YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 26, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  She scowled. Veins rose across her forearm as her fingers curled into a tight fist. Her shoulders were locked, her breath shallow. But her eyes were wet, and the muscle in her neck twitched.

  There was something wrong with her arm.

  “Jiang Feng, stop causing a scene. Let her go.”

  He hesitated. His eyes flicked to mine, full of something between reluctance and annoyance, but he obeyed. Her arm dropped like dead weight. She clutched it close to her side.

  Su Tang furrowed her brows. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her glare was fixed on the floor, as though it might glare back.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  I moved down the stairs without checking if she followed.

  She was right to be mad.

  I had used her.

  From the moment Su Tang was sent to me, I knew she had been chosen for a reason. Rumours circulated that Su Tang conjured báilián. So, I expected her to become a target of the Empress.

  That woman feared power as much as she loved it. And báilián—that rare ancestral power—was exactly the type that didn’t bend to her rules. Su Tang had to be removed.

  So, the Empress sent her niece, Zhao Lili.

  Officially, she came as a candidate for Princess Consort.

  Unofficially, she was bait.

  Zhao Lili was volatile. Emotional. Easy to provoke, easier to manipulate. She was never meant to think, only made to react. She believed she had a claim to my hand, but that illusion had been dangled in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

  The Empress’s objective was not marriage, even though that would be a secondary benefit. It was confrontation. A collision between two people under my roof designed to expose and eliminate the wildcard, Su Tang.

  But it is no good to be used by other people.

  I had no intention of letting the Empress script the game whilst I merely played host. I had had two of her pawns under my roof; so, I planned to turn the board.

  I observed them both. Zhao Lili, all noise and movement, emotional enough to burst without prompting. Su Tang was evasive, sharp-tongued, and layered. But unaware. I doubted that she knew the value of báilián. Not yet.

  She had potential. That made her valuable.

  Zhao Lili did not. That made her expendable.

  I thought to use Su Tang to help me eliminate her.

  Jiang Feng understood his role: report everything. Interfere in nothing. What Su Tang wanted to do—let her.

  And in the end, Su Tang played her part.

  She confronted Zhao Lili.

  The result was public and predictable.

  Zhao Lili was condemned.

  Why dirty your own hands when you can borrow someone else’s?

  That was the point.

  People were pawns. Pieces. Assets.

  But for some reason, I found it difficult to look Su Tang in the eye. In fact, I often found that I couldn’t really look her in the eye.

  It was her look of knowing. As if she was seeing something straight through me. Straight into my real thoughts.

  She was right to be mad.

  I had used her.

  Earlier on the day when Xiao Wu died, Liu Maodi returned, in the form of a little serving boy. He handed me the note that he had collected from Chun Li’s study and told me of how he had interacted with Su Tang. Su Tang, the girl that I had asked him to monitor.

  Liu Maodi followed her, seeing her talk with some servants, bump into Jiang Feng, before hurrying off. I had planned for a hostile encounter between Zhao Lili and Su Tang.

  I was the one who fabricated the beauty pill script in Zhao Lili’s hand, and had it delivered to Su Tang’s alchemical workstation.

  I was the one who allowed the servants to gossip about Zhao Lili in my residence, hoping that Su Tang would catch wind.

  But Fate had other plans.

  Jiang Feng and I found Su Tang and Xiao Wu in a pile of bloody and tattered clothes. Su Tang’s arms and limbs were whiter than the snow that surrounded her, her arms wrapped tightly around Xiao Wu despite having fainted.

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  I hadn’t intended for Su Tang’s brother to die that way.

  But he did.

  I failed to realise how evil and dangerous Zhao Lili was. I despised myself for being unable to predict this. I despised my inaction. I despised my decision.

  Yes…that was what bore into my soul.

  Watching the two of them lying there, I almost couldn’t look; especially, when I saw how horridly blue Xiao Wu's face already was and how purple her lips were.

  I was afraid she might’ve been dead.

  It was a fear I had never felt before. A fear that sat heavily in the depths of my soul.

  I convinced myself that I was afraid my investment had been wasted. I was simply disappointed, as I had been before, that I had underestimated the capabilities of my chess pieces.

  Yet, seeing her curled up body in the snow, I realised that I had become attached to this meddling alchemist. I thought I was drawn to her, like I had been to An Lingqi. We’d shared an understanding from years of playing the game.

  It wasn't that at all.

