Lian Yuxi's POV
The hairpin felt like ice against my scalp.
I moved through the glowing crowd, heart steady, hands loose. Forty-three missions. Forty-three kills. Tonight would be forty-four.
Don't fail, Heishan's voice whispered in my memory. Kill the Emperor, or don't come back.
Coming back wasn't the problem. The Shadow Guild had been my home for eleven years—since the day my father sold me like spoiled meat to pay his gambling debts. I was thirteen then. Twenty-four now. I'd stopped counting birthdays after the first kill.
Red lanterns floated above the Imperial Palace like dying stars. Nobles laughed and drank, celebrating the Lantern Festival without knowing death walked among them in jade-green silk. They saw Lady Mei, a minor nobleman's daughter. They didn't see the blade.
They never did.
I scanned the viewing platform. There, gold robes catching firelight, standing alone while his guards clustered below. Emperor Shen Yifeng. Twenty-eight years old. Ruled for thirteen years. Supposedly brilliant. Definitely dangerous.
Also, apparently, suicidal.
Who stood alone during a festival? Every fool knew assassins loved crowds.
My fingers brushed the hairpin. Poison coated the tip—nightshade mixed with viper venom. One scratch meant death in thirty seconds. Painful. Messy. Exactly what Heishan wanted.
Make him suffer, he'd said. Make everyone see the Dragon Emperor bleed.
I didn't care about making statements. I cared about surviving.
The platform stairs rose before me. Guards watched, but not closely—festival night made everyone lazy. I climbed slowly, gracefully, just another noble lady seeking a better view of the lantern release.
The Emperor stood at the railing, watching lights dance across the lake. Up close, he looked different than the paintings. Younger. Harder. Like someone who'd learned to smile with teeth instead of warmth.
I understood that smile. I wore one just like it.
He didn't turn when I approached. Didn't acknowledge me at all.
Perfect.
I stopped three steps away and bowed, low and proper. My hand slid into my hair, fingers closing around the hairpin's jade handle. Cool. Steady. Familiar.
Forty-three missions. Forty-three kills.
The Emperor glanced at me. Nodded once—permission to rise.
I straightened. Smiled. Stepped closer.
My hand moved.
Eleven years of training compressed into one perfect strike. The hairpin flashed toward his throat, angled up beneath the jaw where the poison would flood his brain in seconds.
His hand caught my wrist mid-strike.
Time stopped.
My muscles screamed to pull free, to twist, to finish the kill. But his grip was iron-strong, and the poisoned tip hovered three inches from his skin—close enough to kill, too far to matter.
Our eyes locked.
His were gold. Actual gold—like a dragon's, like molten metal, like nothing I'd ever seen. They should have been wide with shock. Terrified. Dying.
Instead, he smiled.
Finally, Emperor Shen Yifeng said, voice soft as silk over steel. I was beginning to think you'd never come.
My blood turned to ice.
He knows.
You The word stuck in my throat.
His thumb pressed against my racing pulse, feeling every terrified heartbeat. Relax, Phantom Blade. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already.
Phantom Blade. My Guild name. The name only Heishan and his inner circle knew.
How did the Emperor?
Your Majesty! Guards rushed up the stairs, hands on sword hilts. Step away from
Leave us. Yifeng didn't look away from me. Didn't release my wrist. All of you.
But Your Majesty, she
I said leave.
The command cracked like a whip. Guards hesitated, confused, but training won. They backed down the stairs, though their hands stayed on their weapons.
We stood alone on the platform. Emperor and assassin. Dragon and blade.
My mind raced. Escape routes—six guards below, palace walls behind, crowd beneath. I could vault the railing, disappear into the festival chaos, maybe survive.
Maybe.
Don't. Yifeng's voice was quiet. You'll never make it.
You don't know what I can do.
I know you killed Lord Zhang in his bathing chamber. Minister Wu in his own bed. General Fang during his daughter's wedding. His gold eyes burned into mine. Forty-three missions. Forty-three bodies. You've never failed, never been caught, never left evidence. The Ghost of the Shadow Guild. The Phantom Blade who doesn't miss.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Then why am I still breathing?
Because I need you alive.
The world tilted.
He released my wrist but didn't step back. We stood close—too close—close enough that I could see the exhaustion hidden behind his perfect imperial mask. Close enough to smell sandalwood and steel.
Close enough to kill him.
My hand still gripped the hairpin. One move. One strike. Finish the mission.
But his eyes held mine, and something in them made me hesitate.
Not fear. Not anger.
Recognition.
Like he saw past the weapon, past the assassin, straight through to the thirteen-year-old girl who'd been sold like livestock and rebuilt into something deadly.
Walk with me, Lian Yuxi.
My real name. He knew my real name.
The name I'd buried with my old life. The name I never spoke, never remembered, never let myself
How? I whispered.
His smile turned sharp. Dangerous. Dragon-like.
I'm the Emperor. I know everything. He gestured toward the moonlit gardens below. Now walk with me. You're wondering why you're still alive instead of decorating my platform with your blood.
He descended the stairs, confident I'd follow.
I should run. Should vanish. Should report failure and face Heishan's punishment.
Instead, I followed.
Because for the first time in eleven years, someone had called me by my name.
And because the Emperor who caught my poisoned hairpin mid-strike wasn't afraid.
He was smiling.