The low-key prince summons trainees from the Imperial Household Department at the start of the game.

When Nie Zheng opened his eyes, he saw a pear wood desk in front of him.

A half-carved woodblock was laid out on the table.

The wood was of the finest jujube quality, the cut surfaces still fresh, and the delicate fragrance of wood shavings mixed with the smell of ink, filling the small room with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.

His right hand was holding a carving knife, the blade wedged on the last stroke of the character "礼" (li, meaning propriety).

The knife cuts deep into the wood, and the strokes are strong and powerful, as if only an old craftsman who has been carving for decades possesses such skill.

He looked down at his right hand.

In his previous life, he assassinated Han Xiangxia Lei.

To avoid implicating her sister, she used this knife to peel off her own dough.

He gouged out his own eyes and then disemboweled himself to death.

The sensation of the blade slicing across his cheek is still etched into his bones.

But now this hand is intact, with rough skin, strong knuckles, and calluses on the palm from holding a carving knife and a sword.

He slowly put down the carving knife, his gaze sweeping over the cramped little house.

The bookshelves on all four sides were piled high with printing plates and papers.

In the corner sat a wooden box about half a person's height, its lid ajar, through which one could vaguely see a long, rectangular object wrapped in burlap.

He walked over and lifted the lid of the box; underneath the burlap was a sword.

The sword is narrow and long, without a tassel or any carvings, except for a tiny character "政" engraved at the end of the hilt.

Just then, a golden light exploded in my mind.

In his previous life, he assassinated Xia Lei amidst numerous guards, his long sword piercing the sun; a man would die for one who understands him.

The immortals allowed him to live his life again.

He was given a sharper sword, a stronger physique, a wider world, and two comrades who were also summoned by the immortals.

Jing Ke and Zhuan Zhu.

The immortal's voice told him that they were the Shadows, the most secretive blade in the hands of the Ninth Prince Zhou Xing.

When drawn, it draws blood; when sheathed, it leaves no trace.

He slowly covered the box with the burlap sack again and closed the lid.

Then he pushed open the door and walked into the backyard of the bookstore.

The backyard of Mohenxuan was not large, with bluestone slabs paving the ground, several bundles of paper waiting to be cut piled up in the corner, and several hemp ropes for drying paper strung above the courtyard.

In the center of the courtyard stood a large water vat, its rim covered with a thin layer of ice.

Zhuan Zhu was squatting by the water vat, using his only hand to scoop up floating ice from the vat.

It was a strong and powerful left hand, with thick knuckles and calluses on the base of the thumb, each callus from holding a short dagger.

After retrieving the ice floes, he stood up and nodded slightly to Nie Zheng.

At the very moment he nodded, Nie Zheng clearly saw that Zhuan Zhu's left ring finger involuntarily bent slightly.

That was the gesture of holding a dagger, a muscle memory left over from when he hid the Fish Intestine Sword in the belly of a fish in his previous life.

This movement was so subtle that ordinary people would not notice it at all, but in Nie Zheng's eyes, it was no different from shouting.

Zhuan Zhu has already woken up.

"Brother Zheng." Zhuan Zhu's voice was hoarse but steady, with a deep tone that only someone who has been in darkness for a long time would have. "You're awake too. Jing Ke is still in the room."

Nie Zheng nodded, turned around and pushed open the door to the west wing.

Jing Ke was reclining on an old wooden couch, holding a wine gourd in his hand, reeking of alcohol, and humming an off-key folk song from Yan.

The white rainbow sword lay beside him, its scabbard engraved with a thin white rainbow pattern, faintly gleaming coldly in the dim room.

"Old Nie!" Jing Ke saw him and sat up abruptly from the couch. He was still a little tipsy, but his eyes had regained their clarity. A cynical smile appeared on his face, which was flushed from the alcohol. "You received the message about the immortal's dream, didn't you?"

"The Ninth Prince, Shadow, and the three of us...tsk tsk, this is a table full of assassins from all ages."

