Picking up where we left off, Lingcai finally slipped into the underground jail, a shadow sliding through torchlight, ready to pull Qiange out from iron and gloom.

Qiange’s voice came soft but steeled, like a blade hidden in silk, the words heavy as a millstone sinking in deep water.

“If I run, they’ll use me as the chain to drag you down. One person’s deed, one person bears it. I know I can’t avenge anything. I’d rather die than pull others into my storm. Miss Acai, you’re a good soul; I receive your kindness like spring rain on parched fields. If Qiange has another life, I’ll repay this grace like a spring that never runs dry. Please go.”

Lingcai froze, her heart bumping like a startled deer, the plan scattering like leaves in a gust.

She’d bled and sweated to get here, setting grudges aside like old dust, only to be waved away with a single breath.

She wouldn’t take no, not with the bars like ribs and the air smelling of damp earth and rust.

If not for the monk, then for the Buddha; today, Qiange would leave this hollow under stone.

Lingcai slid the key across the bars, metal whispering like fish through reeds, nudging it to Qiange’s feet.

“As long as the mountain stands, your hearth won’t go cold. I’ve got my way out. Don’t worry about me—just run.”

Qiange still shook her head, snow settling on a stubborn pine, yet a deep sorrow pooled in her eyes like dusk gathering under eaves.

“After I was caught, I heard whispers, like wind turning in dead bamboo. I don’t know if they’re true. Miss Acai, tell me only this. My brother and the other human students—were their rankings always below the elves?”

Lingcai’s heart iced over halfway, a winter river under thin sun, because the truth had already crept in like chill through seams.

She hadn’t planned to say it, yet Qiange had already tasted the bitter at the edge of her tongue.

What now? Let the tide carry the lie, or sink the stone and speak the cold?

Tell her it’s all true, break her like pottery, then leave the shards to glitter with blame?

Truth is a bell you can’t unring, a dawn that comes whether you pray for night or not.

Lingcai wrestled with it, words rising and falling like cranes testing the wind, before she finally leaped and spoke.

She’d prepared this story, forged it like a charm against storm.

“No, that’s not it at all. It’s these lower officials, their hearts muddy like ditches, who carry prejudice against human students. But listen. Our Princess has a broad mind, though her tongue’s a knife and her temper flashes like summer thunder. If you split her in half, the heart’s black, the belly full of bad water—that’s how people paint her. Still, once she investigates, she’ll sweep them like leaves, and give your brother and every human student justice.”

“You… is that really true…?”

The question trembled like a sparrow on a thin branch, and Qiange stammered, hope and fear knotted like wet silk.

Lingcai nailed her tone firm, each word a stone on a crossing river.

“Why would I lie to you? And even if grades fall short of elves, so what? Before Ariex founded his nation, our human emperor’s Brengea Empire ran with human officials. It lasted seven hundred years before it finally fell, like an old cedar enduring storms. If Ariex won’t use human officials, give it three to five years and the house will collapse on its own. I swear it.”

She almost thumped her chest, a drumbeat under a banner, giving Qiange her pledge like a seal pressed in warm wax.

Truth will come one day, but not today; today, belief is the bridge and we only need to cross.

Qiange fell quiet, thoughts turning like water beneath ice, then sank to her knees and bowed three times, each thud a bell in the stone.

“Today’s words, I’ll be grateful beyond measure. If Miss Acai faces trouble, Qiange will walk through fire and boil through waves for you.”

She would run. The air in the cell shifted, like a door opening toward dawn.

Lingcai passed the key into Qiange’s hand, then offered the long blade Cloud-and-Stream—Gentle Radiance, a moon-sheen resting on steel.

She spoke softly, like a breeze through bamboo at night.

“One more thing. When you flee, don’t take the lives of the elven guards. They’re following the law like reeds following current; they aren’t at fault. Please show mercy.”

Qiange received key and blade with both hands, her nod deep as a bowing willow.

“Miss Acai speaks true. Qiange will keep this in my heart.”

The knot loosened, like a rope slipping free from a mooring.

Lingcai climbed from the underground jail, and the first breath of open air stabbed like cold light, blue sky and white cloud dazzling as polished porcelain.

