In the camp!

The other companies’ troops wore baffled looks, clueless why Companies A and B were mobilizing at dawn, poised like they were about to wage war.

Xia Chen pulled Xia Hui aside, whispering instructions. Xia Hui’s eyes grew graver the more he heard, until Xia Chen finished, “We split into two—speed’s key. If anyone resists, shoot to kill. But the core targets? Bring them back alive.”

“Yes, Commander!”

In the barracks, Xia Hui used Xia Chen’s title—no “Young Master” here.

Xia Chen stepped before the men, declaring, “Company A, with Brigade Commander Xia. Company B, with me!”

That was it. The two hundred guards exchanged glances, fogged with confusion, but none dared ask why.

Unless ordered to storm the palace, they’d obey.

Xia Chen’s hundred fully armed guards charged out of the Feathered Forest Guard Office, racing toward East Street.

“Commander, what’re we doing?”

Only then did Xia Qian sidle up, whispering.

“No questions—you’ll see soon enough!”

Xia Qian shrank back, sensing from his master’s tone that something big loomed.

A quarter-hour later!

They hit East Main Street!

This strip teemed with teahouses and theaters—the pulsing heart of Dawu’s cultural scene.

Every year, trending operas and tales sparked here, rippling across Dawu, even the world.

White Moon Tower!

Xia Chen halted before this famed capital theater.

“Encircle White Moon Tower—not a single fly escapes. If anyone defies orders and charges through, shoot them dead on the spot!”

His stern, icy command sent chills down the guards’ spines.

The capital brimmed with elites, especially at White Moon Tower—rumor had it royals came for tunes. Killing some high roller by mistake? Trouble brewed.

But recalling their commander’s lineage, they hesitated not a whit, swiftly sealing the place tight.

Inside White Moon Tower!

A lavish stage hosted a troupe of opera performers mid-performance.

Lately, The Tale of Mandarin Ducks had burst onto the scene, a darling of the capital’s nobles.

Born here, it played thrice daily to sate the endless stream of dignitaries.

The Tale spun a love yarn—a marquis’s heir and an East Wilderness fox princess, a match scorned by custom. Against all odds, they pledged in secret. A happy end loomed—until the writer’s wild twist. Just as folk thought the fox princess would wed her noble, she died. Jaws dropped—heroine dead? A first!

Then the hero darkened, vowing vengeance…

This fresh twist hooked eyes, making The Tale at White Moon Tower a scorching ticket.

“Panic! Troops have sealed off White Moon Tower!”

As the plot peaked, servants from noble houses dashed in—some to boxed lofts—faces pale with alarm.

The doors slammed open, armed guards pouring in.

Chaos erupted—no one grasped why.

“Guard business—freeze where you stand! Move, and you’re dead!”

A roar cut through the brewing mess, jolting hearts.

Xia Chen stood at the fore, ten guards unsheathing blades in sync, while crossbows and firearms flanked him, leveled at the hall—ready to fire at a twitch.

These armor-piercing bolts and guns, unleashed together, could shred even skilled fighters into sieves.

Nobles, irked by the interruption, stiffened—half-spoken protests swallowed back.

They sat meekly.

Xia Chen’s gaze swept the crowd, locking onto the stage’s center—a dashing opera performer playing The Tale’s hero.

The opera performer’s eyes met his, sizing him up.

“Handsome!”

“Eh, average.”

The first was the opera performer’s gut thought on Xia Chen; the second, Xia Chen’s on him. Qingya’s files flagged this opera performer as a looker, blazing hot with The Tale—a noblewomen’s pet. But up close? Meh.

“Take him!”

Xia Chen pointed at the opera performer, voice cold, no nonsense.

Five guards drew blades, lunging like tigers among sheep—swift and sharp—grabbing for him.

The opera performer’s face grew stern. The guards’ entry had alerted him—now, coming for him, they’d clearly zeroed in.

No fluke—they’d come for him.

An opera performer playing a martial heroine behind him stepped up, unflinching, shielding the lead opera performer. Hidden weapons flashed from her hands.

The five parried with steel as three more joined her from the rear.

Chaos erupted onstage.

Below, the crowd gaped—stray blades and darts whizzed past, cold sweat beading.

They hadn’t pegged these opera performers as martial heavies, daring to defy guards—aimed straight at them. Watching killers perform? Hearts quaked.

“Move in!”

Xia Chen’s calm held—no panic at the fray.

Ten more elite guards leapt forward.

From the doors, a flood of reinforcements surged.

The opera performer, center stage, felt his heart plummet. Exposed—he’d likely fall here today.

Even breaking out of White Moon Tower would surely alert patrolling guards and hidden Lamplighters—he had no escape.

Still, he wouldn’t go quietly.

From his sleeves spilled paper figures—some wielding swords, others knives—swelling in midair, springing to life.

Swiftly, these paper figures displayed surprising combat strength, slamming into the guards.