Qiange’s assassination failed, and she was locked in the dungeon.

Kelor’s investigation had ended; she stepped back into her crown like a sun returning after rain.

By the look of it, the storm had passed, and Lingcai needn’t worry.

It should have stayed that way.

But Lingcai stared at the tachi’s moon-cold steel, and her mind sank like a stone.

She eased the blade from its sheath and tipped it to the sun.

Purple grain caught the light, a halo wrapping the steel like sword-qi.

This blade could only be crafted by her fiancée, Scarlet Leaf.

And Qiange clearly knew Scarlet Leaf.

Since the Alchemy accident, Lingcai hadn’t seen her fiancée once.

Seeing the blade felt like seeing her, and longing rose like mist.

On the hilt, the inscription named it “Flowing Clouds and Water—Soft Radiance.”

The Scarlet Leaf family crest was stamped beside it.

In Chulde, Scarlet Leaf’s business had flourished, and fakes flooded the market like fallen leaves.

The crest served as a ward against forgery; cottage shops couldn’t mimic that precision.

And the crest hid another little riddle.

Lingcai lifted a candle and kissed the flame over the crest.

Soot bloomed, black as charcoal, slowly revealing marks above the emblem.

A circle, two dots, and a bold hook.

Three simple strokes formed a simple smiley, pure girlish mischief.

It was so very Scarlet Leaf—childish and adorable in one breath.

Seeing the mark felt like seeing her; memory brushed the blade as her hand did.

Lingcai stroked the steel and muttered, eyes fixed, “Flowing Clouds and Water—Soft Radiance... that name is exactly her style.”

Scarlet Leaf rarely names a blade, and she never gifts one lightly.

It isn’t common work; she wouldn’t forge it for just anyone.

So Qiange and Scarlet Leaf must share a bond heavy as an iron chain.

If Lingcai watched Qiange die, guilt would gnaw her like winter wind.

She wouldn’t dare face her fiancée when she returned.

Lingcai slid the blade home and walked toward the cells by memory.

She wore plain clothes, no bright crown, just borrowed poise.

After so many days steeped in the act, she felt she could pass as an elf princess.

The act was bravado; her heart still fluttered like a trapped sparrow.

At the front gate, her pulse leapt to her throat like a fish to the hook.

If the duty guard stopped her, it would go south fast.

Luck tilted her way: the same elf girl from before was on duty.

Seeing Lingcai alone, the girl’s smile stayed fixed, professional as a mask.

“Welcome, Your Highness. Are you here to question the assassin?”

Lingcai reined her nerves and didn’t answer.

She set a poker face, held out her hand to the elf, a blade-straight gesture.

“Give me the key. Whatever happens, pretend you saw nothing.”

“No. The rules say the duty officer keeps the keys on her person.”

“It was your own decree, Your Highness; we dare not break it.”

“If needed, you should have filed the request yesterday.”

The smile stayed, but suspicion crept like a shadow at dusk.

“Damn it... this is that complicated?”

She’d never heard of it; could she say she forgot?

Cold sweat beaded her back like rain on stone.

“Did you forget to submit the form?” the elf kept smiling like porcelain.

“If so, give me a moment to notify the warden.”

“She can meet you and hand the keys to you herself.”

“Ah...” Lingcai felt her blood pressure spike like a drumline.

A warden would surely have seen Kelor; one glance could strip the mask.

Fake orders and a false princess mean heads rolling like logs in a flood.

Her mind went blank, a field of white. No path appeared.

“What would the real princess do?”

“If it were Kelor... she would...”

Smack!

Lingcai’s face hardened; she slapped the wooden door, a crack of thunder in a dry sky.

The jolt shook the elf girl to her heels.

“I’ve had enough these two days. Don’t give me crap.”

“Are you handing it over or not?”

On any other day, Lingcai wouldn’t dare play queen.

But right now, the bluff worked like a blade at a throat.

The guard’s smile froze like frost.

She lifted her arm, jerkily, and passed the dungeon keys to Lingcai.

She bowed, stiff as a reed in wind. “Please be careful below.”

“That’s more like it.”

After days as a counterfeit princess, she finally tasted a little glory, like warm wine.

Lingcai chuckled and went down the stairs.

She glanced back to check for a tail, then breathed easier, fog lifting.

Next, it was time to face Qiange.

Lingcai steadied her mood and walked into the deepest dark.

Qiange sat upright on the inner bunk, as if waiting for a tide.

Her eyes were half closed; when Lingcai neared, they snapped open like blades.

In that cold clarity, only Lingcai’s tangled expression reflected back.

“I knew this day would come,” Qiange huffed, a winter wind through teeth.

“Looks like today I’m heading out.”

Lingcai didn’t bother sparring.

She flipped her gold hair and bared her ears, clean as moonlit shells.

“Look close! I’m not an elf princess!”

“These are plain human ears.”

“I’m here to save you. Got it?”

Qiange’s face cracked with shock, no more layers to hide, like ice under heel.

She truly hadn’t thought the princess she hunted was a fake.

We should’ve used this trick from the start, Lingcai thought, too late by a mile.

Once certain Lingcai wasn’t the elf princess, Qiange’s hostility drained away like ebbing tide.

“Then who are you?” she asked, hurried, almost tripping on words.

Lingcai didn’t answer directly.

She drew out Qiange’s tachi and lifted the inscription like a banner.

“This Flowing Clouds and Water—Soft Radiance came from the Scarlet Leaf house, right?”

“Scarlet Leaf doesn’t gift a named blade lightly.”

“How did you get it?”

With the cards on the table, Qiange stopped hiding.

“Before my family fell, my father was Chulde’s top sword master.”

“Miss Scarlet Leaf gifted him this blade.”

“After my brother drowned himself, my father broke and never rose.”

“The Soft Radiance tachi ended up in my hands.”

“From the moment I held it, I swore to win justice for it.”

As she spoke, her fist tightened; hatred flashed like steel.

Watching her, Lingcai wavered over the truth like a candle in wind.

If she told Qiange that her brother and the other human students failed on merit,

that they simply scored lower than elves and found no path to fame,

what would Qiange feel when that support beam snapped?

Her revenge might collapse like a roof in rain.

If she kept the truth buried, Qiange would remain sunk in a sea of hate.

Having said her piece, Qiange saw Lingcai silent too long.

She turned the question back, sharp as a flicked blade.

“By the way, who are you?”