The General’s Last Stand
Ling Xuefeng never left loose ends.
Chancellor Wei Rong was dead. His body would be found slumped over his desk, a cup of tea in his lifeless hand. A natural death, they would say. Too much stress. A heart too weak for politics.
No suspicion. No investigation.
It was perfect.
But the job was not finished.
General Luo Jian.
He was next.
Killing him would be different. More difficult. But that only made it more thrilling.
Unlike the Chancellor, the General was no scholar. No quiet politician who spent his nights reading poetry. He was a war-hardened commander, paranoid and disciplined. He would not drink an unattended cup of tea. He would not eat a meal he had not watched being prepared.
A lesser assassin would have been deterred.
Ling Xuefeng only saw the challenge.
Because no matter how careful a man was—
He still had to breathe.
A Killer's Patience
The palace guards were sharp-eyed, but they were not sharper than her.
Xuefeng moved through the darkness, slipping through the walls like a whisper, unseen, unheard.
She had studied Luo Jian for weeks.
She knew his habits, his routines. She knew that after his evening patrol, he would return to his quarters and sharpen his sword—a ritual he had never abandoned since his days on the battlefield.
It was the perfect moment.
Inside the General's chamber, the air was thick with the scent of oiled steel and burning incense. Luo Jian sat at his desk, a whetstone in hand, dragging it slowly along the edge of his blade. His posture was relaxed, but Xuefeng knew better.
A warrior never truly let his guard down.
That was fine.
She would not give him a chance to use that sword.
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small vial.
Ghost Widow's Kiss.
A rare poison, nearly invisible in the air. Inhaled in small doses, it caused dizziness and sluggishness. In larger doses—paralysis. Death.
Xuefeng had already laced the room with it hours ago. She had crept in before sunset, hidden behind the screens, coating the incense sticks with a fine dust of poison.
Now, it was working.
She saw the subtle signs.
Luo Jian paused mid-motion, blinking slowly. His fingers twitched slightly as he set down the whetstone.
His breathing deepened.
He was growing sluggish.
A man of his experience would notice something was wrong.
But by the time he realized, it would be too late.
She stepped forward from the shadows.
The Art of Deception
The General stiffened at the sound of movement, but when he turned, his eyes widened in surprise.
Xuefeng did not appear as an assassin.
She appeared as a courtesan.
Silk robes, loose hair, a coy smile. Everything about her was designed to disarm.
"General Luo," she purred, tilting her head. "Did I startle you?"
His grip tightened on his sword, but she noticed how heavy it looked in his hands. The poison was seeping into his blood now.
Good.
His eyes narrowed. "Who let you in here?"
Xuefeng smiled, stepping closer.
She wove the lie smoothly, effortlessly.
"The Emperor," she whispered, lowering her gaze demurely. "He thought you might enjoy some company after such a long campaign."
She saw the flicker of doubt in his gaze. He did not trust easily.
But he was a man.
And men were predictable.
His shoulders relaxed slightly, but his eyes remained sharp.
"Is that so?" he mused. "Then why is it that I do not recognize you?"
Xuefeng laughed softly. "Because you have never seen me before."
She closed the distance between them, her movements graceful, controlled. Every step calculated.
Luo Jian's breath hitched slightly.
The poison was working faster than expected.
A lesser assassin would have struck now, eager to finish the job.
But Xuefeng was not a lesser assassin.
She let him hold onto his suspicion a little longer. Let him believe he still had the upper hand.
Because once a man thought he had control—
That was when he was most vulnerable.
She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of his sword, tilting her chin to meet his gaze.
"I have heard many things about you, General," she murmured.
Luo Jian exhaled slowly, blinking once.
The paralysis was nearly complete.
And then, just as he opened his mouth to respond— She struck.
A single, clean motion. A hidden needle between her fingers, pressed against the pulse of his throat.
Laced with Emperor's Mercy—a poison that mimicked the symptoms of a stroke.
Luo Jian's body tensed. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
His sword slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor.
His breath came in shallow gasps.
Xuefeng leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "You should have sharpened your instincts instead of your blade."
He slumped forward.
Silent. Motionless.
Dead.
She stepped back, admiring her work.
Tomorrow, they would find the great General Luo Jian dead in his chambers. A tragic illness, they would say. A warrior's body finally failing after years of battle.
No suspicion.
No investigation.
It was perfect.
Ling Xuefeng never left loose ends.
And she never got caught.