As the embroidered spring dagger sliced through the evening breeze, it conjured its own gust of wind, the razor-sharp tip glinting coldly in the darkness.
The strike was so sudden that even Lin Ting, standing beside Duan Ling, barely registered it.
Silence enveloped them, broken only by the faint hum of the blade as it flew.
Xia Zimo and Xie Qinghe instinctively turned at the sound.
In the blink of an eye, the blade was perilously close to Xie Qinghe, aimed straight for his heart—a lethal strike that promised no escape.
Yet Xie Qinghe, a frail scholar by nature, could only watch the blade’s approach, too slow to dodge.
Xia Zimo reacted just in time, managing to deflect the embroidered spring dagger slightly.
The tip still pierced Xie Qinghe’s body, but mercifully, it veered from his heart to his arm, sparing his life.
The blade’s force sent Xie Qinghe staggering back, and Xia Zimo rushed to steady him.
Blood gushed from the wound, soaking Xie Qinghe’s robe in a vivid, startling red.
His face paled with pain, yet he clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out.
In the days when the Xie family fell and he endured torment in prison, he had tasted every shade of agony—enough to bear this in silence now.
Xia Zimo lifted his gaze to Duan Ling, standing not far off.
“Lord Duan, you—”
Before he could finish, Xie Qinghe, wincing through the pain, yanked the blade from his arm.
Blood flowed freely as he stepped toward Duan Ling, each movement deliberate despite the cost.
Xia Zimo, all too aware of Duan Ling’s ruthless nature, feared another attack.
He tried to stop Xie Qinghe.
“Fifth Young Master Xie!”
Xie Qinghe brushed him aside, holding the bloodied blade with both hands and offering it back.
“Lord Duan, your blade.”
He harbored no resentment for Duan Ling’s intent to kill him—nor did he feel entitled to.
The wound, strangely, brought a flicker of relief.
After all, Lin Ting’s capture by General Gui and her ordeal in the military camp were partly his fault—his failure, his powerlessness.
Under the night sky, the embroidered spring dagger gleamed with flecks of blood, staining the intricate carvings along its edge.
Lin Ting’s emotions surged and fell like a tide.
Seeing Xie Qinghe survive Duan Ling’s strike, her taut nerves eased slightly.
Though some events might trace back to Xie Qinghe’s actions, his crimes didn’t warrant death.
More crucially, if Xie Qinghe perished here, what would become of Jin Anazi, still in the camp?
Duan Ling’s attack had caught Lin Ting off guard.
When they met earlier, his demeanor had been calm, betraying no hint of violence.
Yet, on reflection, it aligned perfectly with his vengeful nature, as described in the original story.
He was exactly that kind of man.
As someone who knew the original tale, Lin Ting understood Duan Ling’s true character better than anyone.
Yet, watching him strike, her only fear was for Xie Qinghe’s life—not a trace of dread or desire to flee from Duan Ling himself.
Her thoughts drifted to the previous night, when Duan Ling had been out on duty, returning to find her gone.
He’d searched for her all day.
Unable to stop herself, she glanced at him.
Standing beside him, she could only see the sharp outline of his profile.
Lin Ting stole a few more glances at Duan Ling, then at Xie Qinghe before them.
After a moment’s thought, she stepped forward to take the bloodied blade from Xie Qinghe’s trembling hands.
But Duan Ling’s hand caught hers, his other hand retrieving the embroidered spring dagger.
He didn’t strike again in her presence, nor did he let her touch Xie Qinghe’s blood.
“My apologies,” he said lightly.
“My hand slipped.”
A hand slip?
Everyone present knew he’d meant to kill Xie Qinghe.
Xie Qinghe, with effort, raised his injured arm, clasping his hands to bow to Lin Ting and Duan Ling.
“My apologies,” he murmured.
Standing close, Lin Ting caught the sharp scent of blood emanating from him.
Her heart twisted with complex emotions.
Xie Qinghe’s slender frame wavered in the wind, unsteady and fragile, as if he might collapse.
After his bow, dizziness overtook him, and he tilted to one side.
Lin Ting’s instinct was to catch anyone falling before her, regardless of who they were, but Duan Ling held her back.
Xie Qinghe steadied himself alone.
Lin Ting shot a glance at Xia Zimo, urging him to take Xie Qinghe away quickly.
Xia Zimo rushed forward, pulling Xie Qinghe toward a horse, tossing him onto its back, and seizing the reins to lead him away.
He didn’t linger, fearing for Xie Qinghe’s life if they delayed.
Duan Ling didn’t stop them.
He let them go, wiping the blood from the blade with unhurried precision.
That day, the embroidered spring dagger had tasted the blood of two men—Xia Zimo and Xie Qinghe.
Moments later, the blade slid back into its sheath.
Duan Ling turned to her.
