YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 29, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “Again.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Like synchronised puppets, the soldiers moved as one—rows of bodies encased in polished armour, blades gripped with ritualistic precision. Jiang Feng stood elevated at the front of the training grounds, adorned in lieutenant general regalia. His armour was ornate: gold-tipped armguards, broad shoulder plates engraved with lion motifs. Everything about him demanded attention, and yet, I noted the smallest imperfections. His breathing was uneven. Tired.

  He had been drilling them longer than usual.

  As I stepped onto the field, the sound of movement ceased. All soldiers dropped into a low salute. Reflexive, disciplined, immediate.

  Jiang Feng turned, bowed with military sharpness. “Your Highness.” His eyes scanned me. “This servant did not expect your presence.”

  His delivery was technically correct. His expression, less so. Jiang Feng was an excellent soldier but had never mastered concealment. That, ironically, made him trustworthy.

  “Naturally, I have my reasons.”

  I turned my gaze to the line of genuflecting men. Uniform, unmoving. Precisely as they should be.

  Except one.

  One of them had betrayed me.

  I pointed. The soldier stood out for no obvious reason to the casual eye, but the difference was unmistakable to me. He was too small for the armour. A slight shift in his stance suggested discomfort, unfamiliarity. He stepped forward, measured, cautious.

  One of them had told my secrets to the Emperor.

  They had pretended to be mine.

  But they were not.

  Jiang Feng raised a clenched fist to the rest. “Continue the exercise!”

  The man kneeled before me. “Your Royal Highness.”

  Without a word, Jiang Feng unsheathed his sword and struck the helmet off the soldier’s head. The metal clattered to the side. The man instinctively flinched toward it but held his posture. His head dipped low, trying to mask the reaction.

  “Your Royal Highness,” he said again, “what have I done to offend you?”

  Jiang Feng leaned down beside him and gave a hearty slap on the back. Too friendly to be sincere. “What makes you think you’ve done something wrong?”

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  The man glanced up at me. I offered the barest curve of a smile. Hollow. Just enough to suggest I was pleased.

  There was this misconception amongst the court: that managing an army meant forgetting faces. That if one soldier was replaced, their leader would not notice.

  But soldiers had habits. They had rhythms. It was the soldiers’ cliquish nature and lack of banter with this man that had exposed him as a pretender.

  The man straightened slightly. “Your Highness, I have been your most loyal servant.” A standard line. Predictable. Then, suddenly, he grabbed his sword, pressed it to his own throat.

  “I would rather end my life than be doubted by Your Highness.”

  “Go on, then.”

  He hesitated.

  I tilted my head. A true Imperial Guard would’ve done it already.

  Who do you serve?

  “Do it! Are you disobeying His Highness?” Jiang Feng barked, pushing the man’s head toward the blade. His hands trembled. His mouth contorted as if summoning courage he didn’t have.

  That’s enough, Jiang Feng.

  He withdrew his hand.

  I saw it clearly now.

  There was a red mark on his neck, only visible now that his helmet had been removed. It was an aged burn, seared in a distinct feathered pattern. Not from battle, but from spell-craft.

  Empress Huangmei’s spell-craft.

  If my mother didn’t feel the need to mark everything she owned, there was a possibility I wouldn’t have noticed.

  But now, with that brand and his hesitancy, there was no doubt that he was her spy.

  The man looked up and bowed again, too quickly. “At your service, Your Highness.”

  Unimpressive. I would’ve been more interested if the man had killed himself. At least his death would portray me as overbearing.

  “I have a task for you. Investigate someone. A kin of yours.”

  His neck twitched—subtle but telling.

  “A kin of mine?” he echoed.

  Predictable. They always repeat the part they’re trying to deflect.

  I observed him more closely. The material beneath his armour—lightweight, muted green—matched the rough weave of the sack Su Tang had thrown at me in the library.

  Rare fabric made only in Shanhu Prefecture.

  “Yes. You’re from Shanhu, aren’t you?”

  He hesitated, then dipped his head. “I did not know Your Highness cared for my humble origins.”

  I didn’t.

  But the festering nature of his burn told me that he cannot withstand fire-based qi. That placed him in the category of yin-aligned cultivators—most likely from Shuishang or Xuanji Province.

  His eyes searched mine. “Yes, I’m from Shanhu Prefecture. Which of my kin does Your Highness wish me to investigate?”

  There it was. His accent betrayed him. He didn’t have the singsong lift on the last syllable of 'Shanhu.' Those raised in Shanhu pronounced it as ‘Shan-hooair.’

  Clearly, he hadn’t been raised there. Then why was he pretending to come from there? Unless it was part of his act as a spy.

  “I would like you to investigate a new servant. Jiang Feng has already opened a case.”

  It seems both the Empress and the Emperor are interested in Su Tang. In that case, I’ll turn it into a public investigation.

  Feigned transparency disarms better than silence.

  The man gave a salute. “Your servant shall complete this task.”

  I inclined my head slightly.

  “Return to your post,” Jiang Feng ordered.

  The man nodded and returned to the line. His steps were measured, not entirely calm.

  Jiang Feng crossed his arms, raising his voice. “Put your muscle into it! Or else I’ll make you do it again!”

  “Yes, sir!” they barked back in unison.