The morning sun bled across the horizon in muted orange, brushing the world’s edges without warmth. Frost clung stubbornly to the roadside grass. Each blade stood like a pale shard, glistening as the caravan rolled onward.

  Hooves struck the stone path in steady rhythm—thud, thud, thud—only to be broken at intervals by the creak and groan of wooden wheels. The sound carried thin in the chill air, a hollow counterpoint to the breath of beasts rising in slow plumes of mist.

  Six carts formed the convoy, modest in size, yet one stood apart at a glance. Upon its lacquered panel gleamed a sigil unlike the rough paint of the others: a silver crescent moon cradling a blooming orchid. The emblem caught the sun and scattered it like fractured glass. Anyone in the Shanli Kingdom would have stilled at its sight. It belonged not to merchant or noble house, but to the Yue Clan—the royal family itself.

  Had Xiao Lei been awake, his recognition would have been immediate. Yet he lay senseless in one of the carts, unaware that fate had pulled him into the shadow of a throne.

  Inside the emblem-marked carriage, silence stretched with the faint perfume of steeped leaves. A girl with eyes the colour of a deep ocean pool leaned forward, slender hands steady as she poured tea. The steam curled upward in pale spirals before dissipating into the cold air.

  “Uncle Li,” she said softly, her voice measured but edged with intent. “Did you find anything else?”

  The old man accepted the porcelain cup, hesitant. How many times had he tried to correct her? She was a princess, blood of Shanli’s rulers, yet she continued to serve him tea as if the weight of her title meant nothing. His protests had always faltered against her quiet persistence. And so, with a sigh caught beneath his composure, he raised the cup and spoke.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “The soldiers discovered six more bodies, not far from where we found the first corpse—and the boy. Seven in all. Of those, three were cultivators of the Qi Awakening Realm. The rest still in Mortal Vein. He alone survived.” His gaze lingered on the tea before him, as though its rippling surface might explain the contradiction. “The lad is far more interesting than I first thought.”

  Princess Xinyue’s lashes lowered briefly, then lifted. A faint smile touched her lips. “It seems Uncle Li rates him very highly.”

  Li’s mouth curved in return, though his eyes remained shadowed. “Princess knows I have some knowledge of divination. These past days, during our travels, a pressure has followed me—a sense that something vast and unseen stirs. When I examined the boy, that feeling surged stronger than ever, as though he were a thread tied to it. Even now I sense it: he may prove boon or curse, but he will surely change Shanli’s fate.”

  Xinyue held his words in silence, the carriage wheels grinding beneath them. At last, her voice came low. “And so Uncle Li plans to…?”

  “If it were another time,” Li said, his tone calm though his hand tightened faintly on the cup, “I would have ended him at once. Sudden change—whether fortune or disaster—is dangerous for a kingdom and its ruler. But princess knows our plight too well. Perhaps… perhaps he might tilt the balance back in our favour.”

  “Perhaps,” Xinyue echoed. Her gaze shifted, not to the tea, not to Li, but through the wooden wall of the carriage itself—fixed upon the boy lying battered and unconscious in the last cart. Her eyes were steady, unreadable, as though she sought to pierce the veil of slumber and glimpse the truth hidden within him.

  ?? — ? — ??

  A low rumble outside stirred the air, and Xiao Lei’s closed eyes fluttered. Slowly, he surfaced from the haze. The world returned in fragments—shadows, muted sounds, the faint scent of herbs clinging to his skin. When his vision steadied, the first thing he saw was the cloth roof above, swaying faintly with each passing gust.

  He tried to turn his head, but pain lanced through his body, sharp enough to force a groan from his lips. The sound roused Lian, who had been slumped in uneasy sleep at his side. She startled awake, eyes swollen. She leaned closer, relief breaking across her face.

  “Big brother… you’re finally awake.”

  Her voice was thin, ragged with exhaustion. Red rimmed her gaze, whether from tears or sleeplessness, he couldn’t tell. Xiao Lei studied her for a heartbeat, then forced his cracked lips to move.