"Hey, when you were exhausted from being an assassin in your past life, did you really single-handedly storm into the Prime Minister's residence and cut down hundreds of guards?"

"I didn't cut them all," Nie Zheng said calmly. "Some of them just ran into them."

Jing Ke laughed heartily, tilted his head back and took another gulp of wine, then shoved the wine gourd into Zhuan Zhu's hand: "Old Zhuan, you should have a sip too!"

"I've been craving that fish you grilled in your past life for over a thousand years."

"You concealed a dagger in the fish's belly and killed King Liao of Wu in close combat. The historical records say, 'Zhuan Zhu assassinated King Liao, and a comet struck the moon.' Was that a real comet or something made up by later generations?"

Zhuan Zhu took the gourd of wine but did not drink it. He simply held it in his hand and looked at his only left hand.

He was of average appearance; no one would give him a second glance if he stood in a crowd.

But when he grips the dagger, his eyes take on a different look.

That's the look a hunter has when he's watching his prey from the shadows—cold, focused, and unhurried, because he knows the prey can't escape.

Nie Zheng leaned against the water vat with his arms crossed.

He was taller than Zhuan Zhu and thinner than Jing Ke, with not an ounce of excess fat on his body.

The way he stood there didn't look like a book engraver, but more like a sword sheathed in its sheath.

His silence was not dullness, but an extreme form of restraint.

He keeps all his sharpness hidden in the sheath, never revealing a trace until the moment he draws his sword.

The three of them stood in the courtyard for a moment, and none of them spoke again.

In their past lives, they were all top assassins of their respective eras.

Historical records document celestial phenomena such as comets striking the moon, white rainbows piercing the sun, and long rainbows piercing the sun.

In this life, the immortals brought them together, giving them stronger cultivation, more concealed identities, and more worthy lords to serve.

They all knew in their hearts that this Mohenxuan was not a bookstore, but an assassination fortress hidden in the bustling city.

After a long silence, Zhuan Zhu suddenly spoke up: "Brother Zheng, what are the rules for the bookstore?"

Nie Zheng walked to the center of the courtyard and stood there, looking up at the sky above.

The morning light was filtering through the gaps in the eaves, dividing his face into light and shadow.

He pondered for a long time, his voice low and clear, like a carving knife cutting through wood, each stroke precise and resolute: "First, we will not receive outside guests."

"We don't put up signs, we don't take orders, and we don't get involved in business dealings based on personal grudges."

"Mohenxuan only engraves and sells books; they don't kill people, at least not in the eyes of outsiders."

"Second, only one person is authorized to give orders."

"If Your Highness gives the order, we will not flinch even if faced with mountains of knives or seas of fire; if Your Highness does not give the order, we will not move an inch even if the Heavenly King himself comes."

"Third, if the first strike fails, retreat a great distance, do not engage in petty squabbles, and do not be burdened by empty fame."

Jing Ke put down his playful expression, set down his wine gourd, stood before Nie Zheng, straightened his clothes, and gave a proper bow.

In his previous life, he meticulously planned every detail of his assassination attempt on the Qin emperor.

The map of Dukang, Fan Yuqi's head, and Madam Xu's poisoned dagger.

They failed at the very last moment.

In this life, he will not fail again.

When he lowered his hands and stood up straight, that cynical smile reappeared on his lips, but beneath the smile was an unprecedented seriousness.

Zhuan Zhu didn't speak, but simply placed the wine gourd gently on the edge of the water vat and patted his right arm with his left hand.

The sound was very soft, like the muffled sound of a dagger being sheathed.

Several days later, Willow Lane remained just as quiet.

The snow had not yet melted, and steam rose from the tea stall at the alley entrance, where several idle men squatted against the wall, basking in the sun.

No one noticed that the engraver at Mohenxuan had changed, nor did anyone care about the one-armed worker in the backyard.

But that very evening, a ragged beggar staggered into Willow Lane.

He was carrying a tattered bamboo basket with a few dirty sesame seed cakes inside.

He walked along, shouting his wares at the top of his lungs. His voice was rough and unpleasant, but the people in the alley were used to it.

This old beggar comes every few days. He's supposedly a member of the Beggars' Gang in the South City, responsible for delivering messages to the shops in the area in exchange for copper coins.

The beggar walked to the entrance of Mohenxuan, looked around, and then slipped inside.

In the front hall, Jing Ke was dozing off against the counter, snoring loudly.

The beggar placed the tattered bamboo basket on the counter, and a copper tube as thin as a hair slid out from a hidden compartment at the bottom of the basket.

Jing Ke's snoring stopped abruptly, and when he opened his eyes, the copper tube was already between his fingers.

"Chief Lu personally delivered the letter, so it must be no small matter." Jing Ke unscrewed the copper tube, pulled out the note, glanced at it, and his nonchalant expression slowly faded.

He handed the note to Nie Zheng, who had rushed over from the backyard. Nie Zheng took it, read it, remained silent for a moment, and then handed the note to Zhuan Zhu.

After reading it, Zhuan Zhu folded the note and returned it to Nie Zheng.

Nie Zheng held the paper to the oil lamp and lit it, watching it turn to ashes and fall into the copper dish on the counter.

"Chief Lu." Nie Zheng looked up at the old beggar, his voice low and steady, "What His Highness wants us to do is not written in the letter."

"But the letter mentioned two things."

"First, from this day forward, Mohenxuan will no longer be just Mohenxuan."

"Secondly, Shadow must integrate into the martial world, serving as His Highness's eyes and ears, conducting assassinations and intelligence gathering in parallel, and weaving together overt and covert operations."

"I don't care how many spies your Beggars' Sect has, nor how many eyes and ears Shangguan Jin Hong has at Tongzhou Wharf. Shadow is only responsible to His Highness."

"Our rule is: we do not obey orders or proclamations, we only obey Your Highness, but we will carry out Your Highness's orders in our own way."

Lu Changfeng took off his tattered straw hat and placed it on the counter, squinting his eyes, and did not answer immediately.

He had spent most of his life in the capital and had met countless people of all kinds.

But the gazes of these three engravers were like knives pressed against his throat, not directed at him, but rather an instinct ingrained in his bones.

He grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow with tea, and put his straw hat back on his head: "Mr. Nie, I am a rough man and do not know how to speak in roundabout ways. His Highness asked me to give you two words: 'Reincarnation'."

"Reincarnation..." Nie Zheng repeated softly.

He certainly knew the weight of those two words.

Reincarnation is both the name of the organization and a metaphor for destiny.

In their past lives, they were all murderers. In this life, the immortals allowed them to live again, which is to give them a new reincarnation.

The end of the cycle of reincarnation is the Ninth Prince's chess game.

He turned and walked behind the counter of the bookstore, took out a thin booklet from the drawer, and turned to the last page.

Three lines were written in neat small characters above.

Jing Ke, White Rainbow Sword Technique, Rank 7.

Zhuan Zhu, with a fish-gut short dagger, was a seventh-rank official.

Nie Zheng, Seven Kill Sword Technique, Rank 7.

He added a new line below the three lines: "Reincarnation, assassination and intelligence work in parallel, obeying His Highness's orders, and blending into the world of martial arts."

After finishing writing, he closed the booklet and turned to Lu Changfeng, saying that Mohenxuan would not take the initiative to contact anyone.

But if Your Highness gives the order, just bring it to Willow Lane. You can buy a book or ask for a bowl of water, whatever the pretext.

Lu Changfeng slung the bamboo basket back over his arm, picked up the dog-beating stick, turned around and limped out. When he reached the door, he suddenly turned back and grinned: "Mr. Nie, carve a book for this old man another day."

"What book?"

"The Records of the Grand Historian: Biographies of Assassins." Lu Changfeng's laughter echoed in the alley, rough and cheerful. "Your hands that wield knives are cleaner than those in the court who wield pens. Although I am illiterate, I want a copy of this book."

After saying that, he slammed the dog-beating stick on the ground and strode away into the twilight of Willow Lane.