The Emperor’s figure disappeared behind the tent curtains, and only then did that suffocating pressure slowly dissipate.
Inside the tent, even the scent of the incense seemed to have grown faint.
Shen Luolin remained in a kneeling position, his head bowed.
He could hear his own heart beating heavily and slowly within his chest, each thrum sounding like a cross-examination.
For this so-called “path to survival,” what exactly did you sell?
A very faint rustling sound—the friction of armor plates against fabric—approached.
It was Aila.
She stood up and walked over to him.
Shen Luolin did not look up. From the corner of his eye, he could only see the silver trim of her military boots, but he could imagine her current expression.
Aila stood before him, a storm gathering in her eyes—there was the ecstasy of getting what she desired, the cold scrutiny of future power, and a possessive desire for this man who finally belonged completely to her.
Ultimately, all these complex emotions were melted by something purer and hotter.
A drop of warm liquid splashed onto Shen Luolin’s gauntlet, spreading into a small wet stain.
It wasn’t blood.
This temperature… it wasn’t Mo Yin’s blood.
Shen Luolin’s heart was violently pierced by this thought.
He remembered the sword that had run through her body, and he remembered her final, lifeless silver eyes.
And yet, at this moment, another woman’s tears were falling for him, celebrating this “glory” purchased with Mo Yin’s agony.
Then came a second drop, and a third.
Aila was crying.
This woman, who was always as hard as ice on the battlefield, in the military tent, and before the Emperor, was now weeping silently.
She knelt down and reached out with those hands—hands that always held a sword or wrote military orders, now trembling slightly—wanting to help him up.
“Luolin…”
Her voice was thick with uncontrollable sobbing. Every syllable, soaked in tears, turned into a soft plea.
Shen Luolin followed her strength and stood up, finally meeting her gaze.
That face, usually covered in frost, was now washed soft by tears. Those eyes no longer held a trace of calculation or wariness, only an overflowing love and tenderness that threatened to drown him.
She looked at him obsessively, as if trying to carve his image into her very marrow.
Then, her gaze fell upon the crude bandage on his neck. The seeping blood stung her eyes.
“Does it hurt?”
She asked with heartache. Without waiting for his answer, she wordlessly pulled him to a nearby soft chair and turned to rummage through her military cabinet for clean gauze and high-quality elven medicine.
Aila’s movements were gentler than those of a battle-hardened soldier. Her fingertips, coated in ointment, brushed over his wound with extreme care, bringing a chilling sting.
“Hiss…”
Shen Luolin’s body tensed in that instant.
It wasn’t because of the pain, but because of the touch.
What exploded in his mind was the image of Mo Yin’s slender back jerking violently when the longsword pierced through her heart.
Her wound is a thousand, ten thousand times more painful than this scratch of mine.
Shen Luolin could smell the familiar, cold scent on Aila—a mixture of wind, snow, and ink—but now it was tinged with the warm, soft fragrance of a woman stirred by emotion.
Was this false tenderness his sanctuary, or a more magnificent, more lethal cage?
He lowered his eyes and forced his muscles to relax, letting her tend to him, playing the role of a silent fiancé who had just survived a brush with death and been struck by a massive, unexpected surprise.
***
The day after the engagement was decreed, Shen Luolin stepped out of his tent to find Aila waiting outside with a brand-new frost-wolf fur cloak. The edges of the cloak were embroidered with silver thread in a standard imperial style, shimmering in the morning snow-light.
“The weather is cold. Change into this.” She insisted on draping it over him, meticulously smoothing every wrinkle on the collar. Even the white mist she exhaled carried an irrepressible joy.
This overly conspicuous favor immediately drew complex looks from the surrounding knights.
A noble officer who had always been on bad terms with Shen Luolin happened to pass by. He had once been one of Aila’s suitors. Seeing this scene, his face turned incredibly foul.
“Oh, isn’t this Major Luolin? Truly impressive methods. I wonder, is that cloak warmer, or is the Princess’s embrace more comforting?”
Shen Luolin’s eyes turned cold, and he was about to speak.
However, Aila turned around first. The tenderness on her face vanished instantly, replaced by the coldness and majesty of the Chief of Staff of the Dragon Slaying Knight Order.
