Xiao Lei finally returned to his quarters, the familiar clamour of the palace surrounding him like a restless tide. The chaos had not changed—the shouts, clanging utensils, distant footsteps—all blending into the perpetual din that marked life here.

  The only difference was Lian. Instead of sleeping, she sat cross-legged on her small cot, eyes closed, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as she cultivated with quiet intensity.

  Her calm focus was a stark contrast to the disorder outside. Xiao Lei moved silently, careful not to disturb her. He placed the loaf of bread gently on the cot before settling beside it, letting the warmth of the candlelight paint the contours of the room.

  After half an hour, her eyes opened, sparking briefly at his return, lips moving in a quiet, expectant question. “Big brother, how was your day?” she whispered, voice hushed yet filled with anticipation.

  Xiao Lei did not answer immediately, rising instead to wash the sweat and dust from his day. When he returned, the simple meal awaited him—unchanged for two months, yet now with the addition of the bread.

  He barely noticed the repetition. Survival and cultivation were far more pressing than culinary variety. Lian, for her part, took the same meal with quiet grace, offering the larger portion to him while she nibbled at the smaller piece.

  They ate in silence, a rhythm of unspoken understanding. When the last morsel had been consumed, Xiao Lei returned to his cot, closing his eyes to cultivate. These hours were precious, his only real window to refine his Qi and strengthen the body he had pushed to its limits. Time could not be wasted, and every pulse of energy was drawn in with meticulous care.

  The following days followed the same measured rhythm. Palace duty, brief exchanges with Lian, and the quiet discipline of cultivation. Yet on the third day, Xiao Lei diverged from the familiar path.

  He turned into a narrow alley, damp and dim, shadows curling against the walls like restless spirits. “You’ve been following me for days,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “See, I’ve made things easy for you.” Silence stretched, heavy and expectant.

  Soon, light, hurried footsteps broke the quiet. Three figures emerged from the shadows. One was Jinhai, sneering with barely concealed anticipation. Beside him, Xiao Lei recognized a familiar face from the palace kitchen, and a third stranger lingered just behind.

  Jinhai’s voice slithered through the dark. “I thought we wouldn’t get a chance to deal with you—but luck seems on our side.”

  Xiao Lei laughed softly, the sound low and unbothered. “You idiot pig. Didn’t I say I made things easy for you? What does luck have to do with anything?”

  For a moment, the trio faltered. Their confidence, built on countless smaller skirmishes, cracked under the weight of something unfamiliar. Had Xiao Lei planned this? Was someone backing him? Uncertainty flashed across their faces.

  Xiao Lei did not linger to answer. With the precision of a predator, he struck. The trio were mortal vein cultivators, no match for him. Screams, the cracking of bones, and dull thuds echoed through the alley, punctuating each strike.

  Within thirty breaths, Xiao Lei stepped back, dusting his hands as he walked calmly toward his quarters, leaving the broken forms behind.

  He had no desire to kill, that would bring unnecessary attention. Breaking bones was enough to assert dominance. He also pocketed roughly fifty spirit coins from the fallen—a small but crucial gain.

  Every coin had a purpose. All his funds had been exhausted preparing for the battle with Lei Morin, and afterward he never had the chance to gather their belongings. Every coin he earned here went straight into pills and herbs for himself and Lian, without a second thought, reserving only enough for two meals a day until the next salary.

  Power was never given—it was seized, with fists or with whispers. Elsewhere in the palace, another battle of a different kind was already beginning.

  Princess Xinyue sat in the midst of the garden, the late afternoon sun filtering through the delicate branches of flowering trees, casting mottled patterns of gold and green across the stone path.

  The air carried the scent of jasmine and damp earth, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the palace fountains. Across from her, Uncle Li remained seated, his posture disciplined, hands folded neatly on his lap, eyes quietly observing the subtle movements of leaves and the glint of sunlight off porcelain tea cups.

  She reached for the delicate tea pot, its surface engraved with intricate lotus motifs, and poured a slow stream into his cup, the faint hiss of boiling water breaking the silence. Her voice, calm yet measured, cut across the quiet as she spoke. “Uncle Li…”

  He took the cup with a slight nod, lips pressing together in thought before answering. “Not much, Princess. Only the occasional rumours and speculations, nothing concrete. One thing is certain—Prince Guanghan has doubled his efforts to win over the court officials and ministers. Whether he has succeeded remains unseen.”

  Xinyue’s eyes flickered to the gently flowing stream at the edge of the garden. She lifted the cup slightly, letting the sunlight catch its engraved lotus petals. “I see,” she murmured, a pause lingering before she continued. “And my third brother?”

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  Uncle Li’s brow creased faintly, reflecting his own calculations. “Prince Feghua hasn’t gone as aggressively as Prince Guanghan, but a surge is evident in his military campaigns. I’ve heard he resolved the bandit problem on the western border. No doubt, the Xihe Kingdom lent covert assistance.”

  The princess fell silent, her gaze distant, scanning the rustling leaves as if trying to divine the outcome of unseen forces. Her hands tightened around the cup, warmth seeping through her palms.

  After a long moment, she spoke again, softer this time, almost to herself. “Perhaps they’ve caught a hint of Father’s wishes… or someone has advised them. Yet my heart tells me it won’t hold for long. The struggle… it may begin sooner than we anticipated.”

  Uncle Li inclined his head, acknowledging the weight of her intuition.

  Xinyue’s voice firmed. “Uncle Li, arrange a meeting with my second brother. Invite his friend, Mu Zhen, as well. It is time we talk, directly and without delay.”

