Chu Feng waits in the common room of the base, seated alone beneath dim lantern light.

He cannot stop thinking about Diexin.

About her impending marriage to Duan Merin.

He searches for a way to stop it, to sway her from walking that path, yet every road ends in the same wall.

Merin has no weakness.

Three years ago, when Chu Feng met him, he conducted a thorough investigation.

Background.

Allies.

Temperament.

Ambition.

Nothing.

No leverage.

No cracks.

Merin stands like a blade forged without flaw.

Chu Feng closes his eyes.

Diexin’s face rises unbidden, clear and vivid.

For a fleeting moment, he imagines taking her away, leaving everything behind, disappearing beyond borders and schemes.

Then memory strikes.

The night his father died.

The grip of a dying hand.

The vow spoken beside the bed.

The Dragon Empire will rise again.

He opens his eyes.

He cannot break that vow.

Nor can Diexin abandon hers.

She wants Yulan City.

She wants her identity restored.

And if the Dragon Chu bloodline resurfaces, the three royal families will never allow her to keep that city.

Their paths diverge by necessity.

“It is all for the best,” he murmurs.

“I pursue my goal.”

“She pursues hers.”

“Perhaps… I should not meet her again.”

Footsteps approach.

His men enter one by one, cloaked from head to toe, kneeling in formation.

Chu Feng gestures for them to speak.

The first steps forward.

“Highness, the saintess of the Golden Lotus Sect has arrived in the capital.”

“She has departed with Divine Guards to investigate the Black Fang Palace.”

A smile curves Chu Feng’s lips.

“Good.”

“Tell Bu Qinghan to begin cutting all loose ends.”

The man bows.

“Yes, Highness.”

“I will contact Bu Qinghan at sunrise.”

Chu Feng nods and shifts his gaze to the man in the middle.

The second speaks.

“Highness, you were correct.”

“The royal family does not support Prince Yuan marrying his fifth daughter to Shen Ling.”

Chu Feng leans forward, interest sharpening.

This book was originally published on NovelBin. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Why?”

“They have sealed the reason,” the man replies.

Chu Feng’s fingers tighten slightly.

“Find out.”

Prince Yuan is dangerous.

After the three elders, he is the strongest pillar of the Song Kingdom.

And the elders are nearing the end of their lives.

If Prince Yuan falls, the kingdom will fracture instantly.

Chaos will open the door that Chu Feng has been waiting for.

“Yes, Highness,” the second man replies.

Chu Feng turns to the third.

“Highness,” the man says, “your forged identity is complete.”

“Tomorrow, you may leave the base and interact freely with the nobility.”

Chu Feng nods.

“And?”

The man hesitates, then continues.

“Miss Diexin… has arranged to meet you at the Pearl House.”

“For lunch.”

Chu Feng freezes.

The meaning is clear.

An open meeting.

Public.

No secrecy.

No intimacy.

A boundary.

He exhales slowly and rises to his feet.

“Take me to the new house,” he says.

——

The night is moonless.

Stars scatter across the sky like cold embers, distant and sharp.

Below them, Divine Guards ride in tight formation, the carriage rolling steadily behind.

Members of the Golden Lotus Sect move among them, spiritual refiners lifting their hands as golden Qi blooms into lotus shapes that hover above the road.

Three golden lotuses float in sequence, their soft light washing the path ahead.

Some Divine Guards carry torches instead, iron staffs burning at one end, fire snapping in the wind.

In the darkness, the procession presses forward without pause.

Hours pass.

Farmland stretches beside the road, neat rows dissolving into wild growth.

Fields give way to forest.

Forest thins, breaks, and becomes farmland again.

Merin rides in silence.

Ahead, faint glows flicker on the horizon.

Fire.

He watches them carefully.

Is the destination near?

He turns slightly and asks one of the accompanying lieutenants where they are headed.

No answer comes.

He tries another.

Again, silence.

They ride on.

As the fires grow clearer, shapes emerge.

Tents.

Barricades.

Armour reflecting torchlight.

An army camp.

