Yu Diexin is still processing the weight of Housekeeper Chen’s words when he speaks again, his tone steady and unhurried, as if what he is saying is not sothing that could quietly alter the balance of the Duan Family.
“Before the Lord left,” he says, “he gave instructions regarding you.”
Diexin looks at him, genuinely surprised.
“He said that while he is away, you are to be involved in the running of the Duan Family,” Housekeeper Chen continues. “You may make suggestions on minor decisions. If your suggestions are feasible, they will be carried out. You are also permitted to read the intelligence gathered by the family.”
For a brief mont, Diexin is silent.
She had expected authority to co slowly, grudgingly, filtered through courtesy and appearances.
She had not expected rin to give it to her so directly.
Housekeeper Chen observes her reaction, then turns and gestures for her to follow.
“This way, Madam.”
They walk through the estate, past courtyards and quiet corridors, until they reach a building Diexin has passed many tis without giving it much thought. It looks ordinary from the outside—plain stone walls, no ornantation, no guards posted openly.
Housekeeper Chen leads her inside.
Then down.
Stone steps spiral beneath the ground, the air growing cooler with each turn. Faint lamplight illuminates the path until they erge into a vast underground chamber.
Diexin stops.
The space is far larger than she expected.
Rows of desks fill the chamber, each occupied by people working in silence—sorting scrolls, annotating reports, cross-referencing information. Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with bamboo slips, jade tablets, and sealed docunts marked with coded symbols.
This is not an archive.
It is a living intelligence hub.
“The Duan Family’s internal intelligence centre,” Housekeeper Chen says quietly. “Only a few know of its existence.”
Diexin nods slowly, her gaze moving across the chamber. She can feel it now—the faint hum of information moving, being processed, refined.
After Housekeeper Chen leaves, she finds the section containing intelligence of the Shen Family and Yulan City.
Diexin’s fingers brush the spines of the scrolls as she begins to read.
At first, the information aligns with what she already knows—trade routes, political alliances, cultivation resources, and territorial influence.
Then she reaches deeper.
Her brow furrows.
Sothing is wrong.
Several entries reference transactions involving the Shen Family and materials sourced from the Golden Desert. Rare spiritual materials. Extrely rare ones—items that even mid-tier sects would struggle to obtain regularly.
With the Shen Family’s standing, this should not be possible.
Diexin reads faster, her eyes scanning lines of carefully recorded details.
The Duan Family did not learn this by spying.
They learned it while doing business.
The Shen Family had used these materials in trade.
aning they had access to them.
Diexin’s complexion darkens.
The Shen Family is not acting alone.
There is another force behind them—one powerful enough to reach into the Golden Desert and supply materials beyond the Shen Family’s ans.
More powerful.
More dangerous.
For the first ti since her return to the capital, Diexin feels a chill that has nothing to do with cultivation.
She exhales slowly and moves to another section of the shelves.
Prince Yuan.
Specifically, the marriage between his fifth daughter and Shen Ling.
She reads carefully, piecing together political context.
On the surface, the match makes little sense.
The Shen Family’s current status does not justify such a union.
Even worse, Shen Ling already has a main wife.
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Prince Yuan’s daughter would beco a secondary wife.
That is a blow to status.
And for a prince, status is everything.
Strength gives power, but status gives influence.
In the struggle for the throne, influence determines who survives.
Prince Yuan would not accept such a loss lightly.
Unless—
Realisation strikes.
Diexin’s eyes narrow.
The only reason Prince Yuan would allow his status to take a hit is if the return outweighs the cost.
Sothing that would elevate him beyond status.
Beyond politics.
Beyond competition.
Cultivation.
Prince Yuan’s cultivation stands at the Fourth Stage of the Spiritual Refining Realm.
The next realm is Sublimation.
A gulf that has swallowed countless cultivators.
If Prince Yuan advances to the Sublimation Realm, he may not beco king—but he would gain the power to decide who does.
And suddenly, everything aligns.
The Shen Family—or the power behind them—has sothing that can help Prince Yuan break through.
Diexin closes the scroll slowly.
Her suspicion hardens into certainty.
This is no longer a personal vendetta.
This is a ga played at the highest level.
And she has just stepped onto the board.
—
The next morning, Diexin goes to Prince Yuan’s estate as usual.
Song Rui greets her with enthusiasm, eager to begin the day’s lesson.
Diexin teaches calmly—herbs, spiritual plants, their properties and interactions. She explains patiently, guiding rather than overwhelming, letting the girl’s curiosity lead.
Outwardly, nothing has changed.
Internally, everything has.
As she moves through the estate, Diexin quietly activates a new ability she gained after her Gu’s tamorphosis.
Insect Control.
It is subtle.
Effortless.
She does not summon insects.
She listens to them.
Ants beneath stones.
Beetles are hidden in the garden soil.
Moths clinging to shaded eaves.
Through faint threads of awareness, she guides them, positioning them where she wants them to be—near halls, courtyards, private chambers.
She does not force.
She nudges.
She waits.
Information cos not as words, but as impressions—movent, patterns, repeated visits, unusual precautions.
She begins to map the estate not by walls and rooms, but by activity.
