Daoist Master Shen Guang straightened his crown, crying out in grief and indignation: “Niangniang arrives just in time! His Highness the Crown Prince led people into this poor Daoist’s alchemy room, destroying the furnace, killing alchemy boys—this is an enormous crime offending the spirits!”

At these words, Empress Wei knitted her brows, looking toward Zhao Yen, who lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together.

Zhao Yen silently endured those two heavy gazes, almost able to imagine what expression of disappointment Mother Empress would look upon her with.

And again in her ear resounded those words from years ago: “When will you finally let this palace have a little peace of mind.”

She secretly clenched her palm tightly, deeply inhaled, raised her eyes, waiting for the scolding.

Daoist Master Shen Guang, eyes down to nose, nose down to heart, pinched his fingers and closed his eyes, speaking with mystical solemnity: “That His Highness harmed this poor Daoist is no matter, but His Majesty’s great work of cultivation must not be ruined! May Niangniang permit this poor Daoist to report to His Majesty, to burn incense and perform rites, so as to calm Heaven’s wrath…”

Before the words had fallen, only a kick to the chest sent the old Daoist crashing to the ground with an “aiyo” cry, falling on his back.

Zhao Yen was stunned, staring blankly as Empress Wei lowered the hand that had lifted her skirt, planted her foot firmly.

The Empress’s splendid phoenix robe fluttered in the wind, like a female general’s cloak hunting on the battlefield. Her eyes cast down, like surveying ants, at the Daoist of the Shen Guang Sect who lay on the ground clutching his chest and struggling.

“Deceptive, demonic Daoist—how dare you, before this palace, wag your tongue to frame my child!”

Her words, cast down with ringing force, resounded with a metallic echo in all ears.

Only then did Zhao Yen remember—she had only recalled the majestic bearing of Mother Empress in her phoenix robe, but had forgotten that the Wei family’s ancestors had followed the High Ancestor to conquer the world, and were a noble family ennobled for military merit.

The daughters raised by the Wei family naturally carried in their bones that innate fierceness of spirit.

Zhao Yen’s throat stirred.

She could not pause to think further, signaling Gu Xing to press down Daoist Master Shen Guang, then quickly stepped forward to interrogate: “You are that so-called ‘Immortal Master’?”

Daoist Master Shen Guang had just managed to climb up, but simply closed his eyes in seated meditation, putting on a facade of being beyond worldly dust, serene.

“You think that if you say nothing, you can remain safe and sound? The Zhaixing Observatory has collapsed, the court is clamoring furiously to impeach you, and Father Emperor, in order to pacify popular resentment, will sooner or later investigate down to you. But the Shen Guang Sect is filled with filth and corruption—you risked returning to Tongtian Terrace, was it for this register?”

Zhao Yen drew forth from her bosom that half-burned register. Seeing it, the old Daoist’s face clearly stiffened; only then did she understand: “The one rifling through your alchemy room just now was not one of your Daoists… which means, there are others also wishing to destroy the secrets recorded in this register. Even if I were to let you go, on the road of petitioning, or in the prisons of the Court of Judicial Review, how certain are you not to be silenced?”

“This poor Daoist does not understand… what His Highness is saying.”

“Then I will make it plain: right now, only I can let you live.”

The old Daoist’s beard trembled, his withered eyelids fluttering rapidly.

All the detachment and cultivated composure of one outside the mortal world collapsed before life and death, leaving only instinctive trembling panic.

“The poisonous incense that dissolved into paper and ink, using the gland of the candle-snake as catalyst—the one that poisoned the Confucian scholars of the Mingde Hall and the letter sent into the Eastern Palace—was it your doing?”

Seeing the old Daoist’s spirit waver, Zhao Yen raised her voice: “Because their political discourse threatened the interests of the Shen Guang Sect, you poisoned them to harm the imperial heir! This is a crime that punishes nine clans by extermination!”

“No, not I…”

The old Daoist’s defenses collapsed; he suddenly opened his eyes wide: “Though this poor Daoist feared Your Highness, how could I dare so openly and flagrantly plot harm against Your Highness! The refining of poison was done at the command of another, it truly was no concern of this poor Daoist!”

Zhao Yen froze for a moment, then stepped forward to press urgently: “Who ordered you? Who is behind you? Speak!”

“This poor Daoist delivered medicine to so many households, how could I remember—”

Shoo! An extremely light sound of something breaking through the air.

“Changfeng!”

Empress Wei, sharp-eyed and quick-handed, seized Zhao Yen’s hand and pulled her aside.

Almost at the same instant, a feathered arrow grazed Zhao Yen’s temple, sinking wholly into Daoist Master Shen Guang’s throat, then jutting out from the back of his neck.

He still held the posture of opening his mouth to speak, eyes wide, body stiff as he toppled backward, dying instantly.