Merin’s eyes narrow.

The insignia catches his attention.

Grey wolves.

The Grey Wolf Army.

Confusion ripples through him.

That army is stationed far to the west, guarding the gap between the Magoon Mountains and the Cangzhou range.

They defend against incursions from the Western Golden Desert.

They should not be here.

The column slows.

Then stops.

Three men step forward from the camp.

Merin’s gaze fixes on the man in the centre.

He wears a general’s armour.

No cape.

A lower-ranked general, one capable of commanding a thousand soldiers.

Yet the camp behind him is small.

Barely a hundred men.

A Western general leading a reduced force.

Commander Di is present.

Golden Lotus Sect present.

This is no ordinary matter.

Merin dismounts.

So do the others.

He keeps a hand on the reins and watches.

Commander Di steps down from the carriage.

The veiled young woman follows, silent and composed.

The elderly woman steps down last, leaning lightly on her staff.

They walk forward together.

Merin follows at a distance, listening.

Commander Di speaks first.

“General Yue,” he says, voice steady, “how is the situation?”

The general salutes sharply.

“When we arrived,” he says, “the village was already destroyed.”

Smoke drifts faintly from the hills beyond.

Bodies are not visible.

That is worse.

“We tracked the perpetrators,” General Yue continues.

“They retreated into the three mountain ridges behind the village.”

Merin leans slightly to his left and glimpses the outline of the village swallowed by darkness.

Commander Di speaks, his voice low.

“Did you enter the village?”

General Yue shakes his head.

“No, I did not want to risk it.”

Commander Di nods once.

“Good, we have suffered enough from the traps left behind by the Black Fang Palace.”

Merin’s brows tighten.

Black Fang Palace.

The name is unfamiliar.

And from the stillness ahead, this is clearly not the first village to meet such an end.

General Yue turns toward the two women with a questioning look.

Commander Di speaks again.

“This is Lin Qiansu,” he says, gesturing to the veiled young woman.

“And this is Elder Lin.”

Elder Lin’s gaze sweeps over the village.

“Let us see,” she says calmly.

“If this is truly the Black Fang Palace, or if you are wasting our time.”

General Yue’s face stiffens, but he bows.

“Please.”

The two women walk forward, Commander Di and General Yue following behind.

Grey Wolf soldiers step in to take the horses.

Merin moves with the group.

As they draw closer, Merin sees no visible destruction.

No fire.

No broken walls.

Yet the silence presses in like a weight.

The village is dead.

They stop.

Elder Lin lifts her staff and taps it against the ground.

Golden light erupts from the point of contact.

It spreads outward like a wave.

A shriek pierces the night.

From every house, small spiders spill out, skittering across walls and roofs.

They spit webs as they move, threads weaving together in midair.

Above the village, the webs gather.

Condense.

A massive spider takes shape, suspended over the rooftops.

Its aura flares.

Saint.

Merin’s Blood Qi stirs, his Dao ready to surge.

Then he stills.

The pressure is hollow.

Thin.

This is not a true Saint.

It is a projection.

A shadow of a Saint Realm Dao.

Before anyone can react further, Lin Qiansu steps forward.

Golden light pours from her body.

A lotus blooms behind her, radiant and vast.

Near-Saint rank.

Merin recognises it instantly.

The lotus surges forward.

Golden fire explodes.

The spider burns.

As it dissolves, a mental scream rips through the air.

Everyone clutches their heads.

Merin feels no pain, but he mirrors their reaction, lowering his head as the scream fades.

Silence returns.

Commander Di exhales.

“Thank you.”

They move into the village.

Merin enters a house.

Inside, a husband and wife lie on the bed, hands locked around each other’s throats.

In another, a child grips a bloodied knife lodged in his mother’s chest, while the mother’s blade pierces the father, and the father’s blade pierces the child.

In every home, the story repeats.

Those alone hang from beams.

Drown themselves in buckets.

Slash their own throats.

No struggle.

No resistance.

Only madness.

At the centre of the village, Commander Di gathers Merin, the lieutenants, and the captains.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep