"Have you heard? They say GeneralLinhuan is dead!"
"Dead? Hah. That man? You might as well tell me the Dragon Veins dried up."
The laughter that followed was uneasy. It had been six months since the war ended, yet the capital of Yuèlín still felt like a city walking on cracked ice. Teahouses filled quickly these days. People preferred noise over silence.
"I'm serious," the first man insisted, lowering his voice. "My cousin serves under Commander Qiu in the imperial scouts. They've been searching for him day and night yet found nthing. Not even a trace of his aura."
"That proves nothing. If he truly carries the MoonlightFoxCore as the rumors claim, concealing himself would be easier than breathing."
A sharp clatter of porcelain interrupted them.
"Moonlight Fox?" an elderly scholar scoffed. "Mind your tongue. The traitor bore the WhiteTigersigil for over a decade. I saw it myself during the Southern Campaign. His silverorbs were bright as daylight."
"Then you might not believe it," one man said carefully, glancing around before lowering his voice, "but the rumors claim that bearers of the Moonlight Fox core can conceal their identities by forging the sigils and even the eye-orbs of other races. Temporarily, of course."
Across the table, someone let out a dry laugh. "You mean the so-called Heaven's Chosen Deceivers?"
A few listeners shifted uncomfortably at the title. Another man frowned, tapping his cup against the wood. "Let's think logically. Even if we entertain that rumor — temporarily, you said. Temporarily."
He leaned forward. "ZhanLinhuan was in Yuèlín for five years. One year preparing for the imperial military examinations, where he ranked first among thousands and four years serving as General of the Yuèlín Army as well the former crown prince's side simultaneously."
He paused deliberately, "That is not temporary."
Murmurs of agreement rose.
"Exactly," someone added. "If it were merely forged markings, someone would have noticed. Core resonance is not something you fake so easily. The spiritual pressure, the aura alignment — these things are tested constantly in the capital."
"And even if," the skeptic continued, "even if he could mimic the sigil and the white orbs — what about his combat ability?"
That question stilled the table.
"What about his battlefield presence?" the man pressed. "His formations? His spearwork? Can someone of another origin replicate the inherent ferocity of a White Tiger core bearer?"
No one answered immediately.
Everyone in the capital understood one truth: among martial abilities, White Tigers stood second only to Dragons.
White Tiger bearers were born for war. Their instincts were sharpened, their bodies attuned to close combat, their killing intent nearly tangible.
Only the supreme and rarest Dragon core could naturally suppress them like the current Emperor.
"As for General Linhuan…" the elderly scholar finally said, voice steady, though several at the table hummed reluctantly in response, "…none of us require a reminder."
The name alone carried weight.
Zhan Linhuan — the White Tiger General of Yuèlín, was invincible across multiple campaigns. The empire's shield at the northern frontier. The man personally selected to instruct the crown prince in martial cultivation.
"You believe the late king would entrust his only heir to someone unworthy?" the scholar continued quietly. "The crown prince trained beneath him daily. Ate at the same table. Studied strategy at his side. Do you truly think His Majesty—" he corrected himself, carefully, "—the former crown prince, could not distinguish genuine martial intent from falsehood?"
Silence settled over the table. Because that was the heart of it. If Linhuan had truly been a Moonlight Fox in disguise—then either his deception surpassed reason, or someone had chosen not to see.
And that thought was far more dangerous than treason.
A cup struck the table a little too hard in between the quiet atmosphere,
"Enough of speculation," a man muttered, eyes burning with restrained hatred. "Rumors remain rumors. What matters is that he betrayed this country. Betrayed the late king of Yuèlín. He is the reason why Yuèlín fell and that damned monarch of Mánhuāng took control for five long years!"
Several heads nodded in unison.
"If not for His Majesty being Heaven's chosen," the man went on, voice tightening, "we would still be rotting under that ignorant tyrant, WangLiran. Do you remember those five years? The massacres? The public executions? The famine in the eastern prefectures?"
The air grew heavier.
"We all suffered," he spat. "Including the current Emperor. He lost his entire family in a single night. At eighteen — before his powers could fully awaken, before his spiritual core even revealed itself — he vanished, and we were forced to believe that he—"
No one contradicted that.
"That time," the man continued, "he vanished with nothing. No army. No allies. Now it is that traitor's turn. Karma is merely patient."
"But who confirmed it was his doing?" another voice interrupted, making several heads turned his way.
The speaker lowered his tone instinctively, as though the walls themselves might report him.
"The royal palace burned that night and the whole imperial family perished. The witnesses died in the chaos. We judged five years of loyal service based on fragmented accusations and the testimony of men who benefited from his fall."
"You would still defend him?" The earlier speaker's tone sharpened. "After what happened to the late king?"
