“Mother and Father summoned Ninth Brother back to the palace. That could threaten the pieces we’ve set on the board.” Andra shed his robe like a snake sloughing skin, handed it to a servant, and slipped into a sleep robe that fell like moonlight.

He sank into the sofa, brows knotted, his face set like stone before a storm.

A white‑robed elder sat opposite with the hush of falling snow. He lifted his tea, warmth rising like a soft veil. “Your Highness the Second Prince, don’t fix the world in place too soon.”

“With First Brother and Third Brother boxing me in on every side, my eyebrows are already on fire. How am I not supposed to panic?” Andra flicked his sleeve, irritation snapping like a flag in winter wind.

“The more I chew on it, the more bile boils. Which brainless prince sent that kind of strike the second Ninth walked back in?”

The elder chuckled, a ripple across still water. “Your Highness, why assume it must be your brothers?”

Andra’s brow lifted, a blade catching light. “Are you hinting I did it?”

The old man paused, then shook his head with a wry smile, like an elder pine shedding frost. “Don’t be hasty, Highness. I mean the attack might not have targeted Ninth as the primary aim.”

“Hm?”

“Alas.” Seeing Andra’s impatience flash like a spark, he shook his head with quiet regret. Aside from this rash streak, the Second Prince was near the image of a king carved in jade.

“This old minister believes it wasn’t a move to clear a rival in the royal race.”

“This is the capital of the Miter Empire. Father is gravely ill. Beyond my brothers, who else even has the standing to do such a thing?” Andra’s frown deepened, a shadow darkening water.

“But think it through. If it fails and the hand behind the curtain is exposed, the ones who suffer the worst are you eight princes, no? Who would pick this exact hinge in time to strike at Ninth?” The elder stroked his beard, his body leaning back like a weary crane; age had gnawed his strength, and rest had become its own medicine.

Some truths should be offered like a lantern in fog—light enough to guide, not bright enough to blind.

Andra fell silent, then propped his chin on his hand and let a crooked smile flicker like foxfire. “I see.”

“Heh.” The elder’s smile was warm as spring rain. “Now we watch the ripples. After Ninth meets His Majesty, we can decide how to place our stones.”

“Mm. Mother has always favored Ninth. No telling whose head he’ll dump the bucket of blame on.” Andra nodded, closed his eyes, and let words dry up like ink in sun.

Third Prince’s manor.

Kait sent the guards away and slumped into a chair, strength leaking like water from a cracked jug. He stripped off his shirt, bronze muscle catching light like a statue under torchfire.

His body was a map of knife scars, pale lines like dried riverbeds telling of a hundred narrow escapes.

He squinted at the sickly green lotus blooming on his chest, petals creeping closer to his heart like rot, and he let out a long breath.

The door pushed open. A youth built much like Kait froze, then strode in with a stormed face. “Your Highness! We told you not to fight recently!”

Kait shook his head, a dogged smile thin as paper. “It’s fine. I’ve only got a few days left in me. Once the pieces are set, I can—”

“Your Highness!”

“Heh, calm down, Perry.” Kait shrugged as if shedding rain. “I’ve said it before. Once I choose the prince who can truly guard Miter’s future, I’ll hand you all over to him.”

“Your Highness, you’re the true leader.” Perry stepped forward, voice tight, devotion shining like a torch.

Kait pressed his shoulder, a steady hand like an anchor. “Kid, you know my poison’s beyond cure. Keep saying that and it loses meaning.”

“Your Highness!”

“No more.” Kait went quiet, then spoke like iron under velvet. “Have you found why Ninth’s manor was blown up?”

Perry sighed, breath heavy as a winter bell. He pulled papers from his breast. “Our informant sensed a Bloodkin aura just before the blast.”

“Bloodkin? Can Bloodkin cast explosive magic?” Kait took the report, frown etching deeper like a chisel.

“Unknown. It wasn’t a city‑killer. But we found no trace of magic in the wreckage of Ninth’s manor.”

“Oh.” Kait read through, then kept frowning, clouds refusing to lift. “Right. Those people Ninth brought back—any solid leads?”

“Uh… We only know one’s from the Far East. The others are unknown for now.”

“Mm…” Kait’s brows hooked like bowstrings. Thought became a deep well.

“Your Highness, I also found who nearly got Ninth killed by that Demon Realm brown bear.”

“Oh?”

“It’s…” Perry stepped close and whispered, words like knives sliding into cloth.

Kait narrowed his eyes and held silence until it ached. Then he sighed, a wind through pine. “Ninth… don’t blame your brother.”

Palace gate.

Xili and First Prince Regan traded childhood tales like old coins, talk circling warm as a brazier. After a while, a gleam lit the carriage window—Eli, face bright as polished jade, gave Xili a cheeky wink.

Then he planted a foot and kicked Liqianyu right out of the carriage like tossing a sack off a cart.

She landed, rubbed her tailbone, and snapped, “Damn it, knew I shouldn’t trust that punk. So fast and he’s gunning for me already. Next time, I won’t care if you live or die.”

Xili exhaled, relief smooth as silk. He turned to Regan. “Big Brother, this is the guard I just hired—Miss Li from the Far East.”

Liqianyu stepped up and bowed, posture clean as a brushstroke. “I greet Your Highness the First Prince.”

Regan nodded, an easy smile like sun on river. “Miss Li’s Battle Aura feels honed. Perhaps you could spar with my men sometime, trade a few techniques?”

