Knock… Knock… Knock… Let Me In.

Duke Cheng and his three remaining guards finally reached the ancestral hall.

At his side stood Feng Yao—his most trusted guard, a man he had watched grow from a boy into a warrior.

Behind him followed the second guard, newly assigned only a week ago, still untested in battle.

The third, barely more than a boy himself, was too young to be among his elite guardsmen—most likely one of the soldiers stationed outside the palace, now caught in the chaos.

Standing outside the ancestral hall only one guard remained. A large gash resembling a bite mark peeked from under a makeshift bandage of cloth. He clutched at it with one hand while the other gripped to his sword desperately. 

The duke approached, and the guard bowed.

"Rise. There is no need for that tonight. The enemy is close behind. Are my children safe?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, my lord. They are inside with the maid—I instructed her to hide."

Duke Cheng's expression hardened. "Then we must hurry." He moved with haste, and the three guards followed. But the one guard remained behind.

Duke Cheng turned, calling to the wounded guard. "Why do you not follow?"

"I can no longer serve you, Lord Duke. I won't survive past the hour." Blood dripped between his fingers, his grip on his sword loosening. "Let me protect you one last time. I will buy you time."

He had watched this young man rise through the ranks, seen his dedication, his unwavering bravery. Now, he would give his last breath for him. Duke Cheng placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "I owe you everything."

The guard smiled—one last, fleeting moment of pride. "No, Lord Duke. I'm only repaying the kindness you once showed me. You saved me from Beggar's Alley."

There were too many lives the duke could not save tonight. The weight of their loss, heavier than any burden he bore.

He spared the wounded guard one final, solemn nod—a silent acknowledgment of his sacrifice.

Then, they slipped through the doors and shut them tight.

His remaining three guards moved swiftly, barricading the entrance, while Duke Cheng turned to call for the maid.

"Jing'er! Jing'er!"

She emerged from beneath the table, a tiny bundle in each arm. "Lord… Lord Duke. Where is, the madam?"

Duke Cheng shook his head. "She didn't make it." The pain of losing Ying tightened around his heart, twisting until it felt like it would shatter—but he could not break. Not now. His children—his people—needed him.

Jing'er broke into sobs. "They just stopped crying," her voice trembled. "I'm afraid... they'll wake again. And if they cry, the demon cultivators will find us..."

Duke Cheng stepped forward. "You did well Jing'er. The madam would be proud that you protected our kids."

He inspected each of his sleeping twins. Relief fell on him seeing both were unharmed. Their tiny faces were peaceful—safe, for now. He exhaled, then swiftly formed a complex sequence of seals with his fingers, activating The Seal of Eternal Night.

Spiritual energy sprang from his fingertip, threading into his children's tiny foreheads. Instantly, their breaths grew deep and steady, their bodies relaxing into slumber. "This will keep them asleep until we are safe." Without a powerful spiritual energy to break the seal, they would not wake.

"Where are we heading, Lord Duke? Back to the palace?" asked Feng Yao.

"No." His expression somber. "Haoran Sect. Only Master Gu can help us."

A part of him suspected the worst—that his own brother, the king, had allowed this massacre to happen. No. He refused to believe it. He pushed the thought away. Not now. His brother loved him. Duke Cheng forced himself to focus. Escape came first.

"Behind the altar, there's a hidden passageway. It will take us outside the city." He pointed to the wall, and Feng Yao disappeared behind the altar of memorial tablets.

Beside the altar, a large wooden table stood, its surface adorned with incense burners, candles, and offerings carefully arranged in reverence.

Duke Cheng stepped forward. He reached for two slender incense sticks, but grabbed another two holding them between his palms before lighting them with a steady flame.

He lowered his head.

A deep bow.

First an apology for bringing disturbance to his ancestors. Second a silent prayer for Ying. Third a protection—for his children, for their survival.

The scent of sandalwood and ashes curled into the air, drifting toward the ancestral tablets like an urgent plea.

He bowed once more, then placed the incense sticks into the holder, their red embers flickering softly in the dim light.

Duke Cheng pulled the piece of white cloth from the offering table, scattering its contents to the ground.

He tore the fabric into four long strips.

"Give me my son." He reached for the child. "I will carry Prince Ruojin."

Jing'er obeyed, gently handing the infant over. Duke Cheng crisscrossed the cloth around his son, trussing him against his back. Then he took Princess Ruolan and fastened her to the maid's back.

"This will let you move more freely."

Jing'er nodded.

Outside, the clash of swords rang out—then silence.

Duke Cheng lowered his head. He did not need to look. He already knew. The guard was no more.

Knock. Knock.

Two slow, deliberate beats echoed against the door.

"Duke Cheng."

One voice. Yet two. Three. More. A layered chorus, speaking as one.

"Is this how the great Lord of Taihong meets his end? Cowering like a beaten dog before his ancestors?"

Laughter followed. It bloomed—multiplying, overlapping—shrieks rattling the walls, chuckles curdling into something monstrous. Then, as if never there, the voices thinned into hushed whispers, before vanishing entirely.

"Lord duke." Ying'er still had both hands over her ears. "Will they get inside?"

"No." Duke Cheng answered. "The doors are barricaded." He assured Ying'er but he knew they were powerful. Why didn't they just break the door and force their way in? Did they need to be let inside?

"Bastards!" The youngest guard spat. "How bold of them to insult you, Lord Duke—only when they have the numbers to hide behind." The muscles in his jaw twitched.

Duke Cheng glanced over at the guard. "Do not be easily provoked by their words." His gaze shifted. "Feng Yao, did you find the passageway?"

"Still searching, Lord Duke." Feng Yao stood behind the memorial tables, not affected one bit by the voices. His sword tapping against the stone wall. "Are you certain it's here?"

"It should be. The master craftsman swore it was behind the ancestral tablets." Duke Cheng did not check when he was told. He assumed it would be more conspicuous.

Knock… knock… knock…

Three precise, measured beats—like the tapping of fingers against a coffin lid.

The first voice vanished. A new one took its place. A voice—low, velvet-smooth, different from the first—slipped into the ancestral hall.

"Let me in… I only came for the children. They belong to the Supreme Lord."

Duke Cheng steadied himself. He had faced many men in battle, in the courts, in the Jianghu all with titles and grandeurs of their own. He would kill anyone who tried to take his children from him.

"Fujun…"

Suddenly he heard his wife call his name. Soon a strange force coiled alive around him, fogging his thoughts. It was soft. Gentle.

"Ying'er."

"Yessss. My Lord… Please, open the door. I'm scared out here."

His heart raced. Could it truly be Ying'er?

The demon cultivator's voice swirled through the air once again—more lyrical this time, like the dreamy melody of a guzheng, strumming at their resolve.

"Shh… there is no need for fear. Let me in. I will not harm a soul. Just give me the children, and we can forget this ever happened."

Duke Cheng's brows furrowed. He thought the voice was Ying. No. There is no way. His nails dug into his palm. His wife was dead.

It's him, the demon cultivator. He is inside our thoughts. Twisting them. If this were some demonic illustionary technique, perhaps his qi could break through it. He exhaled sharply and let his energy surge through his meridians.

The force coiled back, retreating like a living thing.

The fog lifted. Duke Cheng's vision cleared.

"Careful, all of you." He looked around the room.

Feng Yao was peering into the wall. His hands stretched out.

"Feng Yao!"

No response.

Jing'er sat motionless, stroking a strand of hair over and over. Her head tilted away shyly. Her cheeks flushed red.

The second guard stood smiling at the ceiling, vacant and still.

They had all fallen under his illusionary technique and illusions. Only the young guard seemed untouched.

He stood near the entrance, fingers twitching.

"Tell me your name."

He gave Duke Cheng a slow, sluggish blink. "A Leng."

Duke Cheng studied him. Still lucid.

"A Leng, use your qi, to break the illusionary technique. Don't let him in your mind. He plays tricks with his words."

"Yes, Duke."

Duke Cheng turned back to the others. He had to break them free.

"I wonder…" the voice cooed, playful now, teasing. "How many will fall before one of you lets me in?" A pause—measured, taunting. "Will it be the maid? Your guards? Or perhaps… you, Duke Cheng?"

Then, his tone shifted—soft, trembling, almost desperate.

"Fujun… it's me…"

Duke Cheng froze. The voice. Her voice.

A cold, seething rage crashed over him like a wave, drowning out every lingering doubt. That demon bastard. His qi burned hot, tearing through whatever illusionary technique had tried to sink its claws into his mind. His mind clearer than ever.

He turned sharply, eyes flashing. The second guard remained lost in the illusion.

Duke Cheng moved.

The guard stood staring and smiling at the ceiling. His lips moved. Mouthing silent words.

"Wake up." Duke Cheng hit him with a sharp pulse of spirit energy.

The guard jerked. Sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes snapped into focus.

"Lord Duke!" He staggered. His face flushed with shame. "I… I heard something. In my head. Something in the sky…"

"Ignore it. We need to move."

