Wandering away from the village, Wang Lee heads in the direction of the nearest city. The path takes him past rice fields and farms, until finally the first signs of a busy market start to come into view.

  The streets are busy with merchants selling their wares and villagers bartering for goods. The sound of horses and hawkers fill the air, making something like eagerness spark behind Wang Lee's dark eyes.

  Wang Lee reaches the city gates, his new horse a sleek black stallion with eyes as sharp as its rider's. The palace looms ahead—tall spires and golden banners swaying in the wind.

  He doesn't slow down. Doesn't even glance at the guards stiffening on either side of him. They can see it—the way villagers part like water for demons.

  "Make way," he growls under his breath... and they do.

  The moment Wang Lee steps into the city, heads turn—then bows. The deepest kind of respect, reserved for emperors and war gods. Merchants freeze mid-sale; children are yanked inside by their mothers.

  It's too much... for a spy.

  A hawker drops his fruit in panic as Wang Lee passes. A guard on patrol actually stumbles back, paling at the sight of him. "W-Wang Lee..." he stammers, "...We didn't know you were returning."

  The city falls eerily silent as Wang Lee moves past, the whole market holding their breath. Even the merchants stop arguing; hawkers stop shouting. It's like the entire place just... goes still. Waiting for him to ride further.

  And he does—making his way all the way to the palace doors unchallenged. Even the guards on the steps don't speak, their eyes lowered respectfully. The gate's doors slowly open.

  As if sensing his approach, the gates of the palace swing open silently. A guard appears on the steps above, dressed in red silk and gold armor. He lowers his head as Wang Lee comes to a stop outside.

  "Master Wang Lee," the guard says respectfully, "We weren't expecting you."

  Wang Lee's gaze is sharp, unreadable as he studies the guard. The man swallows hard under that stare—clearly realizing this isn't a social call.

  "I'm not here to be expected," Wang Lee says coolly. "Where is the Emperor?

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  The guard pales slightly but steps aside immediately: "H-His Majesty is in the throne room... He'll want to see you."

  He strides inside the palace like it's his birthright—past silk-clad attendants and servants, past a hallway of paintings showing each Emperors' reign—until he reaches the throne room. Two guards open the huge doors, revealing a tall golden throne at the other end. And on it... the figure of the Emperor himself.

  The Emperor straightens up as Wang Lee strides inside. He looks older and more tired than Wang Lee remembers, the heavy weight of ruling written in the deep lines of his face.

  He watches in silence as Wang Lee approaches—not with the usual bow most people would give a king, but like a warrior standing before his equal.

  "Wang Lee," the Emperor greets, his voice low and carefully neutral. "You're back."

  The Emperor's expression darkens slightly, his grip tightening on the arms of the throne. "But why?" he demands

  Wang Lee doesn't flinch. He keeps his gaze steady as he answers: "No. I got caught."

  The Emperor studies his younger counterpart, eyes narrowing at that admission. "How?" he repeats, voice edged with something like anger. "You've never gotten caught in the past year, and now you are? Explain."

  Wang Lee stiffens slightly at the tone. His voice is cold and controlled as he replies: "I... made a strategic mistake."

  The Emperor scoffs, a hint of disbelief on his face. "A strategic mistake?" he repeats, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "I trained you myself. You don't make mistakes."*

  The room goes quiet—even the attendants holding their breath.

  Wang Lee's jaw tightens as Yinzi's voice screams in his mind—sharp, furious: "This old man never gave a damn! When the hell did he train you?!"

  But Wang Lee doesn't react. His expression stays carefully blank, eyes fixed on the floor like a soldier taking reprimand.

  A beat of silence stretches too long—until the Emperor finally scowls and leans forward: "...You're hiding something."

  Wang Lee keeps his gaze lowered, voice steady but clipped: "A knight intercepted me. During the exchange of red communication beans."

  The Emperor's fingers dig into the throne's arms. "Which knight?" he demands—already sensing this isn't just a misstep. This is betrayal at a level that could burn bridges.

  Wang Lee finally lifts his eyes, cold and unflinching: "...Yan Lin."

  The Emperor's expression darkens—then, suddenly, freezes.

  "Yan Lin?" he repeats quietly. Too quietly. "That disgraced former royal knight? The one I banished for treason?"

  A muscle jumps in Wang Lee's jaw as Yinzi screeches in his skull: "Ohhhh shit."

  Wang Lee's eyes snap up—his entire body going rigid. A chill runs down his spine as the minister's words sink in.

  "That bastard is working for Kai Fu now?!" the minister sputters, face turning red with outrage.

  The Emperor leans back slightly, a shadow passing over his features. His voice is dangerously soft: "...So that's how they got their hands on you."

  The doors swing open with a sharp crack—revealing Lu Zhaohan, a towering figure clad in black armor. His presence alone makes the guards straighten and servants scramble to bow lower.

  "Your Majesty," Lu Zhaohan says smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the tension like steel. He doesn't look at Wang Lee yet—his gaze is fixed on the Emperor.

  A beat of silence. Then: "...I heard we have traitors crawling back."

  Wang Lee clenches his jaw, fighting to keep his breathing steady. The Emperor is just as tense—his knuckles white on the throne's armrests. No one in the room dares move.

  "Indeed," the Emperor finally answers, his voice just as smooth. "Traitors who I specifically ordered to be exiled, not returned."

  Wang Lee bristles at the word—his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "Traitor?" he echoes, voice almost cold enough to frost.

  At the same time, the Emperor's gaze turns on him, hard and flinty. "Don't play dumb, Wang Lee. You know exactly what you did."

  The Emperor's voice cracks like a whip—sharp, demanding. "Who else knows the Blood Awakening Ritual?!"

  A muscle jumps in Wang Lee's jaw as the Emperor's words sink in.

  "No one else knows it," he says tightly. "Only me."

  The Emperor stands up, his eyes never leaving Wang Lee. "How the hell is the Kai Fu prince still alive? The kid cannot have survived without the Blood Awakening Ritual!"*

  Everyone in the room grows tense, like they sense the tension crackling in the air. They all seem to inch away instinctively from Wang Lee—even the Emperor, who seems suddenly wary.

  "Explain yourself," he orders, voice cold. "Now."

  Wang Lee can feel every eye in the room on him but he doesn't blink. His voice is icy when he answers:

  "I cannot..."