping expression — he looked almost unreal.
Her lips parted in quiet awe. Thinking he was asleep, she waved a hand playfully before his face, suppressing a giggle. Then, unable to resist, she lifted her fingers toward his chin, wanting to trace its curve.
But before she could touch him, a faint smile appeared on his lips — that same crisp, knowing smile she'd seen before. His hand caught hers midair, his eyes opening slowly to meet hers.
She gasped, trying to pull away, but his hold tightened gently, keeping her close. She froze, eyes wide as his calm gaze lingered on hers.
"Good morning," Yán Lǐng said softly, guiding her hand to rest against his chest. "How are you feeling now?"
Yù Xuān blinked, her expression innocent. Slowly, she withdrew her hand, unsure what to say.
He caught the motion and chuckled. "Do you know what happened last night?" He asked, propping his chin on his palm.
"My lord..." she whispered. "No."
"So flirty," he teased, pinching her nose lightly before standing. She watched him rise, her cheeks flushing pink as warmth filled her chest.
The moment he left her side, Yù Xuān dove under the blanket, her heart fluttering. "What did I do?" she muttered, pressing her face into the covers. His scent clung to the blanket — warm and clean. She smiled into it.
Rolling from side to side, she whispered, "How... No, not yet. It can't be." She paused, touching her lips.
"Does the general ... have feelings for me?"
Her grin widened.
"He's so adorable," she giggled. "Mò Lián must hear this!"
She bounced on the bed — and froze as the blanket slipped off. Across the room, Yán Lǐng was drying his hair with a towel.
He had just finished a quick bath, and the morning light glimmered softly across his bare back.
He turned at the sound, catching her frozen expression — and laughed.
"Hey," he said with a grin, walking past her toward the mirror, "is something itching you?"
Still flustered, Yù Xuān covered her face, her laughter mingling with his as he adjusted his robe before the mirror, a faint smile tugging at his reflection.
Yù Xuān collapsed back onto the bed, her cheeks aflame. She bit the blanket to muffle a squeal, staring up at the ceiling as her heart raced uncontrollably.
Then his voice came — calm, too calm.
"Yù Xuān..."
She froze.
"Hmmm..." she hummed softly, slipping out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cool floor as she walked toward him, eyes lowered.
He looked at her through the mirror — and blinked sharply.
"Dress properly. I'm not a eunuch," he said dryly, clearing his throat. He lifted a comb, waving it backward. "Here. Comb my hair."
Without looking back, he opened a book and began to read.
Yù Xuān quickly tied her robe tighter, hands trembling slightly as she took the comb.
She bowed politely, then rose behind him. Carefully, she drew the comb through his hair — gently, cautiously.
"I hate fragile threads," he murmured. "Try to be rough."
Her lips twitched. She obeyed, brushing firmer. But as she combed, something strange happened — his strands darkened, the faint silver melting into a deep, sleek black.
Yù Xuān's eyes widened. She stopped, staring. The transformation was so smooth, so impossible, that her breath hitched.
"It's... changing," she whispered to herself.
He caught her reflection and smirked faintly, but the expression faded quickly. His eyes lowered, distant. Without a word, he waved his hand.
The door slid open. The chief maid entered with two attendants, their steps soft and precise.
Yán Lǐng rose, his armor faintly visible beneath his robe. He paused, eyes meeting Yù Xuān's — something unspoken flickered there before fading.
"Shuffle the kitchen maids," he ordered.
"Yes, my lord," the chief maid replied, her tone composed, though her eyes briefly lingered on Yù Xuān.
Was she the same girl from last night? She wondered, but buried the thought.
She stepped forward, graceful but firm.
"Come," she told Yù Xuān, leading her out with the others.
Moments later, Yán Lǐng emerged fully dressed, his composure restored. Without another word, he left for the king's palace.
The palace halls were alive with shifting guards and quiet discipline. The morning air was crisp. Then he vanished.
He reappeared at the entrance of the king's quarters, the echo of his boots fading along the golden corridor. The king had summoned him. As he approached, voices carried through the door.
"Yes, my lord, I'll make the next move," said a voice within.
Yán Lǐng entered. The king sat with the major general of the East. The man turned at Yán Lǐng's arrival, bowed, and dissolved into mist.
The king remained seated, poised behind a small lacquered table with a steaming kettle and a single cup.
"My lord," Yán Lǐng greeted, bowing low.
"That's not why I called you," the king said, lifting his cup calmly. "I gave you an assignment. Any progress?"
Yán Lǐng's gaze stayed steady.
The king sighed, voice dropping. "Something approaches. Something deadly. Yet I cannot see its source."
He gestured to the seat beside him. "Sit, son. Your brother is always late."
Yán Lǐng obeyed, smoothing his robes as he sat.
"Evil air flows from the east," the king murmured. "A legacy repeating itself — moving in circles until destiny finds its mark. Remember, these words. Wisdom weighs more than gold."
He looked towards the horizon. "The comet draws near again. Twenty years have passed."
Yán Lǐng's attention sharpened.
"Do you remember the comet?" the king asked softly.
"Yes, my lord."
"We lost him that night — your father, my friend, my adviser. I vowed to make you what you've become today."
Yán Lǐng lowered his gaze, his emotions buried deep.
"Call me father," the king said calmly.
Yán Lǐng hesitated.
"Fa—ther... Father."
The king smiled faintly — but the warmth vanished when the air thickened, charged with power.
He turned sharply.
The Crown Prince appeared, energy rippling around him like a storm barely contained. "Greetings, Father," Tiān Jùn said, bowing low.
"Tiān Jùn," the king's tone deepened.
"You're being aggressive. What's going on?"
The prince's face was dark, his aura volatile. He stepped forward, the air bending under his power. Seeing an empty chair beside the king, he sat down heavily, his jaw set.
"Is this how you plan to take the throne?" the king asked coolly.
"Don't let your strength consume you before your time."
He raised his hand, a soft wave of energy restoring balance to the room.
Yán Lǐng straightened slightly but remained silent.
"I called you both for clarity," the king said, setting his cup aside.
"You are of age, and you must control this restlessness you feel," he continued. Otherwise, you risk fathering a bastard, and the law forbids that.
His gaze swept between them, calm yet heavy.
"My blood runs in your veins. I once faced the same storm. Now it's your turn."
"Tiān Jùn—" he began.
No response.
"Tiān Jùn!"
Before another word could escape his tongue, the crown prince dissolved into the air like mist.
The king's expression hardened.
"Watch him," he ordered Yán Lǐng coldly." His power is unstable. Reinforce the guards. Redirect the festival to the west — only allied kings are to be invited."
He paused, eyes darkening.
"The time of reckoning draws near."
And with that, his figure dissolved into the air.