  “Where… are we?”

  The effort scraped at his throat. Each word tasted of dryness, as though his insides had been baked hollow. Lian hurried to explain, stumbling through the details of what had happened after he collapsed. Only when he realized she had spoken cautiously—revealing nothing that could betray them—did a thread of tension leave his chest. He let out a shallow breath, relief flickering across his battered face.

  At last, he turned his awareness inward. His body was not whole, yet neither was it the ruin he remembered. His meridians still throbbed, but half his internal wounds had already begun knitting back together. His flesh bore the mark of treated cuts, his bones set cleanly beneath careful wrappings. Whoever had tended to him had done so with remarkable skill.

  He grunted softly and forced himself upright. The motion sent another surge of pain through him, but Lian was there at once, steadying his frame with both hands. Closing his eyes, Xiao Lei inhaled, and the moment he drew on the ambient qi, his body seized upon it with ravenous hunger. It poured into him like starving beggars throwing themselves upon scraps of bread.

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  Lian sat silently by his side, watching. For her, the sight of him at peace, drawing life back into his battered frame, was a balm far gentler than seeing him bleed and fight.

  Time slipped unnoticed. He cultivated through the long arc of the sun’s descent, until the pale glow of day surrendered to the deep silence of night. Only then did he release a slow breath, the sharp edge of weariness softening. He was not restored to his peak, but strength had returned—enough to grasp at survival if danger came. And danger, he suspected, was close. Whoever had saved them surely had their own designs.

  The tent curtain stirred. Xiao Lei’s eyes lifted, expecting Lian with food.

  Instead, a girl in a flowing blue dress stepped inside. Her movements were unhurried, each step measured, her smile refined yet unreadable. For a moment, the small space seemed to bend around her presence—calm, poised, detached.

  Then another figure followed.

  An old man, his frame hunched with age, yet the pressure he carried pressed down like a mountain. It struck Xiao Lei harder than even Elder Ming of the Lei Clan. His instincts screamed at once—this was no ordinary man. This was an expert.

  Lian slipped in after them, rushing straight to Xiao Lei’s side.

  “Big brother, this big sister helped us when you fainted.”

  Despite the ache still anchored in his bones, Xiao Lei forced himself upright and bowed low.

  “Thank you—for saving my life.”

  When he straightened, his gaze caught the emblem pinned to the old man’s chest. Recognition struck instantly.

  The Royal Clan.

  Yet his expression remained unchanged.

  Princess Xinyue lifted her hand, a motion so slight it might have been mistaken for idleness—yet within that small wave lingered elegance, the unstudied grace of someone born to command. Her sleeves whispered like flowing water as they settled back into stillness.

  It was not she who spoke first.

  The old man at her side, face carved with years of experience, let his eyes rest upon the boy. His tone was even, though it carried the weight of testing steel.

  “What is your name, child?”

  Xiao Lei straightened. His voice was steady.

  “Xiao Lei,” he said. After a pause, he added, “This is my cousin, Xiao Lian.”

  Uncle Li asked a few more questions, his manner neither hurried nor pressing, but probing like the tip of a knife feeling out a hidden sheath. Xiao Lei answered little. Every word he spoke was clipped, chosen carefully, like a blade kept sheathed until needed. He knew his limits.

  Lian was easy to mislead, her inexperience and gentle nature left her blind to what lay beneath the surface. Others, like Zi Lao, could be manipulated in different ways, his strength or their mentality masking their own weaknesses.

  But here—before this old man with eyes like weighing scales, and the young woman beside him whose stillness was more dangerous than any sword—neither trick would work.

  Too many words, and they would pierce him as easily as Zi Yunshan once had.

  So he gave them only a fragment of truth.

  “We are orphans,” he said simply. “We travelled with our master, until an ambush separated us.”

