Within the palace, candlelight wavered, shadows weaving uncanny patterns on the walls, as if voiceless phantoms.

The faint rustle of burning wax echoed, like a dancer’s skirts brushing the floor—each flame’s leap stirring the still air.

Emperor Wen sat aloft, gazing down at the prostrate Xia Chen, nodding slightly with a trace of satisfaction.

“I’ve no need for you to face death’s trials—unraveling the Inspectorate’s ploys proves your shrewdness.

“Now I bid you join the Lamplighters, aid Ma Song, and uproot Lu Li’s loyalists.”

Emperor Wen’s piercing gaze locked on Xia Chen, as if to bore through flesh and probe his soul’s fealty.

After a prolonged stillness, hearing no response, Xia Chen cautiously raised his head. “Your Majesty, is that all?”

“What more should there be?”

Emperor Wen’s voice drifted, ethereal, tinged with a playful edge.

“Your Majesty summoned me specially—surely there’s another charge.”

Xia Chen dared reply, meeting Emperor Wen’s stare unflinchingly.

“You’re sharp indeed. I do have one more task—rise.”

Emperor Wen’s tone softened, now a mere elder’s—yet his aura barred any overstep.

“Thanks, Your Majesty.” Xia Chen stood, settling calmly into a seat.

“Your prime duty in the Lamplighters is to ferret out the Royal City Division and Inspectorate spies lurking within.”

Emperor Wen’s words, calm, crashed like a boulder into Xia Chen’s mind, rippling wildly.

“The Lamplighters infiltrated?” Xia Chen blurted.

“Infiltration’s too strong—but turncoats, yes, likely high up. How else could Lu Li blunder so, mistaking even the defense map’s thief?”

Emperor Wen’s eyes narrowed, sifting through tangled webs of memory.

“I’ll unearth the truth within three months.”

Xia Chen clasped his fists, oath ringing firm.

“Oh? Three months? Such confidence.”

Emperor Wen’s eyelids fluttered up, his gaze slicing over Xia Chen like a blade.

“No trifling before your lord.” Xia Chen stood unyielding, resolute.

“A fine vow—no trifling before your lord. In three months, I’ll expect glad tidings.”

Emperor Wen waved lightly—a platinum token floated to Xia Chen.

“Go tomorrow. The case presses—pick a few from the guard to join you.”

Emperor Wen waved a hand, signaling Xia Chen to withdraw.

“Your humble servant takes leave.” Xia Chen bowed grandly—textbook reverence in every move.

Emperor Wen couldn’t help a lingering glance.

…

In the carriage, Xia Chen faced Li Wenzhong. “Uncle Li, don’t you wonder what His Majesty told me?”

“He sent me out—private words for you alone. Why pry?”

Li Wenzhong’s eyes stayed shut, lost in repose.

“His Majesty tasked me gravely—to join the Lamplighters as Eagle Eye Division Chief.”

Xia Chen’s words detonated like thunder in Li Wenzhong’s ears.

“What?”

Li Wenzhong’s eyes shot open, electric—dimming only after a spell.

“Lu Li’s fall took two division chiefs with him.

“But twenty years ruling the Lamplighters, his beneficiaries are legion—loyalists beyond count.

“His Majesty sends you to back Ma Song’s purge.

“A bloodbath looms there, unavoidable.”

Li Wenzhong’s gaze deepened, voice thick with rue. Two decades of Lu Li’s glory—he’d watched it all. Who’d foresee its collapse, fleeting as a dream? How could he not sigh?

“The Lamplighters’ sway swelled, free of court reins—His Majesty’s blade.

“But Lu Li’s edge grew too keen lately, planting cronies thick—many knew him, not the throne.

“His end wasn’t just the map—self-made doom.”

Xia Chen’s eyes stayed calm, tone even. Lu Li’s fall sparked by him, yes—but Wen’s will drove it, the map mere kindling.

Li Wenzhong peered deep, marveling—this youth saw clearer than he’d dared hope.

“Servants walk with tigers in royal favor. His Majesty’s nod is heaven’s gift—yet peril stalks. One slip, and it’s the abyss.

“Lu Li then, me now, Ma Song, even you—we’re all in power’s whirl.”

Li Wenzhong’s gaze drifted far, head resting lightly against the carriage wall, as if seeking to pierce the world’s illusions and fathom fate’s course.

Xia Chen studied him—unexpected candor from this cautious, stolid general.

“Uncle Li, you’ll helm Dragon Martial Guard soon—His Majesty’s confidant. Yet you speak so—aren’t you afraid I’d tattle to Him?”

Xia Chen’s lips curled, half-smirking at the reclining Li Wenzhong.

“We’ve not known each other long, nor deep. But I read men true—no awe in your eyes, for me or His Majesty.

“I’m not the loyal front I wear—you’re the same. Kindred spirits, we.”

Li Wenzhong’s gaze held steady, then flicked back to Xia Chen.

“I’m betting on you. Steer clear of big blunders, shine bright—you might break the centuries-old bar on consorts wielding power.

“Then, I might lean on you—call it early stakes.”

A faint smile creased Li Wenzhong’s face. He raised his teacup in a distant toast, draining it.

Xia Chen sat mute long, then lifted his cup, returning the gesture.

“The ancients said great wisdom masks as folly—that’s you, Uncle Li. Court lords are deemed peak intellects, yet had you taken the scholar’s path, you’d match them—wasted on soldiering.”

Xia Chen chuckled in praise.

“Great wisdom masked as folly—I wouldn’t presume so, merely a knack for navigating life. The capital’s a mire of dragons and serpents.

“That sky-soaring emperor, lofty nobles, bullying lackeys, seemingly brash and dim-witted warriors, cunning politicos, shadow conspirators, rabble-rousing chiefs—which isn’t sharper than most? Facing them demands treading ice.”

Li Wenzhong shook his head, sighing, eyes settling on Xia Chen.

“You, though—sharpest youth I’ve seen.”

“Uncle Li, let’s skip the mutual flattery.”

Xia Chen cut in, dodging more praise.

The carriage rolled on, each man in his corner, sunk in thought.

Suddenly, amid the hush, Li Wenzhong spoke: “If one day I fall, would you shield my family?”

“Why say such things, Uncle Li?”

Xia Chen’s gaze hardened, meeting Li Wenzhong’s calm face—a heavy, mournful tide rising within.