Linyue walked quickly to the stairs leading back to the ancestral hall. Her heartbeat picked up—not from fear, but from pure excitent. This was one of the reasons she’d co to the ancestral hall in the first place. She didn’t co here to light incense sticks and whisper solemn word but to check sothing.
The secret passage.
Linyue wasn’t sure if the entrance would still be there after all these years. Maybe it had collapsed. Maybe soone had sealed it. Or maybe it had been turned into a storage room full of broken chairs, cracked pots, and one haunted broom that squeaked when no one touched it. But after visiting the ancestral hall earlier, she was sure the entrance still existed.
The building hadn’t burned down during the fire thirteen years ago. While the rest of the palace turned into a roasted ss, this one still stood firm. That wasn’t luck. That was design.
He Yuying trailed behind her. He was still grumbling. “No snacks. No tea. No warm sunlight. Just spooky tunnels and bad ideas.”
Linyue ignored him. She was used to his background comntary by now.
The truth was, Linyue had changed her plan at the very last mont. After hearing all the chaos—assassins, explosions, probably soone screaming “Protect the empress!” in the distance—she’d tossed her original plan into the fire and spun a new one out of thin air.
She had already sent Shen Zhenyu off with a different task, one that included… paper talismans. It was just ridiculous enough to work. Or fail spectacularly.
Either way, things were finally getting fun.
The bait was set.
Now, all she had to do was wait. Her target would co right to her, willingly.
General Zimo.
He was one of the emperor’s most trusted generals. Sharp, smart, disciplined—and, most importantly, predictable. If the empress was attacked, of course he’d be the one to handle the aftermath.
That’s why she told Shen Zhenyu to deliver a paper talisman with a nice dramatic ssage: A secret passage the assassins used has been found. Co to the ancestral hall imdiately. This secret passage is a secret only known to the imperial family. Don’t tell anyone.Confidential! Imperial! Urgent! Definitely not a trap!
Okay, that last part wasn’t actually written, but it was heavily implied.
Zimo wasn’t stupid. He’d probably squint at the talisman for a long mont, wondering if it slled weird. But in the end, he’d co. Because if it was true, it was too important to ignore. And if it wasn’t, he could always yell at soone later and feel superior.
Besides, the note specifically said don’t tell anyone.
Of course, if he did bring soone else, she had a backup plan. Several, actually. Plans involving dark corners, confusing turns, collapsing doors, and one incredibly rude maze design.
Not ideal. A bit rude. But effective.
Linyue waited quietly at the bottom of the stairs, just where the secret passage began. Her arms crossed, one foot tapping lightly against the stone floor.
Beside her, He Yuying leaned against the wall. His eyes flicked upward.
“Ugh,” he muttered, brushing sothing off his shoulder. “Spiders.”
Linyue didn’t even blink. “They live here. Be polite.”
Up above, the sound of footsteps reached them—controlled, steady, and slightly annoyed. Serious footsteps that belonged to soone who woke up angry, stayed angry, and would stay angry even in his next life.
Perfect.
Zimo had read the talisman. Of course he had. The ssage was odd, the writing even odder, and the entire thing had TRAP written all over it in invisible ink. Especially the last line: “Don’t tell anyone.”
He had squinted at it. He had paced around with it. He had glared at it. Very suspicious. Very shady. Also very effective.
Because he ca anyway.
He was no fool. He questioned everything. Why would a secret passage only known to the imperial bloodline be used by assassins? Who wrote the note? Why was it delivered like a mystery riddle? But it had to be checked. That was his duty.
It could be a trap. It should be a trap. But Zimo was the kind of man who walked into traps just to check if they were sturdy enough.
His cultivation was at Peak stage fourth level. Not beginner level. Not average level. Not even “dangerous guy you avoid at tea shops” level.
He was on “terrify everyone in a ten-ter radius” level.
Very few could reach that stage, and even fewer dared to challenge soone who had. So he ca alone because his confidence ca with power, training, and exactly zero tolerance for nonsense. If this turned out to be an ambush? He’d deal with it the way one dealt with flies: swat, splatter, forget. Loud, final, and mildly annoyed.
Besides, the ssage ntioned an imperial secret. If it was true, dragging extra guards into it would only make things worse. The emperor trusted him. Deeply. Blindly. Stubbornly. He owed the emperor everything, from his life to his position. When Lingxu state fell thirteen years ago, it was Emperor Fu Jingtao who pulled him from ruin and gave him a purpose again.
Zimo wouldn’t betray that debt. Not even for suspicion.
With steady steps, Zimo entered the ancestral hall.
The trap was waiting.
And it was smiling.
Linyue heard the steps long before Zimo entered. They were slow. Even. Heavy with intent. No hesitation. That was how confident people walked when they thought they were in control.
Her breath quickened. Not from nerves. From excitent.
This was the one she’d been waiting for.
Beside her, He Yuying shifted uncomfortably. He had already been briefed, or as “briefed” as Linyue ever did things. He knew the plan. Knew where to stand, what to say, and most importantly, when to duck.
Still, as the footsteps drew closer, he muttered under his breath, “He’s in a bad mood.”
“Good,” Linyue said, checking her sleeve one last ti.
“Why?”
She smiled without looking at him. “Because I have a worse one.”
He Yuying sighed. He missed Shen Zhenyu. Shen Zhenyu would’ve prepared a chart. Maybe snacks. Definitely a backup exit.
