Twelve days earlier.
The early autumn air in the capital grew crisper, and the newly blooming osmanthus trees filled the streets and alleys with their rich fragrance, flowing through the air like a hidden stream.
Shen Qi stood in Yizhang Alley, clad in a dark blue flying fish-patterned cloud brocade robe, a Xiuchun blade hanging at his waist. Behind him stood Qianhu Shi Yanshuang and over a dozen sharp-eyed, agile Embroidered Uniform Guard cavalrymen.
Yizhang Alley was not, as its name suggested, a mere zhang (ten feet) long but rather zhang wide. The alley was spacious, its sides cluttered with bamboo baskets, poles, and various household items. Occasionally, a piece of laundry would flutter down from a courtyard wall above, yet none of these obstacles were enough to block a galloping steed.
This was a shortcut to the Embroidered Uniform Guard Command Headquarters. For someone familiar with the capital’s streets and eager to save time, dashing through here was a natural choice.
So there was nothing unusual about Zhu Helin riding through this alley—what mattered was whether his attacker had predicted his route in advance or had merely trailed him and chosen this place as the ambush site.
Shen Qi believed it was the latter.
Zhu Helin had initially visited the Xin residence, where he learned that Xin Zhenhai had been injured. Only then did he decide to head to the command headquarters to meet his replacement. If the assassin had planned his route in advance, it would mean that “injuring Xin Zhenhai” had been a deliberate setup leading up to this moment.
But Shen Qi knew exactly who had injured Xin Zhenhai.
This meant the assassin had likely been lying in wait at the marketplace, gambling on an opportunity. After all, the crown prince occasionally left the palace in disguise to wander the inner and outer city. With enough patience and luck, a determined tracker could spot him.
Less than six hours had passed since the assassination attempt. The area within several miles of the alley had been placed under heavy military lockdown, prohibiting anyone from entering or leaving. The residents, bewildered and uneasy, huddled in their homes, speculating about what major event had occurred. Even the heavens seemed to cooperate—there was no wind or rain, preserving every trace left from that night.
Shen Qi leaped onto the rooftops on either side of the alley, pacing back and forth a few times before carefully examining the interconnected ridges. He found some broken twigs and crushed wall grass, likely stepped on, and pieced together the scene of the confrontation based on the signs of struggle.
The Crown Prince had narrowly escaped with his life, largely due to his keen judgment and quick reactions. For a young man with no prior combat experience, such an instinct for survival was truly remarkable.
On the second floor of a building opposite, a wooden window lattice had been kicked through, leaving a gaping hole. Shen Qi jumped inside and found himself in a young woman’s bedroom. After a thorough search, he found nothing unusual.
He then questioned the room’s occupant.
Xuan Yong, the local ward chief, was a minor official of little consequence. When faced with the formidable head of the Northern Surveillance Bureau—the infamous “Life-Taking Qilang,” whose reputation rivaled that of nightmarish demons—he trembled so much that he could barely speak. His twelve-year-old daughter, Xuan Caocao, however, was composed, sharp-eyed, and far bolder than her Father. After offering a respectful bow, she recounted what had happened that night.
She had been combing her hair in front of the mirror when she heard a series of loud crashes. The next moment, the window burst open, and the Crown Prince tumbled inside. He had asked her for a cloth strip to tie his wrist, then lost consciousness after hastily revealing his identity and ordering her to report the incident.
Beyond that, she had neither heard any other sounds nor seen the assassin’s face.
“Are there snakes in this area?” Shen Qi asked.
Xuan Caocao pondered for a moment before answering, “Yes. When it gets hot, snakes sometimes crawl near the wells or onto the roof beams to cool off. My Father once killed a venomous snake, but my mother forbade him from doing it again. She said snakes are spiritual creatures and hold grudges—if you kill one, its kin will smell the blood and come seeking revenge. After that, my Father stopped killing them and started sprinkling realgar along the walls to repel them.”
“What kind of venomous snake?” Shen Qi pressed.
