Mu Xun—a name that sounded boyish. With sharp, androgynous features, piercing eyes, and a crisp short haircut, she was the most popular woman among female colleagues in the department. Right now, she lounged lazily in a small sofa, clicking the mouse idly out of boredom.
She had once been a member of Grand Zhou’s elite special forces unit—the Divine Sword Imperial Guard. Tracing back eight centuries, the Guard was founded by Emperor Zhou Youtang, arguably the most militarily driven ruler in Grand Zhou’s history. It was under his reign that Grand Zhou embarked on overseas colonial expansion, and the Divine Sword Imperial Guard was born in that era.
Back then, after a nationwide selection, three hundred elite warriors were chosen and named the Divine Sword Imperial Guard. These top-tier operatives weren’t just tasked with protecting the imperial family and generals—they also carried out assassinations of regional leaders. Their fearsome reputation was forged in blood. Countless commanders had fallen by their blades.
Mu Xun was a descendant of that legacy. After rigorous selection, she earned her place on the Divine Sword Imperial Guard roster. Though the unit had expanded from three hundred to three thousand over centuries, the standards never softened—proof of Mu Xun’s exceptional skill. Yet three years into service, she failed a mission protecting a key African warlord.
Though the leader’s stroke stemmed from chronic irregular habits and advanced age, Mu Xun bore undeniable responsibility. She deeply despised the man’s debauchery—his days wasted on wine and women. So during the critical window, she deliberately looked away, left the room, and closed the door. His death cost Grand Zhou over a hundred million Zhou yuan. Years of investment vanished, along with control of vital mineral sites.
Military discharge was inevitable. But considering her prior honors—one individual First-Class Merit, one collective Second-Class Merit—punishment was lenient. She was reassigned to a quiet government post: archivist. The job was simple: input documents, file them, retrieve on request.
Yet this life filled Mu Xun with despair. Every day brought anguish and regret. *Why was I so impulsive? What did that fat pig’s antics have to do with me? If I’d just endured a few more months… made it to rotation…*
“Sigh.”
She clicked open a military program, bored. Just then, the section chief entered, smiling.
“Mu, a task from higher up. Interested?”
“Higher up?” Mu Xun raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Don’t ask which. Basically—a bodyguard gig.”
“Bodyguard?” She almost refused—then paused. “Can I wear uniform?”
“No.”
“Protecting a political figure?”
“No.”
A flicker of despair. “Then… can I carry a firearm?”
“Well… seems permitted.”
“I’m in!”
Over a year since leaving service, she rarely touched a gun. Her military-family parents were crushed. In army compounds, a child unfit for duty? Unthinkable shame. She avoided home—only brief Lunar New Year visits.
Now, Mu Xun resolved: *Any chance to return to service? I’d endure even that warlord.*
But this time, hope would falter. The car delivered her to a military-administered zone. Her eyes lit up—she barely contained her excitement—then lifted her gaze. A grand villa stood ahead. By its gate stood another woman, her age.
Mu Xun narrowed her eyes. Though rusty, her instincts remained sharp. *Professionally trained. Like me.*
The woman’s eyes brightened too. “Hello. I’m Jing Yu.”
“Mu Xun.”
A shared glance. Mu Xun cut straight: “Your unit?”
Jing Yu smiled faintly. “Nanzhou.”
The Nanzhou Special Task Force—established under a century ago—was meant to free the Divine Sword Imperial Guard from foreign conflicts, focusing solely on imperial protection. But after Grand Zhou’s revolution abolished ninety-nine percent of the royal line, the plan stalled. Still, Nanzhou remained the Guard’s rival.
Hearing “Nanzhou,” Mu Xun extended her hand. “Divine Sword Imperial Guard.”
Hands clasped before the villa. Two minutes passed. Knuckles whitened. Neither yielded. Releasing meant defeat for their faction.
“Ladies?” A maid glanced between them. “Her Imperial Highness requests your presence.”
“Imperial Princess?!”
They exchanged a look—rivalry forgotten. Only one in Grand Zhou held that title.
Imperial Princess Xi, personal name Zhou Shengping, was the sole Imperial Princess of the current house. Seventh in succession, yet speculation swirled around her ascension. She was the only female inscribed into the imperial genealogy at birth—even past empresses were added only after crowning. Tradition dictated her name be Zhou *Sheng*ping—but the Emperor personally chose *Sheng*ping. A single-character shift. As the saying went: *A hair’s breadth off course leads a thousand miles astray.* That nuance spoke volumes.
If she ascended… they’d be founding supporters. Returning to service? Becoming officers? A single word from Zhou Shengping.
Hearts pounding, they entered the villa, winding through halls to the sports hall. Two girls played ball inside. Mu Xun and Jing Yu stood silently in the corner.
After a pause, Jing Yu whispered, “Which one’s the Princess?”
“The one facing us,” Mu Xun murmured uncertainly. “My home has a photo of the young Emperor and Empress. She resembles the Empress… about seventy percent.”
“Makes sense.”
