7.Moonlit Infiltration · A Trace of Fragrance Remains

The full moon hung high like a silver disk, casting its glow upon the palace walls and sweeping eaves. The night was deep and hushed, with only a whisper of wind stirring, as if unseen currents were quietly shifting in the dark.

Deep within the Hall of Military Secrets, a shadow moved silently through the corridors. Her figure was light as an owl gliding through the night, her robes barely brushing the floor. Perched silently upon a beam, she stared down at the desk below. Her phoenix eyes were calm and focused, and her slender fingers reached toward the bookshelf—before her lay the Imperial Defense Map.

This hall was the heart of Dayan's most guarded secrets, the emperor's own war chamber. It held the realm's military manuals, strategic plans, confidential decrees, and more importantly—detailed records of troop deployments and border defenses.

Not only did it chart where Dayan's armies were stationed, but it also recorded the locations of covert agents and their intelligence reports. Should an enemy gain access to this room, they could unravel the very structure of Dayan's defense, disrupt its military balance, and sow the seeds of ruin.

Because of this, the Hall of Military Secrets was guarded more heavily than the palace itself. By day, imperial guards rotated their shifts. At night, elite shadow sentinels patrolled in secret. Traps and hidden mechanisms lined the halls. Even the most skilled martial artist, without intimate knowledge of the layout, would struggle to escape unscathed.

And yet, tonight, a shadow had slipped inside.

Mo Yan moved swiftly. With a flick of her wrist, she slipped the scroll of intelligence into her robe without a sound. Just as she turned to leave, a faint rustle brushed against her ears—fabric sweeping through the air.

Instinct overtook thought. She leapt back without hesitation, her toes barely tapping the floor before she melted into the shadows.

A blade sliced through the air the next instant, its cold edge grazing the spot where she had stood, slicing off a bit of her sleeve. It cut through the moonlight and embedded itself in the desk with a dull thunk.

"Who's there?"

The low voice echoed like the night wind—chilled, probing, and faintly amused.

Mo Yan tilted her head slightly. Her gaze landed on the upright figure before her.

Him again, she muttered inwardly.

Dressed in dark robes, sword pointed diagonally to the ground, he stood still beneath the moonlight, calm and steady as a mountain. His obsidian eyes were fixed on her, unreadable, yet tinged with something searching.

She said nothing, nor did she move—blending into the night as if she were a part of it, waiting for the right moment.

He was a true master, that much was clear. Sharp senses, swift reflexes. A direct confrontation would spell certain defeat.

Then, suddenly, Xiao Zhengyu moved.

His steps were lightning-fast, his blade flashing like a streak of light, closing in on her with no room to retreat.

Mo Yan's eyes darkened. She twisted midair, avoiding his strike with a graceful roll. Her long sleeves fluttered as she flicked her fingers, releasing an almost invisible puff of powder—

Mist of Delirium.

Carried on the breeze, the fine dust was colorless and scentless. Inhaled, it would cloud the mind and weaken the body for a brief moment.

Without pause, she flipped back and landed lightly on the windowsill, preparing to make her escape.

But just as she was about to leap through the door, a sudden gust tore through the room—sword energy slashing sideways like a wall of wind. She couldn't dodge in time and was forced to shift midair, firing a hidden dart from her sleeve to buy a precious second.

Clang!

His sword met the dart midflight, cleaving it cleanly. The fragments scattered, glinting like ice shards under the moon.

"You've come to the wrong place."

Xiao Zhengyu's tone was calm and cool, a faint, mocking smile curling his lips. He hadn't been affected by the powder at all—he had held his breath the moment she made her move. In fact, his blade had stirred the air deliberately to scatter the dust.

Such tricks… were far from enough to deceive him.

Mo Yan frowned. She knew now that escaping with smoke alone was no longer possible.

What a pity… she sighed inwardly.

In the same moment, her movement changed.

She flicked her wrist, and silver needles burst from her sleeve, slicing through the air like moonlight's glimmer. Silent. Swift. Precise.

A deadly arc no ordinary opponent could detect.

But Xiao Zhengyu was no ordinary opponent.

As if anticipating it, he shifted his blade slightly, his sleeve swiping through the air. The needles were deflected by a burst of hidden force, clattering softly to the floor.

"Interesting," he murmured.

His eyes turned colder. With a sudden burst of speed, he launched forward. His sword became a storm—blades flashing like wind and rain, closing off every exit. There was no escape.

Mo Yan knew time was no longer on her side. She made her final move.

She spun sharply, her sleeve unfurling. A small fire pearl dropped from her hand, striking the ground with a snap—a blinding flare erupted, flooding the room with searing light and thick, choking smoke.

Fire and smoke intertwined. The room blurred into chaos.

Seizing this fleeting chance, Mo Yan darted out the door and vanished into the secret tunnel beyond the palace wall.

As the smoke cleared, Xiao Zhengyu stood in silence.

He sheathed his sword and walked slowly to the window, gazing toward the horizon, where a dark figure had just disappeared into the moonlit night. His fingers lightly brushed the hilt of his sword, his expression unreadable, eyes glinting with thought.

In that brief moment earlier, when the moonlight had lit her face—

Her eyes had burned with fierce resolve and cold beauty.

Like a solitary flame, proud and unyielding, burning in a place no one could reach.

And that feeling… unsettled him.

"…Who is she?"

The moon hung silent in the sky. The night remained calm.

But beneath its stillness, turbulent tides had begun to stir.