Who cos.
Who leaves.
Where attention lingers.
She searches for traces—sothing hidden, sothing guarded, sothing that does not belong.
For now, she finds nothing conclusive.
But Diexin is patient.
Very patient.
Whatever the Shen Family is offering Prince Yuan—
She will find it.
And when she does, she will decide how to use it.
—
Through the insects, Diexin hears everything.
It begins as fragnts—servants whispering while sweeping courtyards, maids murmuring while changing incense, guards speaking carelessly during night patrols. These sounds flow to her through tiny bodies hidden in shadows and cracks, through antennae and wings, through vibrations carried along walls and roots.
At first, it is trivial.
Complaints about work.
Jealousies.
Rumours of promotions.
Then the conversations deepen.
etings behind closed doors.
Discussions carried out under the guise of idle walks.
Voices lowered, but never low enough for insects to miss.
From the Shen Family estate, Diexin learns of shipnts arriving at odd hours, of storage rooms sealed more tightly than treasuries, of guests who co cloaked and leave before dawn. From the Prince Yuan estate, she hears politics stripped of ceremony.
One night, she hears Prince Yuan himself speaking.
His voice is calm, controlled, but beneath it lies sothing sharp.
“The Duan Marquis is dangerous,” Prince Yuan says. “Far more than the court expected.”
Another voice answers—one of his trusted advisors.
“The reports say his strength corresponds to an Outer Refining warrior. Fourth stage Spiritual Refiner, at the very least.”
Diexin’s fingers tighten where she sits.
Outer refining?
That is impossible—yet not entirely.
She knows rin’s cultivation.
Inner refining.
But his strength…
Her mind races.
“If this is true,” she murmurs to herself, “then rin’s strength is a full realm higher than his cultivation.”
A monster.
She listens further.
The advisor continues, “The royal family is uneasy. Too much talent, too little restraint.”
Prince Yuan exhales slowly.
“The Golden Lotus Sect is already extending invitations. If he accepts, the balance breaks. If he refuses, he becos unpredictable.”
Diexin feels a chill that has nothing to do with fear.
She understands now.
Conflict is inevitable.
Between the Duan Family and the Song royal family.
Between loyalty and survival.
If rin grows further, the court will either bind him or destroy him.
She sits quietly that night, her eyes open, staring into the darkness.
If that happens, her position changes too.
She is no longer rely a woman seeking revenge.
She is a mber of the Duan Family.
If she regains Yulan City, strengthens the Duan Family’s influence in the south, and later supports rin in reshaping the kingdom…
Then the Song Kingdom may not remain the Song Kingdom.
Her breath slows.
Her eyes sharpen.
For her now, removing the Shen Family is no longer only revenge.
It is preparation.
For her future.
She continues spying on Prince Yuan’s estate with renewed focus.
Her future is now tied to power.
And power, she knows, must be constrained before it grows unchecked.
—
Several days later, at her clinic, Diexin finishes reviewing notes from a difficult case and calls out calmly, “Next.”
The door opens.
A woman steps inside.
For a split second, Diexin freezes.
She recognises her imdiately.
The face.
The presence.
She had seen this woman at Chu Feng’s party—seen her standing near rin, speaking with him in that strange illusion garden.
Ye Weiran.
Diexin stands up reflexively.
“Miss Ye,” she says, genuine surprise slipping into her voice.
Ye Weiran inclines her head slightly and takes the seat opposite the desk, her movents unhurried, composed.
Diexin sits back down, her confusion deepening.
“Miss Ye,” she says carefully, “I don’t think you are ill. What brings you here?”
Ye Weiran ets her gaze evenly.
“I want you to send sothing to rin.”
Diexin blinks.
Her confusion increases rather than eases.
“If that’s the case,” she replies, “you can send it directly to our estate. There’s no need to bring it here.”
Ye Weiran shakes her head faintly.
“I want this sent so that no one knows.”
Diexin studies her for a mont, then nods slowly.
“What is it?”
From within her sleeve, Ye Weiran produces a sealed envelope.
She places it on the desk between them.
“Send him this letter.”
With that, she rises.
Diexin watches her, questions piling up, but before she can voice any of them, Ye Weiran reaches the door. Her hand pauses on the fra.
She turns back.
Looks directly at Diexin.
“Congratulations,” she says softly.
Then she leaves.
The door closes.
Silence fills the office.
Diexin remains seated, staring at the envelope.
Congratulations?
For what?
Her marriage?
Her position?
Sothing else entirely?
Her thoughts turn involuntarily to rin.
To Ye Weiran’s calm familiarity.
Before she can unravel it further, sothing brushes against her neck.
A butterfly flutters in through the open window.
It is small.
Pale wings edged with faint patterns.
It settles gently on her shoulder.
The mont it does, information floods her mind.
Clear.
Imdiate.
Her breath catches.
Her eyes widen—not with fear, but with exhilaration.
A smile curves slowly across her lips.
“So that’s it,” she whispers.
The butterfly remains still, as if listening.
Diexin’s fingers curl lightly around the envelope on the desk.
Everything is moving now.
And this ti—
She is ready.
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