“I’ll help you onto the horse.”
Lin Ting almost said she could manage alone, but as his hand reached for her, she swallowed the words.
She let him assist her onto the horse.
Duan Ling took the reins, guiding them toward the city gate, his eyes fixed ahead.
“I recall you once said you had no ties with Xie Qinghe.”
The moment she’d dreaded had arrived.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I’m sorry. I lied to you.”
Duan Ling’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“No need to apologize. You did nothing wrong. It’s Xie Qinghe who forced you to lie. The fault is his.”
Lin Ting blinked, struggling to follow his logic.
“…What?”
He tugged lightly on the reins.
“I just don’t understand why you’re so kind to him. Is it merely because you two were once nearly betrothed?”
Her brows knit in confusion.
“Kind to him?”
He chuckled softly, glancing back at her.
“You’ve gone out of your way to conceal his identity time and again. If that’s not kindness, then tell me—what is?”
His words made her pause.
It could indeed be misunderstood that way.
Lin Ting pressed her lips together.
“I helped hide his identity at first because…”
She hesitated, thinking of Jin Anazi, the former dynasty’s prince.
She stopped short.
Though Duan Ling hadn’t reported Xia Zimo and Xie Qinghe’s private dealings to the Emperor, showing a flicker of disloyalty, she couldn’t casually reveal Jin Anazi’s royal lineage without his consent.
Duan Ling glanced back, his steps steady, his path unwavering.
“Why stop? Because of what?”
Lin Ting wrestled with her thoughts, sidestepping Jin Anazi’s identity.
“It wasn’t because we were nearly betrothed. It was for Jin Anazi. He and Fifth Young Master Xie are close, so I let Xie Qinghe stay at the study for a while.”
His gaze lingered on her.
“So, you helped Xie Qinghe for Young Master Jin’s sake?”
“Exactly!”
The confession lifted a weight from her chest.
Hiding so much from Duan Ling had left her stifled, as if she’d been holding her breath.
Now, she could finally exhale.
Duan Ling’s tone was measured.
“At first, you hid Xie Qinghe’s identity for Young Master Jin. And later, at the flower house? You helped him then, too. Still for Jin Anazi?”
Lin Ting fell silent for a moment, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her shoulder.
“The flower house wasn’t about Jin Anazi.”
“You wanted to help him yourself?”
Her eyes flicked to the jade hairpin in Duan Ling’s hair, the faint chime of its bell stirring her thoughts.
“When the plague struck the capital, Xie Qinghe wrote to Jin Anazi and me, offering help. Because of that kindness, I helped him at the flower house. I didn’t do much—just pretended I didn’t see him.”
Duan Ling’s smile faded slightly.
“I see. So, you exchanged letters, too.”
“Just one letter, that’s all. I didn’t know about Xie Qinghe’s rebellion plans, nor was I ever involved,” Lin Ting said firmly, emphasizing each word as if afraid he might miss them.
Duan Ling turned away, no longer meeting her eyes.
“Why did Xie Qinghe have you taken? I asked Young Master Xia, and he claimed not to know. Do you?”
She felt the need to clarify.
“It wasn’t Xie Qinghe who had me taken. One of his generals acted on his own, thinking he could use me to force Jin Anazi to reveal something he wanted.”
Duan Ling glanced back, his expression unreadable.
“Young Master Jin is in Ancheng, too?”
“Yes.”
He had a knack for zeroing in on key details, and Lin Ting’s heart sank.
Would he bring up the prince’s assassination attempt again?
He’d suspected Jin Anazi before, and now, knowing Jin Anazi was in Ancheng , his suspicions might deepen.
Her head throbbed with worry.
But Duan Ling didn’t mention the assassination.
Whether he’d forgotten or deliberately avoided it, he only asked, “What does Young Master Jin have that they’re so desperate to get?”
Lin Ting’s mind raced to Jin Anazi’s identity as a former prince and the treasury he could use to rally an army.
“I can’t say.”
Duan Ling didn’t press further, shifting topics.
“Who was the general who took you?”
Lin Ting stroked the horse’s mane.
“I don’t know his name or what he looks like. I only heard Xie Qinghe call him Uncle Gui.”
She’d been knocked out from behind the previous night, never seeing his face.
Uncle Gui—Duan Ling recalled him as a formidable general in the Xie family’s army.
Lin Ting gathered the horse’s mane, braiding it absently she asked, “When did you discover Xia Zimo and Xie Qinghe’s connection?”
Duan Ling’s lips quirked and he replied, “Before you did.”
She’d learned of it at the flower house, so his discovery of the connection came earlier—much earlier.
“Why didn’t you report it to His Majesty?”
“If I don’t want to say something, I don’t.”
Lin Ting released the mane, guessing, “Because your sister likes Young Master Xia?”