Shenyan stood still, the faint breeze rustling his sleeves. His chest had stopped burning from that strange force, but the question still lingered. What was that just now? He didn't ask. Not yet. Xuanzi was quiet again, and Shenyan knew better than to make this worse.
Instead, he turned to General Lin.
Voice calm. Words clean. But the bite was there. Like a blade wrapped in silk.
"General Lin," Shenyan said. "What brings you to the palace at such an hour?"
The General's eyes narrowed. "What just happened?"
Shenyan blinked, then smiled. "What do you mean?"
"That force—"
"I was in my room," Shenyan cut in changing the topic, voice still polite. "I heard some noise. I came out to see what it was. And here you are. Standing in the courtyard."
General Lin's lips curled into a bitter grin. "You little fox. Always twisting your words."
Shenyan smiled wider. "Me? Does a sickly fox stand a chance against a tiger?."
The General let out a laugh. Not a real one—just that dry, mocking kind that people spit when they're not amused. "Your father," he said, "is feared across the Five Cities and the Main Lake Sects. He crushed rebel kings, tore apart northern clans. And yet, here his son is—playing word games and whispering to the wind."
Shenyan's smile never faded. "My father is a great man," he said. "That's why I don't dare to disobey him. Truly, I must thank him. If not for his generosity, I'd be wasting time lifting swords and running around like a fool."
General Lin's eyes darkened. "Is that so?"
"Oh yes," Shenyan said. "Too much strain. You know how fragile I am. It'd be a tragedy."
The General's jaw tightened.
"I think," he said coldly, "we need to see about that."
"You flatter me, General." Shenyan bowed slightly, mock-serious. "Now—would you grace me with the real reason you're here tonight? Or was it just to drop more… wisdom on my face?"
General Lin's eyes flashed. He snapped his fingers.
A servant stepped forward silently, holding something long and wrapped in rich red silk. Shenyan's smile faded, curiosity flickering in his gaze.
The silk was smooth. Heavy. And familiar.
He took it. Slowly unwrapped it.
And stopped.
In his hands lay a dagger—its hilt carved with silver clouds, its blade dark and thin, like a sliver of night itself.
He knew it.
He had given it away five years ago.
To Shenglie.
His brother.
The blade he gifted for Shenglie's twentieth birthday.
He looked up sharply.
"Where did you get this?" Shenyan asked, voice low.
General Lin didn't smile this time. "That, my prince… is something you'll have to ask the blood on the blade."
Shenyan turned slightly, eyes narrowing at one of the palace guards standing close to the shadows near his chambers.
"Where is the Crown Prince right now?" he asked, voice low but firm.
The guard stepped forward quickly, bowing with clenched fists. "Reporting, Your Highness. His Royal Highness departed earlier. He said he was headed to Nanyue City, to visit the head of the Lianhua Sect."
Shenyan nodded slowly. He turned back to General Lin, still holding the dagger, its silk wrapping now forgotten on the cold stone floor.
"Care to explain something I don't know about the blood on my brother's dagger?" Shenyan asked, tone still light but dangerous. The kind of voice that lingers between mockery and threat.
General Lin's expression darkened. His jaw clenched. "This dagger," he said, his voice cold, "was pulled out of my estate eunuch's chest. He was found lifeless, facedown in the courtyard just before the second bell rang. And this..."
He gestured at the weapon in Shenyan's hand.
"This was still warm with blood."
Shenyan looked down at it. The dagger was exactly as he remembered — elegant, short, silver-carved with the Morpho insignia etched near the hilt. It had been a gift. His own hands had tied the jade bead on its tassel. He remembered how his brother laughed that day.
"I see," Shenyan said softly, but his tone had shifted — no longer playful, but calculating.
General Lin stepped closer, his voice rising. "I do not throw accusations lightly, Your Highness. But if I must... if I must point a finger, I will not hesitate to drag this matter to the Emperor himself. Crown Prince or not, if Shenglie is involved, and if this blade came from within the palace, then justice must speak."
For a second, silence stretched between them like the string of a bow — tight, trembling.
Then Shenyan smiled.
Not kindly.
"You refuse to lay accusations," he said, twirling the dagger once, "and yet your words circle me like vultures. Tell me, General Lin. Are you here to accuse, or to provoke?"
The older man said nothing. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his blade, but he did not draw.
"Be careful," Shenyan said, eyes glinting, "not all things in this palace are as they appear. Especially not the blood on blades. And you should know better... than to bring threats to a prince."
He handed the dagger back to the silk wrap and dropped it into the servant's hands.
"And if this is indeed my brother's... then maybe you should be praying that it's not him you've made an enemy of."
General Lin's eyes narrowed. "I do not fear your brother."
Shenyan took a step closer, smile sharp.
"Then perhaps," he whispered, "you should start. "