  It was a glimpse of freedom. Through her, I could see what it was like to live beyond facades and theatrics. I had long forgotten it.

  To me, freedom could only be obtained by the one who controlled the game. Freedom was never an option. It was a trophy.

  We all knew that.

  Then why did she did do everything she could to grasp it?

  Hope. To think there was someone who still wanted that.

  I see. That’s why I was afraid.

  Each day she stayed here, she was watching, absorbing, learning.

  Starting to play the game.

  But once you play, you can’t ever escape.

  I was destroying it. That innocence.

  I was destroying her.

  No. Don’t think of that.

  Countless others had cried before me.

  Their tears changed nothing.

  She must go. Her existence makes me question myself and that is never a good thing.

  It was only a matter of time anyway.

  And she knew it too.

  Besides, I had a better place to put her. A place which would help me confirm my suspicions about her true heritage.

  She stayed on the stairs, unmoving.

  Good.

  I turned back.

  “Su Tang. From today onward, I relieve you of your duty as my personal alchemist.”

  She pushed past me without a word. Her hair swept like a ribbon across my vision. She gripped the hairpin in her bleeding fist—two thin lines of red trailing down her knuckles.

  Something had happened.

  Without thinking, I reached out and pulled her back.

  She ripped her arm from my grasp. Her stare cut straight through me. Her amethyst eyes, usually soft and contemplative, were sharpened into blades.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

  Yun Rongxian, I hate you.

  I am used to being hated. That was no problem.

  “Jiang Feng.”

  “Your servant is here.”

  “Do as I have planned.”

  He bowed. I watched her retreat, a blur of colour and silence.

  ***

  “Your Highness.”

  “Grand Secretary Zhao,” I said, mirroring his bow.

  He raised his head and stepped forward. “Your Highness, I have a request.”

  I inclined my head, silent.

  “Please save my daughter.”

  I observed him.

  His clothes were dishevelled. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to suggest haste. His right hand trembled faintly. Sweat along his brow. Eyes bloodshot. The desperation was real.

  Zhao Qingshan stepped closer. “Please, Your Highness. After all, we are family. My dearest daughter will soon be engaged to you.”

  But she isn’t, is she? That was promise made by my mother.

  Not by me.

  He reached forward and grasped my hand. A foolish move. Jiang Feng stiffened behind me and made a face that might have scared a dead person awake.

  “Please, Your Highness,” Zhao Qingshan shook me like a mother begging for her child. “I know she did a terrible thing, but she is my daughter. She is your wife. She is—”

  I placed a hand over his. “Zhao Qingshan. You say we are family...yes?”

  He nodded eagerly, eyes alight.

  I leaned in slightly, maintaining a smile. “Then we should share in each other’s fortunes and misfortunes.”

  He shifted.

  “Are you prepared to share in Zhao Lili’s punishment?”

  The light in his eyes faltered.

  Jiang Feng ripped his hand away from mine.

  “You!” Zhao Qingshan barked. “You dare burn the bridge after you’ve crossed? Do you think you got to where you are alone? If not for your mother, who would have looked twice at you? The Emperor doesn’t trust you—he only fears your mother. Without her, you’re nothing. Do you—”

  “Do you hear that, Jiang Feng?” I turned away. “It's the sound of a tolling bell for the deceased. We should go.”

  “I am not finished, Yun Rongxian!”

  But I was.

  A flash of silver caught the corner of my eye.

  I shifted. Sidestepped. Caught his wrist and disarmed him.

  The blade now in my hand.

  I pressed it back into his side, barely touching skin, just enough to let the message sink.

  He froze.

  “I believe you dropped this,” I said, nudging the blade slightly further into the fold of his waistband.

  “Crown Prince, you wouldn’t,” he said, voice brittle.

  Of course I wouldn’t. I don’t want your body fluids on my clothes.

  “Zhao Qingshan.” I lowered my voice. “From the depths of my heart, allow me this advice: go to your daughter. Now. Whilst you still can.”

  Before the Imperial Guards take her.

  Before she is dragged into the square and flogged.

  Before her name is carved into the records of disgrace.

  Because by then, not even your pride will let you claim her.

  By then, you will be grateful for her absence.

  I withdrew the blade and pressed it into his palm. Cold metal against colder skin.

  Then I turned and descended the stairs.

  I had imagined Zhao Lili’s downfall before. Many times.

  Calculated every reaction, every consequence, every variable.

  This moment was not chance.

  And yet, there was no satisfaction in it.