As soon as Yu Diexin steps through the gates of the Duan estate, the tension that has been barely holding together finally spills free.

Housekeeper Chen is already there.

He has been waiting.

The lantern light catches the deep lines on his face as his gaze sweeps over her, sharp and assessing, lingering for half a breath on the bloodstained sleeve before his expression hardens.

“Escort Madam to her room,” he says curtly.

The servants move at once.

Diexin does not resist. The adrenaline has faded, leaving behind a heavy exhaustion that settles into her bones. She allows herself to be guided through familiar corridors, past carved pillars and shadowed walls, until the doors to her room are closed behind her.

Inside, the maids move quickly and silently.

Warm water.

Clean cloth.

Gentle but practised hands.

Her sleeve is cut away, and the wound on her arm is washed carefully. It is shallow, but the skin around it has already darkened faintly—a trace of poison residue that makes the maids’ fingers tremble as they work.

Bandages are wrapped tightly and neatly.

Fresh clothes are laid out.

Diexin sits still throughout, eyes half-lidded, her thoughts already elsewhere.

Outside the room, Housekeeper Chen’s voice sharpens.

“In the inner city,” he says, barely containing his fury. “Under patrol. With guards at every junction. Explain to me how Madam was ambushed.”

The guards exchange uneasy glances.

One speaks, voice low. “The attackers were disciplined. They chose a narrow street. The carriage was stopped cleanly.”

Chen’s gaze flicks to the blood on the stones beyond the courtyard. “And none of you sensed it beforehand?”

Silence.

Chen exhales slowly. “Increase patrols. Double them. Seal the street and trace everyone who passed through it tonight. I want names.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guards scatter.

Far from the Duan estate, beneath a different roof, the guard who retrieved the arrowhead slips through a side door and into a dim building that smells faintly of incense and damp stone.

A woman wearing a veil waits inside.

Her posture is relaxed.

Too relaxed.

The guard kneels and produces a small lacquered box, placing it on the table between them.

“I’ve done my job,” he says quietly. “When will you complete what you promised?”

The veiled woman does not touch the box.

“Go home,” she replies calmly. “It is waiting for you there.”

The guard’s face breaks into a grin. He bows hastily and leaves without another word.

The woman watches him go, her veil unmoving.

Then she turns.

She descends a narrow stair hidden behind a sliding panel, stone steps spiralling downward into the earth. The air grows colder, heavier, thick with something old and expectant.

At the bottom lies a wide underground chamber.

Torches flicker along the walls, illuminating a massive idol carved from dark stone.

A hooded figure.

Faceless.

One hand extended, holding a lantern.

At the chamber’s centre stands a circular basin raised on a pedestal. The liquid inside it is still and clear, reflecting torchlight like glass.

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Four figures stand around it.

One of them is Shen Ling.

His eyes flick to the veiled woman as she enters. He recognises her—Yi Yu—and then his gaze shifts to the jade box she carries.

Curiosity stirs uneasily in his chest.

Yi Yu steps forward and hands the box to Zhao Wi, a thin man whose eyes gleam with quiet obsession.

Zhao Wi opens it.

Inside lies the arrowhead, darkened with dried blood.

Shen Ling frowns. “What is this?”

Zhao Wi does not answer immediately.

He closes his eyes and begins to whisper.

The words are soft, rhythmic, carrying a weight that presses against the skin. The lantern held by the idol begins to glow, its light deepening from dull yellow to a radiant gold.

A single beam spills from the lantern, striking the basin.

The water shimmers—and turns golden.

“God of Direction,” Zhao Wi murmurs, voice trembling with reverence. “Please illuminate the way for your devout believers.”

“Remove the fog from our path.”

He drops the arrowhead into the basin.

It sinks without a ripple.

The golden liquid begins to move.

Images rise to the surface.

First, a newborn child, wrapped in cloth.

Shen Ling stiffens.

The man holding the infant comes into focus—and the surroundings sharpen with cruel clarity.

His breath catches.

As the image shifts, the child grows.

Days blur into years.

The girl’s face becomes unmistakable.

Yu Diexin.

Shen Ling stumbles back a step, blood draining from his face.

Around the basin, the others stare in stunned silence.

The image fades.

Shen Ling turns on Zhao Wi, panic bleeding into his voice. “How did you come upon her blood?”

Zhao Wi opens his eyes, calm as ever.

“I was suspicious of Cai Wenji’s identity,” he says. “I did not know she was Yu Diexin. I wanted to find if she was Cai Wenji, as she appeared suddenly, married Duan Merin, healed the Seventh Prince, cured Prince Yuan’s youngest son, and became Song Rui’s teacher.”