The young girl didn’t know, but her Father, still bowing deeply, stammered, “R-Replying to my lord, it was a white-browed viper.”
Shen Qi asked a few more questions before leaving the Xuan residence.
From atop the wall, Shi Yanshuang dropped down and reported, “I combed through the area again but found nothing new.”
Shen Qi had expected as much—anyone daring and resourceful enough to attempt an assassination on the Eastern Palace was no ordinary foe. They wouldn’t leave behind any obvious traces. This was a headless case, an investigation doomed to be exceedingly difficult. But with the emperor’s orders weighing on him, no matter how challenging it was, he had to do everything in his power to solve it.
He decided to visit the Eastern Palace and question the victim directly.
—
At that moment, Zhu Helin was lounging on the Luohan couch where Su Yan had slept, casually eating pomegranate fruits. He refused to let the palace maids cut them with silver knives, instead biting into them whole, peeling the skin away with his teeth—completely disregarding any noble etiquette.
The wound on the back of his hand was merely two tiny puncture marks, barely larger than a pinprick. It no longer hurt or itched, and the residual poison had been gradually neutralized by the medicinal decoctions prepared by the imperial physicians. Feeling as lively as ever, Zhu Helin took advantage of his “dizziness” as an excuse to skip his lessons at Wenhua Hall.
Hearing that Shen Qi had requested an audience, he waved his hand dismissively, uninterested. “Send him away.”
But just as Fu Bao was about to carry out the order, Zhu Helin changed his mind and ordered him to let Shen Qi in.
Shen Qi entered the hall, knelt, and greeted him, “Your Highness, may you live a thousand years.”
Zhu Helin noisily chewed his fruit and remarked, “I heard that my Royal Father granted you permission to forgo kneeling when reporting affairs. If the Eastern Palace makes you kneel, doesn’t that mean we’re overstepping the Emperor? Is that what you mean?”
Shen Qi rose and replied, “Your subject would never dare.”
Zhu Helin narrowed his eyes, his expression brimming with mischief. “I also heard that you wanted to lead an expedition outside the capital, but Xin Zhenhai took the position instead. Now that he’s broken his leg, what do you think about that?”
He was still seething over Su Yan’s disappearance. His initial fury had solidified into a cold determination, the lingering venom of the snake bite crystallizing into an icy resolve deep within his bones.
He refused to be seen as weak, ridiculed, or have his vulnerabilities exposed.
If he hadn’t been born with the natural cunning of a political schemer, then he would forge a defense as impenetrable as the hard-shelled coconuts from the southern provinces—ready for the storm of knives and swords that would inevitably come.
Shen Qi answered, “Your subject and Commander Xin are not personally acquainted, so I do not feel any sorrow. I only express official sympathy for his misfortune.”
Zhu Helin burst into laughter, nearly spitting out the fruit pulp. “Sympathy! You, Shen Qilang, know sympathy? Give me a break. I’ve done my research on you—your reputation is quite something. They say that if you peeled off your human skin, you’d have horns on your head, fangs in your mouth, and a stomach that swallows people whole without even spitting out the bones.”
Shen Qi remained expressionless, waiting for him to finish laughing.
Once he had his fill, Zhu Helin tossed the fruit core into a golden basin on the floor. A palace maid immediately stepped forward, wiping his mouth and hands with a warm, damp cloth before taking the basin away.
Zhu Helin then asked, “So, why did you seek an audience with me?”
Shen Qi, in a businesslike manner, concisely stated his purpose and asked if the prince had noticed anything unusual during the attack.
Zhu Helin stood up and walked over to him.
Shen Qi suddenly noticed that the Crown Prince had grown taller. A few months ago, when he had barged into his home to forcibly take Su Yan away, he had been shorter by nearly half a head. Now, he almost reached Shen Qi’s brow. The once defiant and wary gaze had shifted—now there was a hint of scrutiny and calculation behind it.
Like Father, like son, Shen Qi thought to himself. But still too green.