He was not Shen Zhenyu. He had no chart, no snacks, and very limited faith in their life expectancy. But here they were. In a sacred imperial tunnel, waiting for a very large, very suspicious general. And Linyue was still smiling like this was a dinner party and her favorite dumpling had just arrived with fancy plate and extra sauce.
While Shen Zhenyu had a different task, far more important, the kind of task that needed brains, charm, and zero accidental sword-swinging.
Everything was ready.
The footsteps stopped right at the top of the stairs.
This was it.
She wanted Zimo to fall hard, fast, and preferably pathetically. She wanted to see his arrogance crushed under his own certainty.
Then he appeared. A broad shadow stepped down into view.
Linyue’s voice cut through the air—smooth, calm, sharp. “Welco, General Zimo.”
He froze, eyes narrowing in the darkness.
“Who are you?” he asked, voice heavy with suspicion.
She smiled in the dark. He probably couldn’t see it—but he’d feel it. Sohow.
“Why don’t you co closer and find out?”
And of course, being the proud, self-assured general that he was, he stepped forward. Not recklessly but confidently.
That’s when He Yuying sighed and reluctantly sprang into action. He drew his sword and in one swift motion, sliced through the heavy air as he lunged straight at Zimo.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Zimo dodged effortlessly. His every step was steady, his eyes sharp, and around him, earth spiritual energy rose. Then the pressure dropped.
A heavy, invisible force slamd into the tunnel. The air thickened. It felt like a giant hand had pushed down on everything. Dust trembled off the walls. A tiny rock gave up entirely and rolled away. Zimo’s spiritual energy blood out, rich and unshakable.
With a faint hum, his sword appeared in a burst of green light. It wasn’t sleek or elegant. It was massive. Broad. The kind of sword that didn’t slice so much as flatten its problems. Its jagged edges made it look like it had been carved straight out of a mountain.
He Yuying’s fire-infused sword clashed against it with a sizzle. Sparks flew. Red and green collided midair, lighting up the tunnel in flashes so bright they probably scared away the local rats.
He Yuying grunted and staggered back—feet skidding, one eyebrow raised. His cultivation was strong. Late stage, fifth level. But Zimo was sothing else. That man radiated Peak-stage arrogance and stone-breaking strength.
“Okay,” He Yuying muttered, regaining balance. “Definitely should’ve stayed in bed.”
Zimo didn’t even respond. He just swung again, this ti sending a shockwave through the floor. A jagged crack shot forward like a lightning bolt, aiming to trip and trap.
He Yuying leapt sideways, bounced off the wall, then flipped in the air because why not make it flashy?
Linyue, still standing behind the scene, called out dryly, “Stop dancing and stall him properly.”
He Yuying, landing in a crouch, shouted back, “You try stalling a walking mountain!”
Zimo lunged again, this ti summoning thick vines of stone that shot from the ground.
He Yuying sliced through one, ducked under another, and rolled across the floor, now covered in dirt, dust, and regret. “I really hope this plan starts working soon!”
But the fight wasn’t ant to be fair.
It just had to be long enough. Long enough for what was coming next.
Linyue had already seen enough. She moved. No shout, no dramatic pose, no glowing aura—just movent, fast and silent. The dagger slipped from her sleeve, gleaming faintly even in the dark. It wasn’t big or fancy. But it was coated in Nightshade.
This was why she dragged him here. The tunnel was damp, dark, and too narrow for heroic swordplay. It was perfect. Not for glory, but for cheating.
This wasn’t a battlefield. It was a trap. A trap with very poor lighting and a high chance of structural collapse. So yes, the fight needed to end quickly before the ceiling decided to participate.
She had observed Zimo’s movent. His sword was huge. Heavy. Impressive. But big swords had one flaw: they were slow. Linyue, on the other hand, moved like a dancer. Quick, fluid, and very committed to making this man’s life a nightmare.
Ahead of her, He Yuying dashed back into the chaos with absolutely no hesitation and absolutely no plan.
“Hey, Mountain Man!” he shouted at Zimo, sword in hand, fire in his eyes, and sarcasm in his throat. “Your sword’s compensating for sothing, isn’t it?”
That did the trick. Zimo’s eyes twitched. His focus locked onto He Yuying with deadly annoyance.
And that was when Linyue went full theatre.
She stepped forward and then—
Raised her leg. High. Very high. Ridiculously high. For one awkward mont, He Yuying actually paused mid-swing to marvel at her flexibility. She aid a kick right at Zimo’s face.
Naturally, he dodged. Reflexes like that don’t take a day off.
But that kick wasn’t the real attack. That was just bait.
While his focus was on her very flexible leg, her left hand moved. The dagger in her grip—small, silent, poisoned—slid toward his neck.
It was rude.
It was unfair.
It was exactly the kind of move she'd use.
Zimo caught the shift too late. He raised his arm to block but the dagger was already there. The blade sank into his right shoulder.
Linyue didn’t smile, but inside, she was practically throwing a victory party.
Zimo staggered back, pain flashing across his face.
“You—!” he growled.
“Yes,” she said. “.”
He Yuying gave a very unhelpful cheer. “Ten out of ten! Great form!”
Zimo swayed.
Linyue tilted her head and added helpfully, “You might want to sit down.”
He did not sit down. He took two very aggressive steps forward then missed the third and stumbled sideways into the wall.
Linyue turned to He Yuying. “Ready for the next part?”
He Yuying twirled his sword. “Let guess. More chaos?”
Linyue nodded. “Of course. This is still only Act One.”
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