He gestures toward the basin. “Patterns like that do not occur by chance.”

“So I asked Yi Yu to obtain proof.”

The image of Cai Wenji flashes through Shen Ling’s mind.

The quiet confidence.

The unfamiliar calm.

The way her gaze never lingered on him.

Cold realisation sinks deep into his bones.

Yi Yu speaks, voice sharp. “We must silence her.”

The others nod without hesitation.

Shen Ling stands frozen.

Three years ago, he had been wracked with remorse when Yu Diexin leapt from the cliff.

That remorse feels distant now.

Small.

Insignificant.

What stands before him is not a memory, but a threat.

A living one.

Slowly, his jaw tightens.

His eyes harden.

“She must die,” he says.

And this time, there is no hesitation in his voice.

———-

Morning light filters softly into the dining hall of the Duan estate.

Yu Diexin sits upright at the table, steam rising from the bowl before her, but her thoughts are far from breakfast. Across the room, Housekeeper Chen stands with his hands folded behind his back, posture straight as ever.

She glances up at him and speaks, her tone calm but intent.

“Uncle Chen, is there any news about who ambushed me last night?”

The title slips from her lips naturally now. Since the marriage, she has begun calling him Uncle, and he accepts it without comment.

Housekeeper Chen shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says. “We found nothing that can lead us to identify the attackers. Their tracks were clean, their methods disciplined. Whoever planned it knew the inner city well.”

Silence settles for a moment.

Then Housekeeper Chen speaks again, his voice lower. “Should we inform the Lord?”

Diexin pauses, her spoon hovering above the bowl.

She shakes her head.

“He would only worry needlessly,” she says. “And he wouldn’t be able to do anything staying there.”

She herself does not know how much her husband would worry—Merin rarely shows his emotions—but the words come out all the same. Whether for his sake or her own, she cannot tell.

Housekeeper Chen studies her for a brief moment, then nods.

“You are right.”

After a short pause, he adds, “You shouldn’t go outside for the next few days.”

This time, Diexin does not object.

She knows the danger is real. The ambush was not a warning—it was an attempt to kill.

When breakfast draws to a close, Diexin sets her chopsticks down and looks up again.

“Uncle Chen,” she says quietly, “is there a way to make Prince Yuan leave the capital?”

Housekeeper Chen’s eyes sharpen.

He is already aware of the intelligence Diexin uncovered, and he understands immediately why she is asking. It is not a personal question—it concerns the future balance of power within the kingdom, and by extension, the Duan family itself.

He considers for a moment before answering.

“Except for an order from the royal court,” he says, “no one can force Prince Yuan to leave the capital.”

Diexin’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly.

Her gaze lowers.

If Prince Yuan advances to the Sublimation Realm, everything will become worse. The Shen family will gain an even stronger backing, and the royal family’s power will swell. Both outcomes work directly against her plans.

She exhales softly.

Housekeeper Chen watches her, then continues, his voice steady.

“A week from now, Prince Yuan will leave the capital.”

Her head snaps up.

“What?” she asks, eyes widening.

Housekeeper Chen allows himself a faint, knowing look.

“A week from now, the Flower of Rock Pine will bloom,” he explains. “It happens only once every ten years.”

Diexin frowns slightly. “The Rock Pine tree grows in the royal forest outside the city. But the flower itself has no medicinal value. Why would Prince Yuan leave the capital for that?”

Housekeeper Chen nods.

“The flower itself is useless to us,” he says. “But Blood Deer love to eat it.”

Diexin’s expression shifts.

Blood Deer.

A rare species, elusive and difficult to hunt. Their blood and flesh can purify impurities within the body, making them prized by both warriors and spiritual refiners. Yet they remain hidden most of the time, almost impossible to track.

Housekeeper Chen continues, “When the Rock Pine flowers bloom, Blood Deer gather. That is the only time they can be hunted reliably.”

He meets her gaze.

“That day, not only the royal family, but every noble family in the capital will be invited to the hunt.”

Understanding dawns in Diexin’s eyes.

Prince Yuan will leave the capital—not for flowers, but for opportunity.

She nods slowly, already beginning to plan.

—

Far from the capital, the forest finally begins to thin.

Merin rides at the head of his group, dust clinging to cloaks and armour, the air carrying the faint scent of civilisation after days of wilderness.

The trees break apart ahead.

Beyond them, the outline of a town emerges on the horizon—walls, watchtowers, and clustered rooftops bathed in pale light.

Gatewatch Peak Town lies before them.

And with it, the next stage of Merin’s path begins.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep