Jiyin's chuckle is low, rich-more intrigued than offended. He tilts his head, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face as he studies Wang Lee.

  "Why," he muses, "would a man who fights like that assume I've never held a sword before?"

  A beat passes between them-charged with unspoken questions:

  (Did you think me weak? Or did you just not care enough to look closer?)

  Wang Lee holds his gaze, unflinching under the weight of Jiyin's observation. He sees now that this isn't just some bored royal playing games in the dark.

  "Respectfully," he replies, voice calm under pressure, "most nobles don't spend their nights fighting."

  Jiyin raises a single finger, pointing to a thick wisteria tree nearby—its branches reaching out like a gnarled hand.

  "We'll test our skills again," he proposes, "but instead—whoever strays from the tree's line faces defeat."

  His voice holds a quiet command—the authority of a king used to being obeyed.

  "Agreed?"

  Wang Lee hesitates, his thoughts briefly flitting to his actual purpose in the palace. But the sharp gleam in Jiyin's eyes brooks no argument.

  He nods once, his jaw clenched tight.

  "Agreed."

  Jiyin strides to the pavilion where a pair of ceremonial swords rest-polished steel catching moonlight in lethal glints. He lifts one effortlessly, testing its weight before extending it hilt-first toward Wang Lee.

  "Take it," he says-not a request but an order veiled in courtesy. "Unless you'd rather forfeit now?"

  The challenge hangs between them like unsheathed steel: two warriors poised at the edge of something neither can name yet.

  The clash of swords rings through the garden-a sharp symphony beneath the wisteria blooms.

  Wang Lee's form is precise, every blow a testament to years of discipline. Jiyin meets him stroke for stroke, his own attacks swift and unpredictable.

  As they circle the tree, the line of battle, Jiyin's attacks become less about defeating and more... playful? Flirtations? His sword dances nearer, almost but not quite touching Wang Lee's skin

  Wang Lee parries, the edge of his blade just grazing Jiyin's shoulder-a touch both too soft to injure and too intimate to ignore. Their fight is a heady mix of steel and silk, a dance of wills as much as a duel of blades.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Jiyin presses forward, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. His attacks are lighter now, testing more than cutting. Every so often, the tip of his sword brushes against Wang Lee's cheek-a taunt? A flirt?

  The clash of steel rings out-Wang Lee blocks Jiyin's strike, but his restraint is evident in the careful control of his blade. He won't cut, even if provoked.

  Jiyin sees an opening and twists mid-motion-his sword flashing past Wang Lee's ear before he pivots smoothly behind him. Their backs are nearly pressed together now as Jiyin hovers there, close enough for warmth to pass between them.

  No words needed: just the unspoken question in the way Jiyin tilts his head toward Wang Lee's neckline like a man tasting poison... or honey.

  Jiyin's lips hover-close enough to brush the shell of Wang Lee's ear but not quite touching. A kiss stolen from air, a whisper without sound.

  The world stills. The garden fades into silence as if even the wind holds its breath.

  Then Jiyin steps back smoothly, leaving only heat and confusion in his wake.

  Wang Lee stands frozen-not just anger boiling beneath his skin now but something far more dangerous: an ache he refuses to name, buried under layers of discipline and duty like a blade sheathed too tightly for comfort...

  Wang Lee bristles, barely containing the anger now sparking in his eyes. He charges forward, blade poised for the attack. But before he can lunge, Jiyin's smirk halts him.

  With an easy grace, Jiyin steps back just enough to place himself on the wrong side of the tree line.

  "Oops," he chuckles, the sound rich and deep as honey. "Looks like I lose."

  Wang Lee remains rooted in place, his grip on the sword tightening-then loosening-as if unsure whether to chase or flee. The air between them crackles with unspent tension.

  Jiyin turns away with regal ease, tossing the word over his shoulder like a discarded glove:

  "You're dismissed."

  The dismissal hangs heavy as Wang Lee watches the prince walk off-each step measured yet leaving behind something far more dangerous than any blade could inflict.

  Wang Lee's steps are slow as he exits the garden, his mind reeling with the events of the night: the unexpected fight, the inexplicable anger now fading into confusion. Every beat of his heart seems to echo with Jiyin's presence-a phantom memory of warmth and steel. He's used to focusing on swordplay, not princes with smiles sharp as knives and touches softer than silk. In the quiet halls of the palace, he struggles to make sense of...of whatever just happened in the garden.

  Wang Lee-no, Wang Yuzé-shakes his head sharply as if to dislodge the prince's presence from his thoughts. The truth slams back into place like a locked gate: he is not some wandering dancer, but an agent of the Xian Tian Kingdom.

  His mission flashes before him in cold clarity:

  Infiltrate Kai Fu.

  Gather intelligence.

  Strike when revenge demands it.

  And yet... here he stands, heart pounding over stolen breaths and near-misses with a man whose laughter still lingers in his bones like poison. But no matter. This was all part of the plan, he tells himself firmly-even as something darker whispers otherwise...

  Wang-Yuzé (wang lee) enters the quarters where the other royal dancers are gathered. The room is filled with chatter and laughter, the atmosphere buzzing with the afterglow of performance high.

  One of the dancers, a young girl called fēn, spots him and squeals. "Wang Lee, there you are!" She bounds over, her arms almost encircling him in a quick embrace. "We missed seeing you during the dance."

  A chorus of agreement echoes from the other dancers.

  He steps back from Mei's embrace with practiced ease-just enough distance to avoid contact without causing suspicion.

  "Apologies," he murmurs, "the prince summoned me for... private discussions."

  The dancers exchange glances-some envious, some curious-but none dare pry further. One of the older performers clears her throat pointedly:

  "Then you'd better report to Master Liu at dawn tomorrow. No excuses."

  Wang lee bows low in agreement... even as his pulse thrums like a trapped bird against his ribs.

  The other dancers return to chatting amongst themselves, leaving Wang Lee to his thoughts. Just as he turns to leave, fēn stops him with a touch.

  She cocks her head, her eyes sharp in a way that belies her bubbly persona.

  "You seem distracted tonight," she murmurs, voice lowered so the others can't hear. "Is everything alright?"

  He hesitates....

  Wang Lee forces himself to meet her gaze, the mask over his inner turmoil.

  "Fine," he reassures her, though the words taste like metal on his tongue. "Just tired, that's all."

  He can see the curiosity flicker in her gaze, but he turns away before she can press further, moving through the crowd like a shadow dancing in candlelight.

  As the night deepens, one by one, the dancers retire to their respective quarters-some to share chambers, others to solitary rooms. The air softens, filled with the hushed whispers and muted sounds of people drifting into sleep.

  Wang Yuzé (wang lee) lays down in the small chamber allotted to him, his mind refusing to find tranquility. Every time he closes his eyes, his thoughts trace back to the prince-the smirk that was both an invitation and a warning.

  Wang Yuzé exhales slowly, his fingers curling into the thin blanket beneath him. A cold calculation settles over his racing thoughts.

  If the prince is drawn to him...

  He can use that.

  Turn desire into a weapon.

  A slow smirk tugs at his lips-one without warmth, only strategy. Tomorrow would be a new game, and he was already three

  moves ahead.

  His last conscious thought before sleep claims him: Let's see how deep this royal curiosity really goes.