Chapter 83: Dagger (1/2) 

Xie Qinghe stood dumbfounded, his jaw slack with disbelief. 

Snapping back to himself, he spoke with earnest conviction:

“Seventh Miss Lin saved my life. How could I repay her kindness with betrayal? Please, Uncle Gui, don’t speak of such things again.” 

Truth be told, he had no desire to sit on the emperor’s throne. 

His agreement to rebel stemmed from a deep-seated hatred for the current emperor, whose cruelty had torn the Xie family apart, and for the Great Yan dynasty, which treated his mother and sister’s lives as worthless weeds. 

The emperor’s intent to uproot the Xie clan entirely, slaughtering the Xie family army, was unbearable. 

He couldn’t stand by and watch them die for his family’s sake—he wanted to carve out a path for their survival. 

That was all.

Uncle Gui, however, chuckled at Xie Qinghe’s unwavering simplicity. 

“Repay kindness with betrayal? You’ll be the emperor one day, lad. Marrying Seventh Miss Lin would be her fortune, not betrayal.” 

Xie Qinghe, rarely one to defy his elders, countered firmly: “If she’s unwilling, it is betrayal. We despise those who wield power to oppress others—why, then, would we become the very people we loathe once we hold power ourselves?” 

Uncle Gui froze, caught off guard. 

“Little Five…” 

The words stirred memories of his own past, before he became a general, when the nobles of the capital could crush him with a flick of their fingers.

Seizing the moment, Xie Qinghe pressed on: “Uncle Gui, let’s release Seventh Miss Lin.” 

Uncle Gui snapped back to the present, his resolve unshaken. 

“Impossible. Young Master Jin hasn’t agreed to join us in overthrowing that dog of an emperor. If we let Seventh Miss Lin go, are you certain you can persuade him? Little Five, you can’t afford to see everything so simply.” 

He scoffed inwardly. 

The capital’s nobles had oppressed him with their power, without a shred of guilt. 

Why, now that he held power, should he not use it to get what he wanted, instead of considering their feelings?

Looking at Xie Qinghe, Uncle Gui spoke with grave sincerity: 

“To be an emperor, your heart cannot be too soft.” 

Xie Qinghe remained unmoved. 

“I don’t know how to be an emperor, but I know how to be a man of my word. I promised Seventh Miss Lin and Young Master Jin that I wouldn’t force them to do anything against their will. I won’t now, and I won’t ever.” 

“You!” Uncle Gui’s frustration flared at Xie Qinghe’s stubbornness. 

Meeting his gaze, Xie Qinghe’s tone was pleading yet resolute: 

“Uncle Gui, I beg you—release Seventh Miss Lin and stop pressuring Young Master Jin.” 

Having watched Xie Qinghe grow up, Uncle Gui knew his nature better than anyone—kind-hearted and loyal, qualities that were both his greatest strength and his fatal flaw. 

“I’ve said it before, it’s impossible. Little Five, you must prioritize the greater good.” 

“I disagree,” Xie Qinghe said simply. 

“Enough.” Uncle Gui cut him off, unwilling to hear more. 

“This discussion is over. Unless Young Master Jin agrees to join us in toppling the emperor or reveals the location of the former dynasty’s treasury, Seventh Miss Lin stays.” 

Disappointment flickered in Xie Qinghe’s eyes as he shook his head, bewildered. 

“Uncle Gui, how did you become like this? Using any means to achieve your ends…” 

Uncle Gui caught the disappointment in his gaze but stood firm. 

“People change, Little Five. Haven’t you changed too? You never used to defy me, but now, for some fleeting romantic notion, you’d cast aside the bigger picture.” 

“It’s not about romance,” Xie Qinghe insisted. 

“I just don’t want to act against my conscience.” 

Uncle Gui fell silent. 

Xie Qinghe hadn’t given up. 

“Young Master Jin is the prince of the former dynasty. If we overthrow Great Yan in his name, the throne should rightfully be his, not mine. Why drag him into this? We could just…” 

“He doesn’t want the throne, only revenge,” Uncle Gui interrupted. 

“Once we succeed, we’ll hand the crown prince over to him to deal with as he sees fit. Then, with a single edict of abdication, you can rightfully take the throne.” 

At those words, Xie Qinghe knew further persuasion was futile. 

He fell silent. 

Shifting topics, Uncle Gui asked, “By the way, have you found out who sent us the Great Yan army’s deployment map?” 

The route for their grain transport had come from Marquis Shian, but the deployment map had another source. 

“Not yet,” Xie Qinghe replied. 

“But yesterday, they sent word that they’ve arrived in Ancheng and want to meet me.” 

He was curious too—whoever could obtain the Great Yan army’s deployment map must hold a high position in the court. 

Uncle Gui paused, uneasy. 

“Be cautious. It could be a trap.” 

“I’ll be careful,” Xie Qinghe assured him. 