“Protect His Highness!” Gu Xing shouted sternly.

Zhao Yen fell sitting to the ground, her pupils slightly contracting.

The sunlight was scorching, yet from the depths of her heart arose a sharp coldness.

The Imperial Guards swarmed forth, cupping fists toward Empress Wei and Zhao Yen: “This humble one acts by Imperial command, come to take Daoist Master Shen Guang for questioning…”

Before the commander of the Imperial Guards could finish his words, seeing the corpse of Daoist Master Shen Guang on the ground, he froze.

Daoist Master Shen Guang was dead. Yet that blood-stained dark-iron arrow on the ground clearly belonged to the armory of the Imperial Guard.

“Who killed him?”

Zhao Yen slowly rose, her robe of gold and purple billowing in the wind, her gaze sweeping over the just-arrived Imperial Guards. “Which of you loosed the arrow that killed him?”

The Imperial Guards looked at one another, mute.

“His Highness the Crown Prince and I came a step too late; Daoist Master Shen Guang was silenced by an infiltrator within the Imperial Guards. This matter is of the utmost gravity—report to His Majesty at once!”

Empress Wei, with a few words, steadied the scene, then turned back to Zhao Yen, lowering her voice: “The Crown Prince has been frightened. Today there is no need to present yourself before His Majesty for greetings. Rest well.”

Having spoken, she gave Zhao Yen a deep look, then led away the Imperial Guards and palace attendants.

Zhao Yen remained standing for a while longer, until her icy limbs gradually regained warmth.

“What happened?”

Liu Baiwei had just returned from searching the left hall, staring in shock at the Imperial Guards carrying away Daoist Master Shen Guang’s corpse. “What has occurred? Is Your Highness unharmed?”

“The witness was silenced.”

Zhao Yen lightly shook her head. Fortunately, there was still this register.

She pressed the half-remaining clue against her bosom, lowering her gaze in thought.

As if having made a decision, she lifted her eyes with resolve and said: “Return to the Eastern Palace.”

…

Hegui Pavilion.

Zhang Cang hurried upstairs, his breath not yet steady, and reported to Wenren Lin, who was seated reading a scroll.

“Your Highness, the Crown Prince somehow investigated Tongtian Terrace and seized half of an account book from those people.”

Wenren Lin raised his eyes. Zhang Cang swallowed with difficulty, then forced himself to continue: “This humble one was a step too late. The Crown Prince is holding that half account book and is already on the way back to the Eastern Palace.”

The Crown Prince carrying such a burning hot potato was undoubtedly a target of all, a moving living bull’s-eye!

The words had scarcely fallen when Wenren Lin had already set aside the scroll and risen, passing Zhang Cang and descending the stairs.

His countenance was frost-pale, his eyes dazzling, the robe on his body stirring though without wind.

Zhang Cang was forced back a step by the oppressive murderous aura emanating from him. Only after his figure disappeared below did Zhang Cang come to his senses, slapping his own head!

His Highness’s poison would flare within these two days, yet he had not taken the medicine!

…

The Eastern Palace’s carriage, after leaving the Celebration-Peace Gate of the Northern Court, followed the narrow path along the palace wall, circling back toward the Eastern Palace.

Gu Xing and the Eastern Palace guards pressed their hands on their swords, protecting on both sides.

The assassination happened in but an instant.

From the wall of a workshop flanking the path, assassins rained arrows down, aiming straight at the Crown Prince within the carriage!

Gu Xing drew his blade, clang after clang cleaving down the arrows, fighting while retreating, shouting loudly: “Protect His Highness!”

One assassin leapt from the workshop wall, cutting his way toward the carriage, seemingly intending to snatch something.

But he had scarcely run a few zhang forward when another dark-feathered arrow struck him to the ground.

At the other end of the path, Prince Su in a dark red robe rode in, drawing his bow upon horseback like a crescent moon, aiming at the assassins behind the wall.

Three arrows loosed in unison, then three more in reverse grip—none missed the mark!

The two remaining assassins were also subdued by Gu Xing, their jaws swiftly dislocated to prevent suicide.

Before the horse had yet halted its hooves, Wenren Lin, bow in hand, swung down from horseback, steady upon landing, striding toward the Eastern Palace’s carriage.

He walked so swiftly, lifting the curtain riddled with arrows, his fingers trembling for the briefest instant.

The curtain lifted, light poured in, illuminating within a figure clad in rattan armor, helmeted, fully armed—

Li Fu.

Li Fu shrank within the rattan armor in a daze, a few ridiculous arrows stuck in his arm, staring blankly at the man before him, indistinguishable whether Asura or deity.

Wenren Lin silently lowered his hand, the surging brilliance in his eyes tightening, then gradually subsiding.

Suppressing the suffocating backlash in his chest, after a long pause, he rasped hoarsely: “Where is His Highness?”