“Such a shame for Qingya—so young, snuffed out in her prime!”

Xia Qian trailed Xia Chen, munching a fried dough stick in one hand, slurping soy milk with the other, letting out a sigh.

As one of the trio who’d gone to Qingya Xiaozhu that day, he’d laid eyes on her. Hearing of her demise stirred a quiet pang of regret within him.

Xia Chen bit into his steamed bun without glancing back—the fresh, savory oil burst across his taste buds.

Goubuli Steamed Buns were delicious, no doubt—but honestly, Xia Chen preferred rice noodles for breakfast.

A rich broth simmered from fine stock, scalding the noodles just right, topped with a sprinkle of garnishes—absolute perfection.

Pity that in the capital, such a treat was rare. He’d hunted through a few places these past days, but the flavors always fell short.

Shaking his head, he swallowed and spoke, “Each has their own destiny—some perish yet seem alive, some breathe yet might as well be gone!”

Xia Qian scratched his head, clearly baffled by Xia Chen’s cryptic words.

Xia Chen smirked—no need to explain.

He didn’t buy Qingya’s death. She’d taken a hit from him, sure, but she was clever.

The capital had been rocked—Lu Li, a towering figure, toppled—and it all traced back to Xia Chen.

Eyes would swarm him—how had he sniffed out the Inspection and Supervision Court’s hideouts?

That day, his crew had moved discreetly, but the capital crawled with sharp minds. Qingya Xiaozhu stood at risk of being uncovered.

She wouldn’t take that chance—a fire had erased her tracks clean.

“Bold move, lingering in the capital!”

Xia Chen glanced at the system panel—a red dot glowed.

Qingya.

That day, he’d bluffed—his blood held no tracking magic; he was a pure warrior, not a sorcerer, with no tricks up his sleeve.

But the simplest path prevailed.

The system had a map. He’d scoured the capital, barring the palace—ninety-five percent charted.

That morning, he’d marked Qingya.

Within his map’s reach, she had nowhere to hide!

Now, it pinned her in West City District.

No haste to chase her—while she stayed in the capital, she was in his grasp whenever he pleased.

He’d plan a midnight surprise soon enough.

…

Imperial Guards Government Office!

Xia Chen stepped into his tent—Qin Mu slipped in, shrouded in secrecy.

“Why’s the Commandant gracing me himself!”

Xia Chen grinned, staying seated.

“No ‘sir’—call me Old Qin if you don’t mind!”

Qin Mu’s face creased with smiles—none of the sternness from their first clash remained.

He plopped beside Xia Chen, pouring his own tea.

This ordeal had melted the ice between them aplenty.

“After this, you might leap straight to commandant—my peer then.”

Qin Mu sipped, exhaling a cloudy breath, marveling—seventeen and a commandant? He’d been thirty-five to hit that mark.

Xia Chen’s future stretched boundless.

“The defense map case wrapped?”

Xia Chen caught on—settling meant carving up the spoils soon.

Why else would Qin Mu hum with such energy?

“True, the northwest military’s been the hot ticket lately, but the court brass hasn’t let the defense map slip. Our guard smashed that case—a grand feat. The honors should roll in soon!”

Qin Mu took another sip, reining in his excitement, steadying himself.

“Congrats, sir!”

Xia Chen raised his tea in a toast.

“Haha—you’re the chief hero of this triumph! The Leader’s sent it up—you’re at least a commandant after this!”

Qin Mu sighed. Were Xia Chen not so young, cracking the map and gutting Dafeng’s capital web would’ve shot him past commandant.

A seventeen-year-old Fifth-Rank Commandant? Dawu’s eight centuries rarely saw the like.

Xia Chen smiled, letting it rest.

“The Leader might shift to Dragon Martial Guard—General there. I could tag along, freeing your spot!”

Qin Mu beamed on. The Imperial Guard’s three thousand policed the city; Dragon Martial Guard’s six thousand elites guarded the palace—cream of the crop, shadowing the Emperor.

A Third-Rank Dragon Martial Guard General wielded titanic sway—only Emperor Wen above.

If Li Wenzhong clinched it, he’d pierce Wen’s inner sanctum—Dawu’s power heart.

“Solid word?”

“No decree yet, but the Leader’s hit the palace twice these days—looks locked!”

Xia Chen’s mind raced—rank shifts reshuffled power.

A Dragon Martial Guard General? Li Wenzhong was Wen’s man—his hunch held: Wen backed him.

“The former Dragon Martial Guard General got cozy with the Crown Prince, hence…”

Qin Mu scanned around, whispering in Xia Chen’s ear.

He trailed off—Xia Chen got it.

The Dragon Martial Guard General, Wen’s shield—too close to the heir? A signal no emperor could abide.

Emperor and Crown Prince: legacy and rival—only the heir could openly threaten the throne.

Xia Chen logged it, sifting gold from the chatter.

Emperor Wen distrusted the Crown Prince—propping up the Third Prince for balance, pitting them head-to-head.

“No flaw there—but it sowed the seed for the Third Prince’s coup five years hence!”

A spark flared in Xia Chen’s eyes—the political stage dazzled, and he yearned to step up and dance!