On a forest track in this kingdom’s wilderness, a carriage rolled on, steady as a beetle over fallen leaves.

Ahead rode two ranks of spear-bearing cavalry, armor flashing like river scales; the royal guard’s crests marked them without doubt.

By that display, the passenger’s identity needed no guessing.

Inside sat a girl, about one and a half meters tall, golden curls like sunlit vines.

She wore a white off-shoulder dress, clean as fresh snow, with black over-the-knee socks like ink strokes along her thighs.

Most striking were her slender pointed ears and the rose-gold crown resting like dawn on her head.

The girl was the princess of Ariex, ruled by elves; her name was Kelor.

The carriage’s jolting rhythm faltered, then went mute, like a drum suddenly stilled.

“Why did we stop?”

Princess Korol closed her book, a ripple of doubt crossing her calm like wind on water, and lifted the curtain’s corner.

At the reins sat a female elven swordswoman in a silver-gray helm, black hair tied in a single ponytail like a brushstroke.

Her name was Xueyu, Princess Korol’s shadow since childhood, a loyal blade and steady bow.

Where the princess was petite, Xueyu stood tall and slender; her sword sang clean, her bow spoke true.

“Princess, a convoy’s coming head-on,” Xueyu said, nodding toward the curtain as road dust rose like gray smoke.

“Who are they?” Kelor asked, flicking a lock of gold like a sunbeam.

“Uh…”

Xueyu’s gaze slid past the guard line and fixed on the oncoming train of figures.

Men, women, old and young wore lifeless black; at the front, drummers clattered instruments like hollow bones.

Behind, a carriage bore a lacquer-black coffin wrapped in white cloth and tied with a yellow wreath, glaring like a bruise.

“Looks like a burial. Bad omen. I’ll make them take another road.” Xueyu signaled, eyes cold as iron.

“Forget it. The dead don’t yield to the living. Tell the guards to give way.”

“Understood.”

The funeral train was less than twenty meters from the carriage, wolves nearing a fold.

A prickle of danger crawled over Xueyu’s skin as the convoy drifted closer.

“No—everyone fall back! Turn around!”

Her omen snapped into reality. A shrill whistle knifed the air.

Mourners ripped weapons from black robes and surged for Kelor’s carriage like a broken tide.

“Guard the princess! Hold them!” Xueyu drew her long sword, focus iced over.

The charge broke the formation, but the carriage still held that fragile heart of safety.

Then Xueyu saw the coffin’s lid yawning open, slow as a serpent shedding its skin.

A stubby cannon slid out, its black maw aimed at Princess Korol’s carriage like night swallowing a star.

Xueyu didn’t hesitate. She hauled Kelor out and dove with her into the dirt, bodies skimming earth like swallows.

Boom— the carriage behind them burst into a spray of splinters, wood shrapnel whirling like wasps.

“What the hell?!” Kelor blurted, voice shaking like a plucked wire.

“Assassins. Move.” Xueyu scooped Kelor and sprinted off-road, grass whipping their legs like green lashes.

Behind them, guards and killers tangled like thorn and vine, a knot of steel and screams.

“Who uses a damn cannon to assassinate?” Kelor gasped, anger flaring like sparks.

“Assassins using cannons is perfectly normal,” Xueyu replied, calm as stone.

“Normal my ass!”

The loli princess couldn’t hold it; her true temper flashed out like lightning.

Prim in public, she swore like a dockhand in private, a tiny terror with a peppered tongue.

“Kidding. Sort of.”

“Even if we run, where in this godforsaken nowhere do we go?” Kelor snapped, panic rising like heat shimmer.

“Anywhere we can hide, we hide,” Xueyu said, steady as rain. “There’s a derelict abbey ahead. We’ll hole up there.”

The assassins spotted Kelor’s move and waved flags, voices slicing air like blades: “The princess is running! She’s the only target! After her!”

The royal riders bled the charge and bought Kelor and Xueyu precious seconds, time like water in cupped hands.

Five minutes later, they reached the abandoned abbey, Gothic roof shedding tiles like old scales, weeds choking the yard.

The mossy door stood mottled with age, a faded scar in wood.

Xueyu shoved Princess Korol inside, scanned both ways, then slipped in after like a shadow.

“Hah… hah… I can’t run anymore…” Despair sagged in Kelor’s voice like a wet cloak.

Crossing the threshold, Kelor collapsed onto the floor, silk dropped on stone, breath ragged.

Mud splashed her dress and socks like ink blots, careless stains of flight.

