Footsteps trampled chaotically through the underbrush. The dog seemed to have caught a scent, pawing at the leaves and branches.
Shen Zechuan was soaked in mud up to his neck, barely able to move, forced to freeze in place.
Xiao Chiye felt even worse. The position left him no relief—constantly pressed against something taut and delicate. The body atop him was not just a person, but a cloud of sensation, damp and enveloping him from all sides, inescapable.
The atmosphere stirred him. Places long denied relief surged, hard and urgent, making him wish for a cold shower immediately.
Rain drenched his hair.
After the long standoff, Xiao Chiye finally regained some strength. His fingers twitched; the numbness was slowly ebbing.
The people above had finally moved away, yet Shen Zechuan’s tense body did not relax. Pressed together in this corner of danger, they were caught in a different kind of life-or-death situation.
Xiao Chiye remained calm, his gaze unwavering.
He could not look away. A single flinch, a moment’s avoidance, would feel like yielding to something toward Shen Zechuan.
“You’re pressing too tightly,” Xiao Chiye said nonchalantly.
Shen Zechuan did not respond.
For the first time, Xiao Chiye understood the phrase “riding a tiger, hard to dismount.” He wanted to tilt his head back to breathe, but he resisted—such a movement would feel like an impatient rogue.
He swore he had no such intent.
But being so close, feeling the delicate touch and unique scent, his body reacted instinctively, compelled by an irresistible urge.
He sensed Shen Zechuan sliding down his chest. Only when Shen Zechuan finally moved away did he release a long-held breath.
But before the exhale was complete, a sudden tug on his collar lifted him, and he was slammed onto the mossy streambed.
Falling into the water, Xiao Chiye grabbed Shen Zechuan’s wrist, hooking a leg to unbalance him. As Shen Zechuan fell in as well, Xiao Chiye rolled, pinning his wrist high and pressing him heavily beneath.
“Romantic matters are one thing, survival is another,” Xiao Chiye said firmly, forbidding any motion. “What’s the point of struggling?”
Shen Zechuan’s fingers spread slightly, hair floating in the water, chin tilted as he breathed. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Forcibly pressing forward is not a wise choice.”
“I mean no such thing,” Xiao Chiye growled, as if wanting to bite each word.
Shen Zechuan pressed his knee against him, eyes meaningful.
Xiao Chiye suppressed the tension at his brow, letting his wet hair swing. Water splashed onto Shen Zechuan’s face. Before Shen Zechuan could react, Xiao Chiye reached out and rubbed the mud from his neck, tying his collar firmly.
“The rainy night is cold and wet,” Xiao Chiye said, loosening his hold and stepping away. “Take care of yourself!”
Without allowing Shen Zechuan to reply, he submerged again, emerging moments later with water streaming off him, now mostly composed.
Xiao Chiye flicked water aside, eyes sharp, grasped his blade. “Dawn is near. Let’s go.”
Ji Lei, seeing the light approaching but finding no one, grew increasingly anxious.
Qiao Tianya checked the collars of the dead assassins but found no traces.
“These were Xiao Er’s men,” Qiao Tianya mused, squatting. “He was under constant watch in the capital—when did he raise such skilled assassins?”
“Finding him now is critical!” Ji Lei said, looking northwest toward the capital. “The Eight Battalions should have controlled the main city gates. We cannot let chaos ensue.”
Qiao Tianya noticed Ji Lei’s grip on his blade, realizing his agitation was not only over Xiao Er or the prince—there was something else.
“Xiao Er is a lifeline,” Qiao Tianya observed calmly. “Tonight, other assassins infiltrated. Sir, any idea why?”
“Many hold grudges against the Xiao family. Some want to take advantage of chaos,” Ji Lei said, staring at Qiao Tianya. “How would I know who?”
Qiao Tianya shrugged. “Xiao Er vanished despite our vigilance. He planned ahead, escaping us all night. Now, with dawn breaking, we’ve been played—perhaps even trapped.”
“Trapped?” Ji Lei frowned.
