What kind of person was Princess Sia, the one taking over Kelor’s duties? The question fluttered around Lingcai’s thoughts like a moth at a lamp.

On the way, she turned it over and over, a worry stone warming in her palm.

Whenever Xia’s name came up, Kelor bristled like a cat, pure loathing flashing across her face.

Please let her not be the impossible type… A whispered prayer drifted up like incense smoke.

According to Xueyu, Princess Sia and Princess Korol were cousins. She had commanded a pivotal battle in Ariex’s founding war, carving merit like a blade through fog.

Rumors claimed she yearned to be queen of the elves, ambition like a hidden dagger beneath silk. But those were winds and shadows, never pinned down.

Even a rumor, said a thousand times, grows moss in the heart and seeds doubt.

Maybe that was why a fissure spread between Kelor, the rightful heir, and Xia, merely a lord of a backwater fief—hairline ice cracking under strain.

As the ancients sighed: beauty’s fate runs thin, and imperial doors are colder than winter stone.

To hell with palace squabbles… I’m just a counterfeit stand‑in… nothing to fear… Her words were charms she pressed to her chest, like talismans against the storm.

Lingcai muttered as she walked, stoking courage like coals glowing under ash.

At last she stood before the doors of the Princess Manor, where Princess Sia waited within like a hawk in still air.

Before she pushed in, she drew a long breath, smoothed her look like a silk sleeve, and tapped the frame with a timid finger.

Creak— the panel eased open, a wooden sigh slipping into the room.

At the center, by a small round table, sat a woman with amber hair, boredom pooling around her like stagnant water.

Her long fingers drummed impatience on the wood, grace and nobility curling off her like fragrant smoke.

She was model‑tall, cleanly cut; her aristocratic poise carried a teasing hint of allure, like moonlight on wine.

That had to be Princess Sia.

Xia kept her back to Lingcai, didn’t spare her a straight look, and spoke with a needling edge. “So slow—Kelor, is this how you treat guests?”

Her authority hit like a cold wave, smashing half the courage Lingcai had just stacked like bricks.

One fear clawed at her now, sharp as thorns: If she sees I’m a fake, what then?

If I’m found out, how do I explain? Will she retaliate? The questions buzzed like angry bees.

As her thoughts tangled like vines, Xia lazily spun her chair, arched a brow, and let her gaze slide to Lingcai like a blade of light.

“I’m talking to you, pipsqueak. That rude streak of yours needs proper training… huh?”

The moment Xia faced her, a startled “Huh?” slipped out, light as a sparrow.

In Xia’s mind, Kelor was a bad‑tempered powder keg, tiny and trigger‑happy, a match that flared at the slightest scrape.

Yet before her stood a willowy maiden, warm smile on her lips, a calm, mature cuteness wrapping her like spring sunlight.

Usually, Kelor met Xia with bared fangs; one nudge, and she’d bite like a wolf snapping at meat.

Today the picture was different: crown gleaming, a small princess composed and generous, maturity laced with a shy girl’s freshness, cuteness with a sultry thread—like plum blossoms in late snow.

Xia’s jaw nearly dropped out of its hinge. After a long beat, she pointed and stammered, words tripping like stones. “You… who are… Are you really that pipsqueak Kelor…?”

Of course not. Lingcai snarked inside, but only inside, a quiet leaf falling into a dark pond.

She slipped into the princess role, lifted her skirt’s sides, and curtseyed, a graceful arc like a crane’s wing. “It’s me, Your Grace, Xia. After a while apart, you’ve even forgotten my face?”

Mere politeness. She prayed silently, heart like a drum under silk: Better if you don’t remember. Don’t, and I’m safe.

Lingcai watched Xia’s face like a diviner reading clouds. No suspicion—only shock, deer‑eyed and frozen.

“Ahem… no way… Last time you were a tiny bean…” Her voice stumbled, pebbles skittering downhill.

Rather than suspect a fake, Xia thought her eyes or brain had misfired, grit in the gears. She even stood, measured Lingcai’s height with her hand, then sat back down, baffled.

That reaction told Lingcai her act was working, like a door sliding quietly more open.

Seeing the opening, she pressed the advantage. She set a hand to her chest and smiled, steady as a lantern. “As you see, I’m no longer that little thing. Calling me a pipsqueak doesn’t fit, does it?”

Xia reeled again. When had that table‑thumping brat turned this poised, like rice wine aged to velvet?

Her eyes flicked, and a knowing look slid into place like a mask. She traced a teasing fingertip along Lingcai’s collarbone and cheek, a cool breeze with thorns, and sneered. “Act. Keep acting. Nice performance—I almost bought it.”

Lingcai’s heart jolted like a startled deer leaping from brush. Did I give something away? What do I do?

Before she could plot, Xia tilted her chin with a finger, calm as a still lake. “They say empires may change, but nature won’t. Kelor, keep the mask on. Watch me drag your true self into the light.”

Relief loosened Lingcai’s chest, a tight knot untying at last. At least she hadn’t been outed.

Then Xia moved, and panic rushed back like winter wind scouring bone.

From under her sky‑blue short skirt, Xia drew out a chain, a collar dangling at its end like a crescent moon of iron.

Worse, her hem was like a pocket of another world—one shake, and a heap of chains and shackles clattered to her feet, metallic rain on stone.

What are you doing—! Don’t come any closer—! Her heart screamed like a kettle at full boil.

Xia couldn’t hear. Seeing Lingcai’s face shift, she smiled like a hunter sure of the snare.

She shook her skirt again, her smile turning wicked, a fox under the moon. “Kelor, guess what I’m here to do today?”

I won’t guess! I don’t want to know! Lingcai clamped down on panic like hands over ears.

Raising a slender finger, Xia pinched the end of a handcuff, turned the key, and showed it off. “Look. Made just for you. Fine steel from the Dragon Capital. Crafted by Qiulde’s smiths. Lined inside—it won’t mark your little arms.”

Color drained from Lingcai’s face, frost on a peach blossom. “P‑please don’t joke like that…”

No one warned me about this! Princess, you set me up again! The complaint thudded in her chest like stepping on a rake.

Xia lifted the chain, cuffs swinging, and stepped closer, shadow stretching long. “Truth time. I came to fix that bratty temper of yours. Didn’t expect you could play nice—almost made me think you’d mended your ways.”

I’m not pretending! I’m just an ordinary good person! Her cry stayed inside, a sparrow beating at a cage.

She backed two steps, feet light as wind, turned to bolt for the door—when Xia lunged like an arrow, and the shackle snapped onto her wrist.

A gentle tug, and Lingcai’s arm couldn’t escape, a fish caught by a thin line.

Panicked, she shoved Xia hard, trying to reclaim air. “Impudent! Stop! What are you doing! Another step and I’ll call people!”

Xia didn’t take the push seriously; her smile grew wild, fire licking dry grass. “Ha. I knew it—true colors, right? Keep fighting. Don’t, and I’ll put this round your neck too.”

She waggled the collar in her other hand, every motion dripping mischief, honey spiked with pepper.

Now Lingcai finally knew why Kelor hated Princess Sia so much, hatred like a thorn buried under skin.

Because! She! Is absolutely! Nothing less than! A dyed‑in‑the‑wool! Sadist! A complete! Pervert!