She didn’t notice the unfriendly shadow drifting up behind her, a chill creeping like fog.

A hand tapped her shoulder, jolting her like a struck chime.

“Eek—!”

She spun, heart skittering, to face a petite girl with a spill of golden hair like wheat.

The stranger wore a traveler’s neat white blouse with lace trim, a backpack, a black pleated skirt, and knee-high boots.

Strangest of all, she held a pale blue crystal orb and chanted like a roadside medium:

“Spirits above… spirits below… if you’re wise, make me wise…”

She snapped her eyes open and leaned into Princess Korol’s face, sudden as a hawk dive.

“Miss, calamity’s clinging to you like incense smoke!”

Kelor grabbed the girl’s ankle, slammed her down, and pinned her, joints locked like iron hinges.

“You think I need you to tell me that? Stay put! Who sent you? What’s your aim?”

“Ow— ow— that hurts! Let go, let go, let go— I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Pinned beneath the princess, the girl begged; a sharp sword kissed her throat like winter.

Xueyu held the blade steady, voice flat as frost: “One minute. Name. Trade. Purpose. Speak.”

Her face drained to paper. “I— uh— I’m Lingcai…”

Her misfortune had a name: Lingcai. Once, she was an Alchemist by trade.

After an incident, her license was revoked; now she lived hawking sundries like a market sparrow.

We’ll get to that.

“If you’re not an assassin, good. Keep away from the princess, and I won’t lay a finger on you,” Xueyu said, threat coiled like a snake.

“You didn’t touch my fingers… but my arm’s about to pop out…” Lingcai muttered, rubbing her shoulder until Xueyu’s glare cut her short.

Danger thickened. Beyond the cracked wooden door, assassins’ shouts rolled closer like storm surf pounding cliffs.

Xueyu burned with urgency, but braced for a last-ditch stand, spine a drawn bow.

“We keep moving, Princess. This place will be unsafe in a moment.”

“How are they still on us… I’m spent…” Kelor whispered, hope thinning like smoke.

“Didn’t seem this fragile when you were twisting my arm…” Lingcai murmured, eyes averted.

“What was that?” Xueyu’s glare sliced over, sharp as a blade.

“Nothing!” Lingcai shook her head like a rattle drum. “Even if you can run, try using your heads while you do…”

Kelor was already fuming; a commoner mouthing off stoked the fire like bellows.

“You talk like you’re constipated— half a day, not a useful word. If you’re so smart, where’s your plan?”

That did it; Lingcai found her spark, boldness rising like steam.

“It’s simple. Your outfit screams ‘princess.’ Find someone, put your crown on her, swap clothes, let her draw the assassins, then you run. Safe.”

“…”

Kelor went silent, the air dropping to ice, tension banding tight like wire.

Moments later, Kelor stepped in and pinned Lingcai against the wall, mischief glinting like foxfire.

“I think your idea’s brilliant.”

“Th-thanks for the praise… um, Your Highness? What are you doing…?”

When someone flips that fast, there’s a trick; the turn made Lingcai nervous, gut tightening like a knot.

Kelor offered no explanation; her fingers slid into Lingcai’s collar and forced buttons open, quick as a thief’s hands.

“Help! Molestation! I meant you swap with somebody else! Why are you stripping me?”

Lingcai thrashed, but Kelor moved like lightning; pale, soft skin flashed in the sunlight like milk.

“Xueyu, I’ll hold her. Get her skirt off too.”

“Understood.”

Lingcai clamped her thighs over her skirt and kicked hard at Xueyu, panic churning like a trapped bird.

“Someone! Help! Molestation!! I’m warning you— keep this up and I’ll fight you to the death!”

She wailed, but the die was cast. Xueyu hooked an arm around her calf and slid her belt free with a hiss.

Her black pleated skirt fluttered down like a fallen petal, revealing honest, girlish white lace panties.

As Xueyu stripped her without mercy, her tone was grave yet calm, a funeral bell in daylight:

“This road’s death-heavy, but it’s for the country. Any wishes? The state will grant them. Speak now— wait, and you’ll lose the chance.”

“You’re asking for my last words?! I—I don’t even look like her! I’m not elfkind! I don’t have pointed ears!”

With Lingcai mostly undressed, Kelor removed her crown and began peeling off her own dress, coaxing and conning like honey and blade:

“You look like me. Don’t be modest— the aura, the build, the hair. Not just similar— identical. Come on; you suggested it— who else should we use?”

Lingcai knew it was hopeless. Despair pooled like dusk; she had only three words left to fling at heaven—

“Help me!!!”