Stinging and mild at once, the sky stayed the same, a calm lake untouched, while people moved places like boats shifting moorings.

She returned the original keys to the elven warrior unchanged, face a playing card, emotion folded like paper to hide the seam.

“Safe travels, Your Highness.”

The elven warrior’s professional smile didn’t flicker, a mask smooth as lacquer, watching Lingcai’s back fade like ink washed by rain.

Back in the inner court, Lingcai’s feet drifted toward the Princess Manor out of habit, the path familiar as grooves in stone.

Halfway, she remembered she no longer had to wear the borrowed crown, and angled toward the alchemy rooms, slow as a cat in afternoon sun.

“Turns out being a princess too long sticks like sap,” she muttered, the thought sour-sweet like overripe fruit.

She turned—and a shadow blocked her path, cool as a slate at dawn.

It was Xueyu, the Princess’s bodyguard, her face storm-dark, trailing Lingcai like a winter wind.

“Uh… Sister Xueyu… what’s the matter…?”

Lingcai felt trouble rise like smoke, but kept her posture, holding her ground like a little stone in a stream.

Xueyu grabbed her ear in a snap, pain spiking like a wasp sting, and dragged her words out like nails.

“Where’d you grow that spine? You dare pretend to be the Princess and meet a prisoner? You even planned a jailbreak? Two days acting, and you forgot there’s a real Princess, right?”

Lingcai’s eyes watered, tears slipping like warm rain, hands fluttering uselessly like moth wings.

“I didn’t act on my own! Let’s talk this through! The Princess herself told me to do it! Ask her if you don’t believe me!”

Xueyu tightened her grip, pressure like iron tongs, skepticism sharp as frost.

“Oh, passing fake orders now? Next you’ll claim land, raise troops, start a revolt? I’ll skin you today, see if you still chirp.”

She lifted her sleeve, a hawk ready to stoop, when the inner window of the Princess Manor snapped open with a crisp slap.

Kelor sat at the desk by the window, glasses glinting like ice panes, peering through thick lenses with a tired, dry gaze.

“You two making a scene for the whole yard? If you’re gonna shout, don’t do it where the wind carries it. Get inside.”

“Yes. Understood.”

Xueyu answered without missing a beat, but she didn’t loosen her grip, hauling Lingcai by the ear like a fisherman pulling a line into the inner room.

“It hurts…” Lingcai’s tears continued, beads on a string, falling one by one.

Xueyu shut the door with her free hand, the click neat as a seal, and tossed the words back cold as morning dew.

“You know pain? When you pass fake orders, did you think once about the blade falling, head rolling, no chance left to cry?”

“I told you… the Princess ordered me to help the assassin escape… Ask her yourself!”

Lingcai jerked her chin toward Kelor, a sparrow pleading toward a hawk.

Kelor’s eyes stayed on the paperwork, lines crawling like ants, headache throbbing like a drum.

She flipped reports, comparing them like weights on a scale, then spoke in a voice that refused to waste breath.

“Enough, Xue. Let go. I ordered Cai to release the assassin in the dark.”

Xueyu stared, shock cutting through her like a cold stream, then pressed on, the question stiff as a spear.

“Your Highness, you’re just letting a killer go—where’s the law in this country?”

Kelor took off her glasses and rubbed her temple, weariness pooling like ink in water.

“Who says I let her go? She escaped by skill, steel like wind, feet like smoke. Saves us the trial and the paperwork. One less headache. Don’t worry about it; do whatever you need.”

Xueyu still couldn’t swallow it, duty clamping down like a jaw, and stepped forward to kneel on one knee, a blade sheathing its edge in respect.

“Your Highness, I understand sympathy, but you weren’t at fault at all. Even if she acted in a fog of rage, death might be spared, but punishment should stand like stone! Her family’s deaths weren’t your doing. How can she repay grace with a knife? If you don’t punish her, how will the realm be convinced?”

Kelor exhaled deeply, the sigh long as a falling leaf, then gathered her files, drew the regent’s seal, and stamped page after page like rain striking tiles.

“Xue, answer me one thing.”

“Do you know what this Princess Manor used to be, the place you’re standing in right now?”