“Viscount Matun, since when is it your place to interfere when I am speaking with my fiancé?”
“Or would you prefer to go to the military police and have a nice chat with me about the crime of ‘slandering superiors and members of the Imperial Family’?”
The officer’s face instantly turned the color of pig liver. Under Aila’s emotionless stare, he broke into a cold sweat and practically scrambled away in a panic.
Only then did Aila turn back to Shen Luolin. The frost on her face melted once more, as if nothing had happened.
She naturally took his arm, pressing her body close to him, and whispered, “I made some meat stew. Come to my tent and have some; it’s good for your wound.”
With an unquestionable posture, she declared to everyone that this man was her property.
Shen Luolin was half-forced to walk with her, feeling the soft touch on his arm and the gazes from behind that had shifted from jealousy to awe.
He was being pushed by this scalding love toward a pinnacle of public attention—and a bottomless abyss.
***
At the same time, this “favor” granted Shen Luolin unprecedented convenience.
The following afternoon, Aila came to his tent as usual to polish weapons with him.
“The Dragon Temple is the empire’s oldest holy land,” she said, seemingly chatting casually while wiping her sidearm with a soft cloth. “Legend has it that it contains secrets that can sustain the empire’s prosperity for five hundred years.”
Shen Luolin’s movements paused. He looked up at her.
“Is that why His Majesty craves the ‘Key’ so much?”
“Yes,” Aila nodded without reservation. “The bloodline of the Dragonborn is the only medium that can resonate with the core of the Dragon Temple. Only the purest dragon blood can activate it.”
Shen Luolin asked as if unintentionally, “Such an important place must have tight security, right? Has His Majesty’s itinerary been finalized?”
Aila’s hand stopped. She looked up, the tenderness in her gray eyes fading slightly to be replaced by the icy scrutiny of a Chief of Staff.
“Luolin,” her tone became strictly professional. “The security deployment of the Dragon Temple is the empire’s highest secret, and it is directly managed by His Majesty. This isn’t something you should inquire about, nor is it something I can reveal.”
The atmosphere in the tent instantly dropped to the freezing point.
Shen Luolin’s heart tightened; he knew he had touched her bottom line.
Her trust was not unconditional, but that reservation was also Shen Luolin’s best disguise.
It was only natural for a man immersed in love and looking forward to the future to be curious about his fiancée’s work.
He did not push further, but silently continued to polish his weapon, his face revealing a perfectly timed hint of disappointment at being rejected.
Seeing him tactfully withdraw his probing, Aila’s gaze softened once more.
She put down her sword and gently wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her face against his back and whispering:
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you… It’s just that those matters are too dangerous.”
“Luolin, I don’t want you involved in any more unnecessary risks.”
She paused, her voice carrying a hint of a plea: “I just need you… to stay by my side, to stay in the safest place, alright?”
***
As the date for the opening of the Dragon Temple drew closer, the atmosphere in the camp became increasingly grim.
The snowstorms grew more violent at night, howling as they whipped against the tents.
The tent flap was lifted, and Aila walked in, bringing a gust of cold air with her.
She wasn’t wearing her cold military uniform; instead, she had changed into a soft long dress, holding a bottle of warmed wine.
“It’s windy tonight. Have some to warm your body.”
She poured the wine into a cup and handed it to Shen Luolin, taking one for herself and sitting down beside him.
The light from the alchemical heater flickered, casting a warm orange glow on her profile and making the affection in her eyes impossible to hide.
“When I was a child in the palace, I loved snowy days the most.”
She spoke suddenly, her voice very light, sharing a long-buried secret with the person she trusted most.
“Because only on snowy days would Father permit us children to play in the garden. And only then could I sneak away to practice my sword, feeling that bit of warmth in my palm as the blade sliced through the air.”
Shen Luolin held the wine cup and said nothing.
He saw a loneliness and yearning on Aila’s face that he had never seen before—the look of a little girl.
She leaned over, resting her head gently on his shoulder.
It was a posture of total trust.
“Luolin, after we return to the Imperial Capital, let’s build our manor by Moonlight Lake, okay? I heard the climate there is excellent. We can fill the garden with red roses. Would you like that?”