After Uncle Gui left, Xie Qinghe returned to the tent where Lin Ting was held. 

“Seventh Miss Lin.” 

Lin Ting sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her hair to pass the time. 

Hearing him enter, she didn’t look up, continuing to weave her hair. 

“Back again? You were not able to convince your general?” 

“I promise,” Xie Qinghe said solemnly, “tomorrow, I’ll ensure you leave here unharmed.” 

Lin Ting tied off a loose braid, letting it fall over her shoulder, and finally looked at him. 

“And what about Jin Anazi after I’m gone?” 

She had entrusted Jin Anazi to Xie Qinghe partly because she couldn’t care for him herself, but also because she trusted Xie Qinghe’s character. 

Yet, fate had a way of defying expectations—she hadn’t anticipated a general under his command acting on his own whims. 

Xie Qinghe answered honestly: 

“Young Master Jin is gravely injured. Moving him now could worsen his condition. I swear on my honor, once he’s recovered, I’ll ensure he leaves safely as well.” 

She nodded, her gaze steady. 

“You’d better keep your word, or we’ll regret ever helping you.” 

A flicker of sorrow crossed Xie Qinghe’s face. 

“I won’t deceive you.” 

Lin Ting’s hand brushed her waist. 

“Last night, when you found me, did you see a sachet on me?” 

She vaguely recalled it falling to the ground before she was knocked unconscious, but she wasn’t certain. 

Xie Qinghe frowned, puzzled. 

“A sachet? I didn’t see one. Is it important to you? I can ask Uncle Gui if he noticed anything.” 

“No need to trouble yourself,” she said, stopping him. 

“It’s probably back at the house where I was staying.” 

***

At dawn, Duan Ling returned to the house. 

Stepping inside, he froze. 

The courtyard was eerily silent, cloaked in a desolate chill, as if no living soul remained. 

A sachet lay quietly on the bluestone path. 

He stared at it for a moment before walking over to pick it up. 

The sachet carried the faint scent of agarwood, mingled with the lingering trace of its wearer, the two scents entwined as one. 

Duan Ling carried the sachet into the house. 

The room was in disarray—candles burned to stubs, chairs and tables askew, teacups and teapots shattered across the floor. 

The Imperial guards trailing him sensed something amiss and hurried to find the guards and servants left at the house. 

They found them unconscious, bound to pillars inside. 

Quickly rousing them, the Imperial guards demanded to know what had happened the previous night. 

A trembling servant, hearing that Lin Ting was missing, dropped to their knees in fear. 

“Last night, a group of masked men in black broke in. They knocked us out without a word.” 

The implication was clear—they knew nothing of Lin Ting’s abduction. 

Duan Ling’s grip on the sachet loosened, smoothing its creases before tying it to his waist. 

“Did you hear their voices?” 

The servant shook their head, quaking. 

“No.” 

He turned to the Imperial guards stationed at the house. 

Bending down, he picked up one of their fallen embroidered spring dagger, slowly drawing it from its sheath. 

His fingers traced the sharp, cold blade, a faint smile playing on his lips. 

“And you?” 

The guard , far more seasoned than the trembling servant, recalled details: calluses on the intruders’ hands from years of wielding weapons, the specific type of blades they used. 

Duan Ling’s eyes lifted calmly, though a trace of killing intent flickered in his gentle smile. 

“Draw the blades they used last night.” 

The Imperial guard promptly sketched, each producing a drawing for accuracy. 

Duan Ling studied them closely. 

“They all used this type of blade?” 

It didn’t resemble military swords—more like common knives sold on any street, likely chosen to conceal their true identities. 

“Yes,” they confirmed. 

“Every one of them carried a blade like this.” 

Duan Ling handed the sketches back, his voice slow and deliberate. 

“Check every blade shop in Ancheng. Find out which ones sold this type recently, especially in bulk.” 

In Great Yan, all blade purchases required registration. 

The Imperial guards set off to carry out his orders. 

Their efficiency was unmatched. 

Within half a day, they’d scoured every blade shop in Ancheng, returning with a ledger listing buyers of such knives. 

Duan Ling scanned the list with a glance, noting no one had purchased a dozen or more at once. 

The intruders might have bought the blades separately to avoid suspicion, or perhaps they’d brought them from outside the city. 

Recalling Xie Qinghe’s recent disguise as a woman in a flower house, Duan Ling closed the ledger and instructed the Imperialto interrogate everyone on the list. 

Meanwhile, he set off to find Xia Zimo. 

The house was in the east of the city, while Xia Zimo lived in the west—a half-hour journey by carriage. 

Duan Ling rode on horseback, arriving in a mere quarter of an hour. 

Xia Zimo had received word from Xie Qinghe that morning about Lin Ting’s abduction by Uncle Gui. 

He was already on edge when Duan Ling appeared at his door. 

His first instinct was to hide, but he forced himself to stay put. 

“Lord Duan, what brings you here?”