  “If you believe the moment is right, Princess,” Uncle Li replied, voice steady, though the quiet tension beneath it betrayed his unease.

  A pause followed, filled only by the distant rustle of leaves and the trickle of the fountain. When she spoke again, her eyes narrowed slightly, sharp with resolve. “And while we are at it, Uncle Li… Xiao Lei must be brought into line.”

  Uncle Li’s brow lifted in mild surprise. “Now? Could it not be premature? It may draw unwanted attention.”

  Xinyue’s gaze sharpened, the faint sunlight catching the edges of her eyes, turning them into pools of steely determination. “We do not have the luxury of time we once thought. If he proves his value, he will owe more than mere words can repay. If not, let him fade like the morning mist. We cannot wait for his potential to mature, for by then it may already be too late.”

  The old man remained silent, though his heart churned with a storm of apprehension and calculation. The world they knew was shifting far more quickly, and silence held its breath before the coming storm.

  His chest tightened. His breath caught, quick and shallow, as though the air itself had grown heavier. For reasons he could not fully name, he knew things would never be the same from this point forward.

  Yet, despite the uncertainty, a single hope anchored him. No matter the trials or sacrifices the path demands, she must emerge unbroken.

  The garden fell into silence once more. Only the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint gurgle of water echoed.

  ?? — ? — ??

  Xiao Lei had risen before the morning sun, the pale light still hovering along the palace walls. Today, he had to arrive early, for Prince Tianze was hosting guests for lunch.

  The kitchen buzzed like a storm-tossed sea, staff darting between counters, ladles clanging, pots hissing, and the aroma of simmering spices filling every corner. Among the chaos, Xiao Lei moved like a leaf caught in a high tide—weightless, unseen, unbothered.

  No one noticed the faint brush of his movements, the subtle way he adjusted a tray, shifted a pot, or placed herbs with meticulous precision. Every motion was deliberate yet invisible, a quiet harmony with the chaos around him.

  Soon, preparations were complete. The guests arrived in a cascade of elegance. First came a tall, muscular man, his presence commanding attention, flanked by a youth no older than fifteen, yet dressed in robes of immaculate white and adorned with intricate ornaments.

  These were Mu Zhen and Mu Pei, young masters of the influential Mu family, whose elder wielded considerable influence within the court.

  Soon after, another group arrived—Princess Xinyue and Uncle Li. The duo’s attention was elsewhere, their steps light and poised, unaware of the boy who lingered at the edges.

  Xiao Lei had no intention of revealing himself as well. Prince Tianze himself soon arrived, regal and composed, to receive his sister. The group glided past, entering the inner chambers, while the servants, Xiao Lei included, started bringing refreshments.

  By late afternoon, the sun dipped low over the palace gardens, gilding the stone paths and casting long, golden shadows across manicured hedges. Xinyue sat with quiet grace on a carved bench, her posture perfect.

  A shadow of a smile touched her lips, precise and unreadable, yet her obsidian eyes gleamed with precision. Across from her, Mu Zhen leaned forward slightly, the mask of confidence barely holding back the tension beneath.

  “You overstep, Princess,” Mu Zhen said, his voice controlled, smooth, but betraying a hint of unease. “Even with influence, I cannot betray my lord for mere promises.”

  “Mu Zhen,” Xinyue began, her tone gentle, almost conversational, yet threaded with authority. “I heard intriguing news while walking the markets this morning.” She tilted her head, brushing her sleeves. “A certain daughter of the Trade Minister—soon to be betrothed, I hear—has been seen in unusually close company with you.”

  Mu Zhen’s posture stiffened, imperceptibly. “Whispers, Princess?” he asked, careful, his voice steady, though a shadow of apprehension darkened his eyes.

  “Yes,” Xinyue replied, serene. “Whispers that suggest your acquaintance with her may extend beyond mere formality, that the arrangement set for six months hence might no longer be certain.” She let the words hang in the air, precise and deliberate. “Do correct me if I am mistaken.”

  Silence fell like a drawn blade. Prince Tianze and Mu Zhen exchanged fleeting glances—Tianze’s subtle gesture said he could do nothing, while Mu Pei stood frozen. Uncle Li’s gaze lingered on the princess a moment too long, weighing not the scandal, but the steel in her voice.

  Mu Zhen’s mind raced. Denial risked exposure, explanation could betray more than intended, deflection might appear evasive. His fingers flexed against the arm of his chair. His posture stiffened, shoulders taut. He shifted slightly forward, then back, as if weighing the room itself. A sharp exhale slipped through his teeth.

  “I—” he began, then paused. The weight of Xinyue’s gaze, her quiet authority, pressed upon him. To speak too forcefully would attract scrutiny; to remain silent could seem guilty.

  Finally, he said, measured yet cautious, “And you would… assist in containing such… rumours?”

  She allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Only if your cooperation is certain. Not as a favour, but as a strategic understanding. You preserve your name; I preserve my interests. Both sides gain.”

  He inclined his head, the unspoken agreement settling like stone. Pride bristled, yet ambition and self-preservation demanded compliance. One misstep had cost him nothing yet, but Xinyue’s calm assured him that the price of error could be everything.

  “I will… consider it,” he said again, measured, though a subtle tremor betrayed the weight of her leverage.

  “Good,” she replied, her eyes cool, unwavering. “Consider it well. Some opportunities appear but once, and the tides that follow do not wait for the indecisive.”

  The garden seemed to hold its breath, leaves rustling softly, fountains murmuring, sunlight waning. In that quiet, Xinyue’s control, her strategic patience, and the delicate tension of power left every observer acutely aware. In this subtle game, even the slightest misstep could reshape destinies.

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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.