The younger man swallowed but did not retreat.
"I served in the Third Battalion under General Linhuan six years ago. He led from the front. When rations ran thin during the River Plains siege, he gave his portion to the youngest recruits. He took the most dangerous flank himself." His voice grew firmer. "Does that sound like a man preparing to betray us?"
Someone agreed with him, "If he betrayed us for power, why did he never surface during Wang Liran's reign? Why did he not claim status under Mánhuāng or Yuèlín? Why vanish instead?"
"Kindness proves nothing," came the cold reply. "And absence proves even less. Do not forget—he was a spy. A capable one on top of that. Perhaps Wang Liran feared him and disposed of him. Perhaps he was silenced after serving his purpose. That is not impossible."
The speaker leaned forward, "And if he did not betray us, explain this — why has His Majesty branded him a wanted traitor? Was not the former crown prince known to respect him above all others? Did he not call him Shizun?"
The word lingered.
Shizun.
"Then why," the man pressed, "the moment he seized the throne six months ago, was that same man declared a fugitive? You tell me."
A heavy silence answered, "At least the traitor paid for it," another said abruptly, slamming his palm against the table.
"Did he?" someone asked softly.
The tone was almost ominous, "If not yet," the first man replied, "he will. Have you not seen how the imperial scouts search recently? Every province. Every border checkpoint. His Majesty seems to be hunting him."
He smiled without warmth and the teahouse grew noticeably quieter.
Five years of General Linhuan's service, next five years of the aftermath of his betrayal, chaos after Yuèlín's fall, Wang Liran's cruel reign, the suffering of the people, the missing crown prince presumed dead.
And now, just six months of the Dragon Emperor's rule, and he's being hunted.
Between eighteen and twenty-four, the former crown prince vanished from history. No one knew where he cultivated, how he survived, or what battles forged him anew.
But when he returned, he did not return as a displaced heir.
He returned as the Dragon himself.
And his first decree?
It was not about taxes, rebuilding or borders. It was a single and absolute order which is to find ZhanLinhuan anyhow. Alive and breathing.
"Alive," the younger soldier repeated under his breath. "If this were only revenge, execution would have been immediate."
"Perhaps His Majesty desires a public trial."
"Or perhaps…" another murmured, lowering his cup slowly, "this is something beyond revenge."
The implication lingered, "In any case," he added quietly, "it may be better for that man if he is never found. I fear what awaits him would make death seem merciful."
A harsh snicker broke the tension, "A traitor deserves the worst penalties imaginable."
Outside, armored footsteps passed the entrance, making the tavern keeper stiffened.
"Enough," he hissed under his breath. "Imperial scouts are patrolling the area."
Chairs scraped hastily, "Finish your meals first," someone muttered. "Speak less."
But even as the tavern quieted and wine was poured anew, his name refused to fade — and neither did the hunt.
The next day passed no differently.
Imperial scouts searched the outer provinces from dawn until dusk. Patrols rode through market towns, border villages, abandoned shrines. Inns were questioned. Merchant caravans were inspected. Spiritual fluctuations were tested.
Nothing.
Another week slipped by. Another city was turned inside out.
Still nothing.
Another month followed — the search expanded, widened, intensified.
Yet not a single trace of Zhan Linhuan surfaced. It was as if the man had dissolved into mist. Or had never existed at all.
By the first week of the eighth month, the young Emperor had traveled to the borders of Mánhuāng under the pretext of negotiating a minor trade treaty with the XiKingdom. The matter itself was trivial. Grain routes. Caravan tariffs. Border permissions.
But while stationed at a border inn, another report reached him.
Illegal slave trade or human trafficking disguised as labor contracts. Men and women bought and sold like livestock in the black markets.
The deeper investigation revealed something worse. The heart of it all lay in Yanfeng — the capitalcity of Mánhuāng.
The operations were hidden beneath layers of false fronts: auction houses registered as antique traders, warehouses marked as spice depots, private courtyards guarded more tightly than noble estates.
It was efficient, organized and profitable. And several powerful entities were protecting it.
The Emperor listened to the report without visible expression. Then he dismissed the officials handling the treaty.
That very night, a new identity was prepared.
A wealthy young master from a noble family in the western provinces — indulgent, curious, fond of rare acquisitions.
A lavish carriage was arranged. Fine robes embroidered in subtle gold thread. Pouches heavy with silver and gold. Only a handful of his most trusted guards accompanied him, disguised as personal attendants and servants.
This time, there were no mperial banners, dragon insignia or imperial aura allowed to leak.
By dawn, the party departed quietly. Their destination was Yanfeng city of Mánhuāng, where the desert wind never cease...
And where something far more valuable than slaves might be hidden.
.
.
.
To be continued...