“He risked himself to buy time,” Qiao Tianya said, standing and surveying the distant grasslands. “I suspect he has reinforcements.”
“The other forces have not moved. Where would reinforcements come from?”
Qiao Tianya did not answer—he did not know.
Xi Guan’an rode back to the city. Entering the gate, silence surrounded him. Doubt prickled his mind. Drawing his blade, he asked his deputy, “Any unusual events in the capital tonight?”
The deputy held the reins, noting Xi Guan’an’s tension. “No, everything as usual.”
Xi Guan’an commanded, “Assemble all hands. Those not guarding gates, follow me to protect the palace!”
He spurred toward the palace. His wife and child were inside, and the Empress Dowager would never allow him to see them tonight. Risking everything, he would ensure her safety.
The deputy dispatched men, only to encounter a group of drunken palace soldiers.
The Eight Battalions had long disdained the palace soldiers, refusing to dismount, lashing and cursing: “Clear the way!”
The soldiers’ commander, a scar-faced man, laughed despite being whipped, rolling under the hooves. “We’re all part of the guard. My rank is higher! How dare you strike me!”
The deputy sneered. “You worthless vermin, move or obstruct the Eight Battalions’ mission!”
The man rose, grinning, saying, “Mission? Tonight, the palace soldiers are the ones you’ll lick to!”
As he spoke, the drunken soldiers drew their blades. The deputy reined back, shocked, as the line behind him was slaughtered.
“You rebelled?! Eight Battalions—”
A flash of steel, and he fell from his horse, blood pooling.
The man kicked the deputy’s head aside, wiped his blade on the deputy’s chest. “Dream on! The regime changes, and now the palace soldiers rule!”
A white-breasted, black-backed horse burst from the forest at a whistle. In the dawn light, Hai Dongqing led the way, circling back swiftly.
Hua Siqian noticed the movement. Seeing the soldiers charging, he demanded, “Eight Battalions?”
But the armor bore no insignia, no flags.
Chen Yang realized the moment had come, helping the prince to his feet. “Palace soldiers protect the prince. Anyone drawing a blade faces death. Step back!”
Hua Siqian staggered, holding Pan Rugui. “The prince is held by traitors—why not act?!”
Li Jianheng had nowhere to retreat. Seeing Zhenfu lunging, he shouted. A blade from the forest flew, planting before him.
Xiao Chiye leapt down, tossing his badge onto the tray. “The army commands. Who dares act?”
Ji Lei arrived on horseback, shouting: “Nonsense! Mere palace soldiers—”
Hai Dongqing landed on Xiao Chiye’s shoulder. Xiao Chiye patted him in reward. “If Old Ji dares, let’s see.”
Ji Lei looked to the grassland. The palace soldiers’ vanguard had arrived, yet the trailing forces seemed endless. The banner of Eastern Cang Prefecture unfurled—the lead rider, Qi Zhuyin.
Hua Siqian retreated, holding Pan Rugui, muttering: “The Eastern letters were intercepted… how could it be so silent?”
“If all capital letters pass through the Embroidered Guards,” Xiao Chiye said, sheathing his blade, “it would be too troublesome.”
Seeing the tide turn, Hua Siqian murmured: “The Empress Dowager is still—”
“She is elderly. To preserve her health, the capital is now under palace guard supervision,” Xiao Chiye said. Pulling up Li Jianheng, he added, “Your Highness, after a night of exertion, you deserve rest!”
Qi Zhuyin’s horse had arrived. She dismounted, kneeling to Li Jianheng: “Your Highness, do not worry. Two hundred thousand troops under Eastern command stand ready. I, Qi Zhuyin, will ensure your safety!”
Li Jianheng, like in a dream, stared at Qi Zhuyin and then around. Qiao Tianya, sensing the situation settled, immediately knelt. One by one, the Embroidered Guards also abandoned their blades and knelt.
“…I…”
Li Jianheng clenched his empty hands as if grasping a lifeline. Overcome, tears streamed. Whispering, he said,
“Now, for the Eastern Palace… your great favor will be repaid in full!”