The next morning, the palace woke up wearing fake smiles.
Li Shuran arrived early at the Crown Prince's courtyard, dressed in pale blue, her makeup light, her expression gentle enough to fool anyone who didn't know better. She brought gifts—medicinal tea, spirit fruits, and hand-embroidered sachets meant to calm the heart.
"Her Ladyship has come to visit His Highness," the guards announced.
Zhen Luo's hand paused mid-brush.
He didn't sigh. He didn't frown. He only smiled.
"Let her in."
From the shadows of the corridor, Han Jian watched quietly, arms crossed. Xu Ren stood beside him, expression dark.
"She's acting," Xu Ren muttered.
Han Jian chuckled. "Of course she is. That's what makes it fun."
Inside the chamber, Li Shuran bowed gracefully. "Your Highness, I heard you were troubled lately. I worried and thought… perhaps I could keep you company."
Zhen Luo gestured toward a seat. "You're thoughtful."
Li Shuran's eyes flickered with delight. He didn't reject me.
She sat, placing the tea carefully on the table. "The palace has been so noisy. Rumors everywhere. It must be exhausting for you."
Zhen Luo nodded. "It is."
"Fortunately," she said softly, "once our engagement is announced, things will settle down."
He looked at her then—truly looked—and smiled politely. "Perhaps."
Outside, Han Jian snorted quietly. "Wow. She really thinks she's winning."
Xu Ren glanced at him. "Are you going to interfere?"
Han Jian's smile turned lazy. "No. I'm going to observe."
Back inside, Li Shuran stood and moved closer, voice lowered. "Your Highness… about Han Jian."
Zhen Luo's eyes cooled slightly. "What about him?"
"He's… strange," she said gently. "People are talking. I worry he may bring trouble to you."
Zhen Luo lifted his teacup, unhurried. "Then they should worry about me, not him."
Li Shuran froze for half a breath—just enough to reveal irritation before she hid it again.
"I only wish to protect you," she said.
Zhen Luo smiled. "I know."
The conversation ended soon after, polite and meaningless. Li Shuran left with her dignity intact—but her nails dug into her palms the moment she turned the corner.
He's protecting that boy.
In the garden, Han Jian stepped forward just as Li Shuran emerged. He bowed slightly, smile perfect.
"Lady Li," he greeted. "You look radiant today."
She paused, eyes sharp. "So do you."
They smiled at each other like old friends.
"I heard you're staying close to His Highness lately," she said sweetly.
Han Jian tilted his head. "I could say the same."
Her gaze hardened. "Know your place."
Han Jian leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I do. That's why I'm standing where you can't see what I'm doing."
Her breath hitched.
Han Jian stepped back, smile innocent. "Have a peaceful day, Lady Li."
That night, the Queen summoned Zhen Luo again.
"You will accompany Li Shuran to the Moon Viewing Pavilion tomorrow," she said coldly. "Publicly."
Zhen Luo nodded. "As you wish."
The Queen narrowed her eyes. "And distance yourself from that boy."
Zhen Luo lowered his gaze. "Yes, Mother."
The moment he left the hall, his expression emptied.
At the Moon Viewing Pavilion the next evening, lanterns glowed softly, music drifting through the air. Li Shuran sat beside Zhen Luo, smiling sweetly as nobles watched from afar.
And yet—
Han Jian was there too.
Not openly. Not beside them.
He stood below the pavilion, disguised among servants, eyes glowing faintly gold as he activated his Soul Flame Art for the first time in this life.
The world slowed.
Threads appeared—thin, shimmering lines connecting people to emotions, lies, and intent. Li Shuran's thread pulsed black and sticky. The Queen's watchers hid in the shadows like rats.
Han Jian smirked. "Found you."
With a flick of spiritual energy, he nudged the threads—just enough.
A cup slipped from a servant's tray. A noble lady stumbled. A court official spilled wine on the wrong robe.
Chaos bloomed.
Zhen Luo nearly laughed as Li Shuran's perfect evening unraveled into awkward apologies and whispered embarrassment.
Their eyes met across the pavilion.
Just for a second.
Zhen Luo's gaze softened.
Han Jian bowed his head slightly.
No one noticed.
No one suspected.
But that night, as Han Jian returned to his room, he pressed a hand to his chest, breath unsteady.
Using power again felt familiar.
Too familiar.
Blood and fire flickered in his mind.
"I won't lose again," he whispered. "Not this time."
Above him, the palace lights burned bright—unaware that revenge had already begun moving beneath its feet.