The guard shook himself, gripping his sword tightly.

Duke Cheng turned to Feng Yao next. With a strike to the back. Qi surged through his body.

Feng Yao gasped, blinking sharply. "Lord Duke! I—I thought you told me to stop… because we had found it."

"It was him. This demon cultivator is powerful. I broke his technique. Get this passage open now."

"Yes." Feng Yao went back to searching the wall.

Duke Cheng turned to Jing'er.

A flick of his fingers—a jolt of spirit energy.

"Lord Duke, I—"

"No time. You are fine."

Jing'er jolted up. Her eyes widened. "Your guard!" She pointed.

Duke Cheng whirled around.

A Leng had already torn away the last barricade. His fingers closed around the iron handle.

"Stop him!"

His words weren't fast enough.

A Leng slid the latch sideways.

The doors groaned open.

"Come in, my lord." The words left A Leng's mouth without hesitation. An invitation he didn't even realize he had given.

A figure stepped through. Darkness clung to him like a second skin—moving, writhing, alive.

He was tall. Slender. His white robes remained crisp, immaculate—untouched by the bloodshed around him.

Two thin braids, adorned with golden bead cuffs, framed his pale face, while the rest of his long black hair cascaded over the thick brown fox pelt draped across his shoulders.

Black leather armor wrapped around his forearms; wristlets reinforced for combat.

Duke Cheng carefully observed the man. One of Mao Zhen's elite.

He glided into the room. Deadly. Ruthless. As dangerous as Mao Zhen himself.

A Leng made a choking sound. Like someone trapped in a nightmare. His body jerked as if suddenly he woke.

"You… you're not the Duke—" A Leng staggered back. "I… I thought you were…" He turned around, meeting Duke Cheng's gaze. The gloss in his eyes vanished, replaced with regret and confusion.

Duke Cheng's gut twisted—tight with terror for the boy. He had fallen for the illusionary technique.

A voice, so pleasantly smooth, filled the room, even though the man's lips did not move. "No. I'm not your duke." A pause—long enough to let the fear settle into A Leng. "I am Lord Baiyu. Thank you for letting me in." He laughed softly.

A blur of motion.

A Leng barely blinked before Baiyu was upon him. He moved like water, in one fluid motion. Fingers twisted into the boy's hair and a vicious yank.

A Leng understood very little of what was happening. His head wrenched sideways.

Duke Cheng heard a wet awful puncture, the sound of skin tearing under deadly teeth before he saw it.

Jing'er's scream piercing through his ears.

They watched in horror as Baiyu drank deeply, greedily, as though he wanted them to hear every gulp.

A Leng shuddered. "L-Lord Duke… h-help…" A wet gurgle. His breath stopped. Then he stiffened his sword slipped from his grasp, clattering lifelessly to the floor.

Dred surged through Duke Cheng. But there was absolutely nothing he could do.

The second guard roared. His feet a muffled thump rushing across the floor towards Baiyu. "You monster!"

"No!" Duke Cheng's voice cut through the madness. "Move faster! Pick up your feet!" The guard did not cultivate in qi, his skills were not enough.

But his warning was too late.

He took a swift step—effortless, unraveling like silk midair, soaring through the room.

The guard's blade slashed through empty air. But Baiyu's hand did not miss.

Baiyu's fingers, too pale, too strong, closed around the second guard's wrist.

Next came a snap.

The guard screamed then fell into Lord Baiyu's arms.

He could not fight this man, not here, not with his children still in harm's way. "Feng Yao!" Duke Cheng screamed. "The passageway!"

Duke Cheng yanked Jing'er behind him, blade flashing.

The boy—the guard. They were all lost.

A click.

"The passageway, Lord Duke! I found it!"

Stone rumbled.

"Hurry!" Feng Yao grabbed a lamp from beside the altar.

Duke Cheng hesitated; sword poised. These damn demons. They killed every one of his people.

A Leng's body sprawled across the ground.

The second guard was in the demon cultivator's grasp, his head twisted at an unnatural angle.

And blood—so much blood—pooled around the demon cultivator's feet, yet not a drop touched his white robes.

He lifted his head. His lips-stained red. And smiled. Then he licked the last drops of blood from his lips.

"Run fast, Duke Cheng. I'll be very disappointed, if I catch you too quickly."

Feng Yao grabbed Duke Cheng's sleeve. "Leave them. They are both dead. We must go."

Duke Cheng's grip tightened around Jing'er's wrist, and they plunged into the tunnel.