The mad princess forces love upon him, and the aloof imperial advisor trembles every night.

Cangming didn't seem to be in a hurry to examine it; instead, he handed over a sandalwood box.

The box is jet black and glossy, carved with intricate lotus scroll patterns. It feels heavy in the hand and exudes a chilling aura.

"I take my leave," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"This item is a small token of our sincerity before the massacre of the Prime Minister's entire family."

"Your Highness may wish to take a look. I... look forward to our next collaboration."

Chu Xuanjing took the wooden box, and when his fingertips touched the cool wood, his heart skipped a beat, and a strong sense of foreboding gripped his heart.

At the same time, Mei Shiliu's voice came from outside the window: "Sect Master, the amount of gold is correct and has been transported away."

Cangming said no more. His dark figure flickered, like ink dripping into water, merging into the night and disappearing from sight.

After a long while, Zhou Qingchen finally peeked out from under the brocade quilt. Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks were still flushed, but her beautiful eyes were filled with coldness and incomprehension.

"Why does Your Highness admit it?" He frowned his delicate brows.

There was no written agreement at the time.

"The eldest prince is dead, and there is no way to verify the facts."

"We don't believe it. Does Cangming think he can dig Chu Xuanche out of the imperial tomb and resurrect him?"

Chu Xuanjing did not answer immediately. He walked to the table, poured himself a cup of tea, and drank it all in one gulp.

"Ah Chen, you don't understand." He smiled bitterly, reaching out to stroke Zhou Qingchen's long, black hair gently, his eyes as dark as an abyss.

"Cangming was able to sneak into my heavily guarded and trap-filled palace without a sound today, as if it were his own home."

"Next time, he can silently put a knife to our necks, and we'll die without ever knowing where it came from."

"We don't acknowledge it. Given the way Jinxue Pavilion operates... tomorrow, no, perhaps tonight, they'll turn around and take on someone else's job to kill me."

"By then, the money I'll have to pay to save my life will probably be five times, ten times, or even... priceless."

He paused, his gaze returning to the sandalwood box in his hand.

"Moreover, he gave a 'gift'."

"I want to see what this 'sincerity' really is."

Zhou Qingchen leaned closer, looking at the wooden box with curiosity.

Chu Xuanjing pressed his thumb against the hidden latch on the box lid and gently pressed it down.

"Click".

With a soft click of the spring, the case cover popped open a crack.

A strong, nauseatingly sweet and fishy smell, mixed with the stench of rust and decay, suddenly burst forth and assaulted the mouth and nose!

Chu Xuanjing's pupils suddenly contracted!

The next instant, he suddenly opened the wooden box completely—

"ah--!!!"

Two screams rang out simultaneously, sharp and piercing, cutting through the darkness!

The wooden box slipped from Chu Xuanjing's trembling hands and crashed to the ground with a loud bang!

In the candlelight, the contents of the box rolled out and scattered onto the expensive carpet—

It was a whole box full of bloody, mangled flesh...

They were handled with unusual "neatness," presenting a bizarre and novel state of horror.

The strong stench of blood instantly filled the entire room, mixing with the original warm fragrance to create a suffocating and nauseating odor.

At the very top, there was a small, plain white note.

The handwriting was elegant and graceful, seemingly written by a woman, but the content was chilling:

"All that the Prime Minister's residence possesses... is hereby offered."

Once the final payment is settled, His Highness will receive the news of the execution of the entire Prime Minister's household in three days.

May Your Highness sleep soundly every night and have sweet dreams.

—Respectfully presented by Jinxue Pavilion

Chu Xuanjing suddenly burst into maniacal laughter!

"Hahahaha...Good! Good! Well done, Jinxue Pavilion! Well done, Cangming! Hahahaha!!!!"

—————The Residence of the Princess Zhenguo————

The moonlight, as white as frost, spilled over the glazed tiles of the Princess Zhenguo's residence.

Chu Qingyue stood atop the highest eaves of the mansion, her red dress fluttering in the night wind.

The bloody marks on her palms and the sword wound on her chest had long since healed completely thanks to her strange constitution.

Only in the depths of those phoenix eyes lay a pain that even seven years of wind and snow in the Northern Sea could not bury.

That night, she practiced all eighteen weapons in turn.

Red robes fluttered under the waning moon, from a long whip made of black iron to a soft sword made of soft water, from a twelve-foot silver spear to a seven-inch short blade, from a meteor hammer that could seize souls to a halberd that could split clouds and cleave the sky...

The eighteen weapons whirled in her hands like the wind, each move precise and ruthless, each technique practiced a hundred times.

Her red dress fluttered like a phoenix rising from the ashes, burning brightly in the pale moonlight. Yet, the more fierce her figure was, the more it revealed the loneliness in her bones—like a child abandoned on the battlefield, unable to find her way home, with no one to care for her.

She knew that if she practiced each weapon a hundred times, she could get through the long night.

Just like those seven years in Beiming—on the icy plains, under the lonely moon, she swung her weapon again and again until she was exhausted and passed out, so that she would no longer see that heartless man in purple robes and silver hair in her dreams.

"Seventy-seven, eighty-seven, ninety-seven..."

In the shadows beneath the eaves, the vast ocean has stood silently for a long time.

When he returned from the Third Prince's residence, he saw this splash of red burning itself out under the moonlight.

The eyes beneath the mask were as dark as night, and his hands were clenched into fists inside his sleeves, his nails digging into his palms, yet he felt no pain.

Because all my senses were stolen away by that splash of red on the eaves.

He recalled four years ago in Beiming, on a night just like this, when he was ambushed by the Beiming army, locked in a dungeon, covered in blood, poisoned and on the verge of death.

It was she, dressed in red like a blazing flame, who charged into the dungeon alone, and wherever her sword flashed, the guards all fell to the ground.

She cut the chains, hoisted him onto her back, and said in a chillingly calm voice, "Shen Yue, hold on."

Along the way, her blood and his blood mingled together, making it impossible to tell whose was whose.

He only remembered the warmth of her back and those words, so soft they were almost inaudible:

"Don't die, I'll take you home."

Family?

He has no home.

But she gave him one.

As dawn broke, Chu Qingyue finally stopped her attack.

All the weapons were put away. She closed her eyes and looked up, the deepest darkness before dawn enveloping her delicate face.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through my chest—not from the skin, but from a deeper place, so painful that even breathing felt like being slowly tortured.

"Your Highness, are you alright?"

When Cangming's voice sounded from behind, Chu Qingyue slowly opened her eyes, a hint of confusion flashing in them before she transformed into a frozen lake.

"Still alive."

She tugged at the corners of her mouth, a smile more desolate than a cry, "I won't die."

She turned, her gaze falling on his silver mask: "And you, Shen Yue? Have you emerged from the nightmare Chu Qingyao wove for you?"

"I am unharmed."

"What happened back then was my fault—" Her voice suddenly softened.

"It has nothing to do with Your Highness." Shen Yue interrupted her, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath his mask. "It is my destiny to suffer this calamity."

He finally saw her turn around.

The first rays of dawn brushed across her brows and eyes at that moment—her face was breathtakingly beautiful, her phoenix eyes were frosty, her lips were stained with blood, and her skin was almost transparent in the morning light, yet as cold as a snow-capped cliff that had never melted.

But the lingering redness at the corner of her eyes betrayed the fact that she hadn't slept all night.