She began to dream of their married life, right down to the color of the roses in the garden.
This specific vision of future happiness stabbed deep into Shen Luolin’s heart.
He could almost see how Mo Yin’s silver eyes—eyes that had just begun to gather a sliver of hatred—would shatter into dust, inch by inch, once this news reached her.
Guilt, like rose vines, grew wildly and tightened around his heart.
“Luolin…”
Aila’s voice carried a hint of slight intoxication and a love so thick it couldn’t be dissolved.
She looked up, her eyes shimmering like water under the firelight, full of anticipation and shyness.
She proactively let the white outer dress slide off her shoulders, leaving only a thin undergarment. Her graceful curves were faintly visible in the firelight.
She reached out, tentatively trying to touch his chest.
Those hands that had once held a sword to his throat were now as gentle as a feather.
In the instant her fingertips were about to touch the skin of his chest—
Shen Luolin’s body jerked. Almost purely by instinct, he grabbed her wrist and pushed her away!
The movement was too fast for thought, and the force was greater than what his disguise should have allowed.
The air in the tent froze instantly.
The smile on Aila’s face僵 froze.
The slight intoxication and love in her eyes cracked at this moment, revealing unbelievable pain and confusion.
Her fingertips trembled as they slipped from his wrist as if burned. She never imagined that such proximity could feel so distant.
Just as she was about to break down and demand an explanation.
Shen Luolin spoke with an unprecedented seriousness and solemnity.
His voice was deep, and every word carried weight.
“Aila, I do not want to defile you before the wedding.”
Aila froze, her mind going blank.
Shen Luolin looked directly into her wounded eyes, his tone firm and grave: “You are the Princess of the Empire, and my future wife. I want to wait until our wedding day, witnessed by the laws of the Empire and the gods, to give you a most complete, most pure beginning.”
“This is respect for your status, and even more so, a promise to the… sacred love in my heart.”
Aila’s heart was struck heavily by his eloquent words.
She had lived her whole life among schemes and deals. Her marriage was a bargaining chip; her status was a shackle.
No one had ever said such “noble” things to her.
No one had ever treated her as a woman to be cherished and respected, rather than just a Princess.
The sting and humiliation of being pushed away was, at this moment, completely drowned by an unprecedented, overwhelming sense of happiness—the feeling of being held in the palm of someone’s hand and treasured.
She looked at Shen Luolin’s face, which was serious to the point of being devout, and his clear, honest eyes.
Tears spilled from her eyes without warning.
But this time, they were tears of gratitude, a shiver of happiness.
Not only did she stop doubting him, but she also felt a deep sense of shame for her own perceived frivolity and impatience just moments ago.
So, it wasn’t that he didn’t love her.
It was that his love was too deep, too pure.
Aila hurriedly wiped away her tears and proactively helped him tidy his collar which she had mussed. The love in her eyes had been elevated into a form of near-idolatrous obsession.
This man was the only person in this cold world who truly respected and cared for her.
She stood up and, before leaving, gave him a deep look, leaving behind a whisper full of happiness and longing.
“Luolin, I will wait for you.”
***
The heavy tent curtain fell, cutting off the inside from the outside.
All of Shen Luolin’s strength seemed to be drained away as he collapsed onto the cold animal-skin rug.
He slowly reached out, reaching into his chest to tightly grip the birch wood carving warmed by his body heat.
The rough edges of the wood dug into his metacarpals, bringing a sharp sting. He used this physical pain to fight against the illusions in his mind that were threatening to swallow him—
Outside this tent, which was as warm as spring and permeated with the scent of wine, inside that cold, damp confinement room accompanied only by the sound of wind and snow, what kind of pain and despair was that girl he had personally stabbed currently enduring?
This trust gained through lies, this “favor” obtained by treading upon the broken heart of another girl, burned a hole in his soul that would never heal.
Guilt and betrayal turned into the most violent fuel, making his resolve to assassinate the Emperor burn with absolute madness and unwavering determination in this moment.
Aila’s absolute trust was his strongest shield.
It would also be the sharpest sword hanging over his head in the future.