  The old man tried shifting his questions, altering their shape, but Xiao Lei did not yield. His answers were firm, steady, offering only what he wished them to know.

  At last, it was the girl who spoke. Her voice was like moonlight on cold water—soft, almost ethereal, yet carrying an authority that allowed no doubt.

  “Since you are alone,” she said, “I can permit you to serve under me.”

  Her words hung in the air.

  Xiao Lei did not answer. His silence stretched. Beneath his stillness, his heart pounded, racing faster than his outward calm revealed. Something lay beneath their interest in him—but what?

  Did they somehow know of his rebirth from another world? Impossible. Perhaps they sensed the strange beast, the puppy bound to him? No… even that felt unlikely.

  And still, the invitation lingered. Not a command, not the weight of an imperial decree—merely an allowance. He could refuse. That very choice revealed something. If they had truly needed him, they would not leave the door open.

  The princess waited, but did not repeat herself. Instead, it was the old man who chuckled softly, the sound low and rough like gravel stirred underfoot.

  “Young man,” he said, “you may not realize it, but this is great fortune. She is no ordinary girl. This is Princess Xinyue, blood of the royal line. To serve under her hand is to gain more than your master could ever have given.”

  The words were meant to press him, and Xiao Lei knew it. Yet pressure did not make them false.

  He had talent, yes. He could cultivate on his own. But what he lacked—what had always slipped through his fingers—was the deeper understanding of people. Of power. That was the battlefield he had yet to master.

  And where better to learn the shifting faces of human nature than within a royal household, where masks and daggers walked side by side?

  In his past life, he had watched politicians fool millions with nothing but words. Entire nations bent beneath their tongues. Strength alone was never enough. Influence. Manipulation. These were blades just as sharp as steel.

  Lei Xuanlan had proven that truth. His strength was never his own—it came from those who stood behind him. Backing. Protection. With such support, even mountains could be overturned. Without it? Strength alone would always crumble.

  The choice settled. A long breath escaped him. Then he bent low, bowing until his forehead nearly touched the ground.

  “It would be my honour to serve under Princess Xinyue. But… I ask one small condition.”

  The air stilled.

  Had any other youth spoken thus, their head would already lie rolling at their feet. To speak of terms before a princess was to court death. And yet Xinyue did not move. Surprise flickered faintly across her face, like a ripple breaking the surface of calm water.

  “Oh?” she said, a hint of curiosity edging her tone. “Speak.”

  Xiao Lei lowered himself once more.

  “Only I will serve. Not my cousin. My parents entrusted her to me, and I cannot—will not—see her reduced to servitude. Even beneath the hand of a princess.”

  Silence stretched.

  The old man glanced at Xinyue. For a heartbeat, his eyes betrayed nothing—then he gave the smallest nod.

  The silence stretched. Xinyue’s fingers lingered on the emblem at her chest, the faintest pressure as though reminding him where true power lay. Only then did her smile return, serene and unreadable.

  “Such noble thoughts,” she said softly. “Very well. I agree. I will even grant her resources for cultivation. But for that… you must first prove your worth.”

  “I will do my best,” Xiao Lei replied, his bow unwavering.

  Uncle Li’s eyes narrowed, weighing Xiao Lei with a look that felt like a blade grazing his skin. He said nothing, but the message was clear, one misstep, and the leash would tighten.

  Finally, he and the princess turned, their figures soon lost to the curtain of night beyond the tent.

  Xiao Lei exhaled slowly, the silence closing around him once more. He called to Lian, asking her to fetch food, then lowered himself cross-legged to resume cultivation.

  Lian’s heart throbbed wildly as she slipped from the tent, her face flushed with joy. Big Brother… he thinks so much for me.

  Her smile was radiant, her steps light. She did not see the calculation buried beneath his calm.

  For Xiao Lei knew better. Whatever they sought from him, they would search for weakness, some chain to bind him. So why not give them one himself? A weakness of his own choosing. A leash he placed in their hands—so they would believe him already caught.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.