SU TANG (素醣)

  Day 5, 5th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “Thank you,” I found my loose lips repeating.

  Gosh, how perfectly pathetic of me. That was not what I wanted to say. Well, I planned to at some point. But not now. And definitely not today.

  Pain flared up from my arm like a torch suddenly relit. I masked the wince with the elegance of someone pretending their body wasn’t actively revolting against itself. My expression held. My pride, less so. Perfect timing as usual.

  But quite possibly the worst part of this whole situation was that he didn’t say anything. He just stared.

  Not a scornful stare, nor a condescending one. Worse—far worse—was how calmly he watched. That quiet, unreadable silence wrapped around me like smoke. Dignified. Patient.

  He might as well have been studying a stone tablet.

  My cheeks betrayed me. I could feel the heat spreading, each second a reminder that I had absolutely no control over my circulatory system.

  This was not supposed to be his business. He was supposed to be the cold, calculating Crown Prince, the one who let people bleed dry if it served a larger picture. That man I could handle. That man I could outwit, one day. This one, quiet and observant, made it difficult to breathe.

  And then, a flicker, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips.

  “Naturally,” he said.

  Simple. Sincere. Not a shred of arrogance to take offense at. No gallant flair. Just…acceptance. How did he know how to respond?

  He’s a psychic. Let’s just keep as that.

  His hand brushed against my forehead, and I startled. Outwardly, I was a statue of grace and servitude. Inwardly, I screamed. I hadn’t even noticed him move. The touch was so gentle, so clinical, I didn’t know whether to faint or slap myself for feeling comforted.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I should’ve left. Just bowed and left like a normal person. Except I wasn’t normal. Not now. Not after what happened. Not with this fire devouring my bones and the weight behind my eyes crushing my skull. Not after he had seen báilián.

  His suggestion earlier to rest now felt like a lifeline. But I couldn't take it, not without pulling everyone else into the storm with me.

  Come on. Get up. Stop inconveniencing the Crown Prince like some swooning concubine in a second-rate court drama. I adjusted my sleeves, fixing the cuffs with too much care. A distraction. A crutch. An illusion of dignity.

  Our eyes met again.

  And he was still pressing his hand on my forehead.

  From a purely objective standpoint, if he smiled more often, I daresay he’d measure up to Gan Yuanxiao. Both of their grins could light up a room and melt a soul with a single glance.

  “Is there something else?” he asked, voice like silk woven in iron.

  I forced my knees to straighten as I stood, ignoring the echoing creaks in my joints that made me feel ancient.

  Of course he’s only concerned about the investigation, that’s probably why he’s touching my forehead.

  “There have been no new findings from the investigation,” I said, bowing low.

  He rose slowly, like a mountain shifting. “But you have a suspicion you don’t want to share,” he said.

  Oh. He knew.

  “qìjiàn is a legendary martial skill,” I murmured. “No one has mastered it. But it is a skill that the Grand Chancellor has asked all his disciples to attempt.”

  A memory surfaced: the assailant who nearly killed me at Qi Qi’s; the blow of air like a blade that nearly split my neck; the skill—the speed—Gan Yuanxiao.

  I reached unconsciously for the spot on my throat, half-expecting blood to leak through my fingers.

  “This is only speculation,” I added, drawing back into formality. It would do me no good to share my actual thoughts…it would only bring trouble. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I will take my leave.”

  I turned too quickly. My skirts flared out, nearly snagging the leg of a chair. Curse these damned gowns, with their unnecessary flourishes and cascading hems. Their fabric was designed to drown you in lakes and trip you down staircases. Why couldn’t I wear trousers? At least those didn’t try to assassinate you on every exit.

  Thud.

  The doors swung open. The air frosted over.

  And they walked in.

  My mouth dried. I had imagined many interruptions. Bandits. Couriers. Even a flying blade, if someone really hated me.

  But not this.

  “Your Majesty,” the Crown Prince said evenly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  A meaningless question. He already knew.

  The Empress did not even look at her son.

  Her gaze, sharp and unforgiving, settled on me.

  Me. The broken servant girl with ink-stained fingers and secrets stitched into every breath.

  “Arrest that girl,” she said.