"You truly don't recall who saved you that day? Who used Blood Awakening?" His voice is low—not accusing yet, but probing like a blade testing its edge against armor.

  Jiyin meets his father's stare head-on. His answer comes instantly: "No."

  The empress leans forward, her voice soft but edged with something dangerous—like silk wrapped around steel. "Jiyin. Who was it?"

  Jiyin holds their gazes without flinching. His answer comes smooth and certain: "I don't know."

  "This is your final chance, Jiyin. Who was it?"

  "I don't remember I am sorry"

  Her eyes bore into him, searching for any flicker of hesitation. The emperor doesn't move a muscle beside her—his silence louder than a shout.

  Jiyin holds their gazes without flinching. His answer comes smooth and certain: "sorry."

  Jiyin's body convulses as blood spills from his lips, but he still manages to keep eye contact with the empress—his gaze unyielding. When she demands an answer again, he repeats: "I don't remember."

  The emperor opens his mouth—about to argue in Jiyin's defense—but the empress cuts him off with a sharp glance.

  "Don't lie," she snaps at her son, her voice icy and laced with fury. "Who is that? Who means more than your own life?"

  The silence in the room is deafening as the empress's hand connects with Jiyin's face—a loud, vicious SLAP that resonates like the crack of a whip.

  A scarlet mark blooms across his cheek, angry and stark against the fairness of his skin. Jiyin doesn't even flinch, simply swallowing the pain as he stares defiantly back at the empress.

  The empress's fingers curl into a fist—her entire body trembling with restrained fury. A moment later, a sword materializes in her grip, its edge gleaming coldly in the dim light of the study.

  Her voice is lethally quiet as she speaks: "If I have to kill my own son for the sake of this kingdom... then so be it."

  Jiyin doesn't move. Doesn't even blink at the blade now hovering inches from his throat. "Do it." he challenges softly, "But you won't get your answer either way."

  The emperor's hand closes around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles white with tension. He looks at the empress—his eyes hard and uncompromising.

  "Xihua," he growls, his voice low and laced with warning. The air in the room seems to grow heavier as the two royal figures locked in a silent battle of wills. "You know he won't break."

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The empress lets out a sharp breath, her shoulders squared and jaw clenched. She seems to consider the emperor for a moment—weighing his words against her own stubborn nature.

  The emperor steps forward, his expression softening—almost paternal. He places a firm hand on Jiyin's shoulder, and the moment he makes contact... something shifts.

  Jiyin's breath hitches. His pupils dilate as an invisible force coils around him—the emperor's hypnosis taking hold in an instant.

  "You don't know," the emperor murmurs, voice smooth and commanding, "...Do you?"

  Jiyin's body locks up, his mind trapped in a haze of forced obedience. His lips part—words coming out slow and slurred, as if dragged from the depths of his subconscious:

  "Wang... Lee..."

  The empress's breath catches. The emperor's grip tightens on Jiyin's shoulder. "Say that again." he orders quietly.

  (Meanwhile wang lee)

  Wang Lee finishes his practice with a graceful bow, his movements precise and effortless. The other dancers return the gesture with respectful nods as he steps away from the training hall.

  He walks through the palace corridors, blending seamlessly into the background—just another shadow passing by. Soon enough, he reaches his quarters and quietly shuts himself inside.

  "Finally... some peace," he mutters under breath as he leans back against door—letting out slow exhale of tension from day's events.

  Wang Lee's body tenses the moment he hears the footsteps—steady, deliberate. His assassin instincts scream at him: too heavy to be a servant, too quick for casual guards.

  He barely has time to register the rhythmic thud of heartbeats before his mind races—too many armed men approaching fast.

  "No." he thinks as he bolts toward a hidden passage behind his room's screen. The door slams open just as he disappears into shadow.

  Wang Lee slips through a narrow servant's passage, the stone walls rough against his back as he moves quickly. The exit is a small, forgotten door near the stables—usually guarded by only one drowsy attendant.

  He sees it ahead: freedom. But then—voices. "Check there first." A group of royal knights are searching this sector now.

  No time to think. He shoves open the door and rolls out into mud just outside palace grounds... right as an alarm horn blares in distance behind him.

  Wang Lee stands there, his heart pounding in his ears and mud splattered across his fine silk robe. The ground is wet and damp; the air stale with moisture. The alarm horn blares again in the distance.

  He pushes wet hair away from his face as he curses under his breath. This was supposed to be a simple mission. Now he's stuck in the goddamn mud—with angry palace guards probably on their way.

  Wang Lee slips through a narrow alleyway, dodging piles of discarded cabbages and stray cats. The stench of rotten fish and sweat fills the air as he reaches the edge of the marketplace.

  He ducks into a crowded stall selling cheap silk scarves, melting in with other shoppers. A few guards are shouting near an entrance—too far to spot him yet—but he keeps his head down, shoulders hunched like any commoner avoiding trouble.

  "Five for one copper!" the merchant yells at him right on cue. Wang Lee grabs two scarves without looking and tosses coins blindly onto counter while subtly scanning exits behind fabric displays.

  Wang Lee freezes for half a second, his eyes catching on the starving child standing off-balance in the street. He can feel a pang of something like nostalgia for a second—but then he registers the clatter of hooves against rock as a horse gallops through the alleys at uncontrollable speed.

  He sees the horse coming towards the child, eyes wide with panic—the kid too scared to move as the animal approaches. Wang Lee's mind calculates the risks in an instant.

  He makes a decision in a split-second—a decision that goes against every instinct of self-preservation he has.

  But-

  It all happens so fast—the woman's cry, the thumping of galloping hooves, and Wang Lee running straight at the horse as if about to tackle it head on.

  Then the unexpected happens. Wang Lee leaps up, grabbing the horse's saddle effortlessly and landing on animal's back—bringing it to a rapid stop mere inches from child's face.

  The sudden stop is too much for the horse: it rears on its hind legs and bucks wildly, the momentum sending Wang Lee flying off and landing in dusty street.

  He hits hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs as he gasps for breath. He can hear the clatter of hooves as the animal gallops away and the mother running to the child—but he's too winded to move just yet. Wang Lee lays flat on his back—staring dazedly up at the sky.

  Wang Lee sits up slowly, his hand moving to touch his face. His heart sinks when he feels bare skin—not even a piece of the fox mask covering it. His face is exposed.

  He looks around—trying to take in the situation at hand. The kid is screeching, pointing a trembling finger at him. The people around are staring in utter horror.

  Wang Lee scrambles to his knees, but the damage is already done. His face is completely exposed—burn scars and all—and he quickly raises a hand to cover it, hiding himself from prying eyes.

  Black hair falls in messy strands around his face as he tries desperately to shield himself. The trauma of being seen like this crashes over him—his body trembling slightly as whispers ripple through the crowd: "Disgusting..." "Oh..."

  He turns on heel and bolts into nearest alleyway before anyone can stop him.