Zhu Helin, however, dodged the question. “Royal Father has already dispatched Long Quan, the Left Guard Commander of the Tengxiang Cavalry. Even if he also breaks his leg, the job still won’t go to you. I suggest you give up that thought and focus on capturing the assassin—earn your place through merit.”
“Earn your place”—was this a veiled threat, reminding him that a ruler had the power over his officials’ life and death? Shen Qi looked at the young prince, whose face, though still boyish, already carried an undeniable arrogance. He felt like he was staring at a piece of tough, unyielding meat—hard to cut, impossible to cook, and difficult to chew.
With an impeccable posture, he cupped his hands and replied, “Your subject humbly accepts your guidance. To apprehend the assassin as soon as possible, I must ask Your Highness to answer my question.”
Even if Zhu Helin felt a surge of jealousy and resentment, he had no choice but to share what he knew with the vexing Embroidered Uniform Guard standing before him. After all, his own life was at stake, and he too wanted the culprit caught as soon as possible. At least for now, in this case, he and Shen Qi shared the same goal.
“I didn’t get a clear look at the assassin’s face.” Zhu Helin turned and walked toward the desk, idly picking up a storybook, his expression indifferent. “The assailant moved swiftly, like a flickering shadow. I assume it was because they were draped in a black robe and had their face covered with a black cloth, making their features impossible to discern… But there was something unusual about them—their eyes were blood-red, like those of a ghost.”
“Blood-red eyes? Could Your Highness describe them in more detail?”
In Zhu Helin’s memory, those eyes were red as if bleeding. Not the kind of redness from bloodshot veins, but an eerie, glowing crimson that filled the entire iris, strange and demonic. The instant he caught sight of them, his heartbeat spiraled out of control, and his mind turned hazy—
It was in that moment that the assassin had seized the whip he lashed out with, allowing the snake to slither along the length of the whip and sink its fangs into his hand.
Fortunately, the haze only lasted for a fleeting moment. As soon as the snake’s fangs pierced his skin, he snapped back to awareness, hooked his leg around the clothes-drying pole outside the second-floor window, twisted his body, shattered the window lattice with a kick, and tumbled into the young lady’s chamber.
Shen Qi silently committed this crucial detail to memory, instinctively suspecting that the assassin possessed some sort of special martial technique. It seemed he would need to investigate the various martial sects and factions across Jianghu.
Just as he was about to take his leave, Zhu Helin added, “By the way, Fourth Royal Uncle said that the bite on my hand was from a silver ringed snake. But in the capital region, only pit vipers are found. He suspects the snake was an exotic species, deliberately raised.”
Shen Qi was surprised that Yu Wang had gotten involved.
Because of Su Yan being forcibly taken away the day before leaving the capital, Shen Qi loathed Yu Wang to his very core. He forced himself not to dwell on it, only wanting to find the right opportunity to get rid of him.
—A royal? So what? He was still just flesh and blood. No matter how precious his life was, he only had one.
But he had to admit, Yu Wang was a seasoned military man, experienced in battle and with a keen eye. If he could identify the venomous snake’s species so precisely, he was likely correct.
At the very least, aside from the blood-red eyes, Shen Qi now had another clue—the silver ringed snake.
After leaving the Eastern Palace, Shen Qi headed straight for the Northern Surveillance Bureau, only to encounter an unexpected visitor at the street entrance.
A grand, luxurious carriage blocked his path, and Yu Wang lifted the curtain, revealing half of his face, curved into a smirk. “Shen Tongzhi?”
Shen Qi’s eyelids twitched violently. A sharp killing intent, mixed with the scent of blood, seeped from his very bones, slicing through his flesh from within. Pain radiated through his soul, an agony so deep that he wanted nothing more than to hack the blurred silhouettes before him into pieces, to hear the agonized wails of someone being dragged from life into death.
Swallowing the searing flames of wrath and the icy chill in his veins, he responded, “Your Highness, Yu Wang.”