Liqianyu blinked, eyes like quicksilver. “Sure. As long as he isn’t afraid I’ll beat him to death.”

Regan’s eyes narrowed with laughter, crescent moons in dusk. “Ha, Miss Li is refreshingly straightforward.” He turned to Xili. “Ninth, I hear a grand mage serves you. Why haven’t we seen him lately?”

Xili’s eyes rolled like marbles. “Oh, him. The Bear King smashed him up, then last night happened. Injuries on injuries. He can’t even move.”

“Heh.” Regan was about to reply when a man in black strode up, shadow neat as a blade. He signaled the guards, then stopped before them.

He bent his knees, slid one foot back, and stood straight as a spear. “Your Highnesses, His Majesty asks that you come with me.”

Regan smiled, rueful as autumn. “Seeing Father has become quite the ordeal.”

The man kept his head lowered, silence tight as a sealed jar. Xili blinked, then tugged Regan’s hand. “Big Brother, let’s go see Father.”

“Alright.” Regan patted Xili’s head, a brother’s palm warm as dusk, and led the way inside.

Xili shot Liqianyu a wink and followed.

Liqianyu hesitated, then drifted back to the carriage. A guard guided it to the designated stand like a herder with a placid ox.

Once the area emptied, she slipped into the carriage. Eli sat there with a teacup, sipping slow, steam coiling like a dragon. “So, what does Xili actually want me to do?”

Eli drained the cup, then drawled, lazy as a cat in sun. “Relax. He’s not asking you to rampage through the palace. Just stay put. I’m going out.”

Before Liqianyu’s wide eyes, Eli pulled on a dress, white over‑knee socks bright as snow, and red little shoes shined like cherries. He fastened a fluttering skirt and gave her a wink.

He let his hair down and tied low twin tails, bows big as butterflies kissing his ears. With a twist of magic he dyed it red, blurred his Adam’s apple, and tilted his voice like a reed.

In front of Liqianyu stood a sprightly girl—misleading as a fox in silk.

Eli tilted his head, eyes sparkling, and played cute. “Sister Li, I’m going out for a stroll. Do as you like.”

He pushed the door and stepped out, light as a breeze.

Liqianyu shot out of the carriage, looked him up and down, then exploded. “Oh my god—oh my—oh hell no. You—really?!”

“Mm?” Eli blinked, lashes like moth wings.

“Wow, you… wow! You even shrank a size?” At barely one‑fifty tall by her guess, Eli had her nerves skittering like startled fish.

Eli took in her face and smirked. “What, never seen a cross‑dressing boss? Look at Xili—he’s practically—”

“No, no, no. Xili’s not the same, how do you even compare?” Liqianyu rolled her eyes, a pair of coins clacking.

Eli had only changed his hairstyle; his face hadn’t shifted a line. Liqianyu clicked her tongue twice. “Didn’t expect it. One hair change and you’re stunning.”

“Hey! In your eyes am I ugly?” Eli planted hands on hips, disdain sharp as a sword. Liqianyu waved both hands. “Don’t. The moment I imagine you—a grown man—acting cute, I want to die.”

Eli blinked and let silence settle like snowfall.

After a beat, Liqianyu couldn’t hold it. “You got rattled, didn’t you? Edlyn left, you snapped, and now you turned yourself into a little loli?”

“Are you kidding me!” Eli shot her a glare, sharp as a hawk’s. “Do you even know what ‘secret op’ means?”

“Huh?”

“Tsk. Pig brain. Get back in the carriage. I’ll explain when I return.” Eli stamped a foot, more pout than anger, like a kitten patting a cushion.

To outsiders it looked like a spoiled act; Liqianyu shivered and bolted.

Eli watched her flee, then smiled, a fox’s curl. He set off, steps light as drifting petals.

This sudden stunt had one stupid seed behind it. Edlyn’s past life was the Demon King, and he vaguely remembered—the Demon King was a man.

He glanced at the mirror and stood quiet for a breath. “Well… right now she’s a woman. That’s fine.”

…

At a way station, Edlyn led Angela off the coach, fingers linked like ribbon. “Phew. The air tastes clean, like washed linen.”

“Sis, why’d we leave Uncle Eli?” Angela stretched, spine lengthening like a willow, confusion clouding her clear eyes.

Edlyn’s lids lowered, secrets tucked away like letters under lacquer. She shrugged. “No big deal. Be good and stick with me. When the time comes…”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” Edlyn sighed, a small wind, and shook her head.

“Hi there, beautiful ladies. Need a hand?” A blond youth approached, bow slight and practiced, his handsome face lifted like a mask in a play.

He’d watched them step down and gaze about, dazed as new fawns. His eyes lit up. With looks like his, these two young blossoms would surely swoon.

A sister pair—one older, one younger. Hell yes. A perfect arrangement.

Edlyn shot him a glance and led her sister away, steps cutting clean as a blade.

For heaven’s sake, who was this clown? Didn’t he see she was hunting the scattered remains of the Demon Race? Truly an eyesore.

Angela glanced at him, then followed her sister. Behind them the blond heard a small, piping voice. “Sis, his hair looks so tacky. Poop‑yellow.”

“Angela, don’t look at things that make you sick.” Edlyn rolled her eyes, helpless as a cat with a stubborn kitten.

The blond’s mouth twitched, smile cracking like a cheap plate. Poop‑yellow? Are you kidding me?

Angela smothered a laugh and answered Edlyn with a prim, “Okay.”