Two arcs of silver needles met in the white haze and locked together midair. Chu Junyi’s throw cut with unerring precision; the assassins’ needles clattered against his and fell to the ground.
For a heartbeat the killers stood frozen, stunned to find their opponent far stronger than expected. Then, realizing they were surrounded by palace guards, they cursed and closed their eyes, trying to locate people by sound alone.
The two groups that had been locked in combat a moment ago now held their positions in an uneasy standoff. The lime dust stung and burned in every pair of eyes; even those who didn’t shout felt the heat pressing behind their lids.
No one dared speak. Beneath the silence the air thrummed with menace—hostility ready to erupt.
Li Xinyue watched from the edge of the courtyard, anxiety tightening her chest. Lime dust cleared quickly in theory, but for those whose eyes were burning, no amount of time was short enough—the scorch could scar vision for life. They needed to move, and move fast.
Her gaze flicked to a scattering of pebbles on the ground. In a flash she made a plan.
“Listen to me,” she called. “On three, you all fall back!”
The palace guards and Chu Junyi tightened their grips on their weapons but said nothing, tacitly agreeing.
“One!”
The assassins hesitated. The lead killers decided to make a run.
“Two!”
Both sides began to step away.
“Three!”
Chu Junyi and the guards withdrew. The assassins tried to break the encirclement and flee.
Li’s reflexes were a razor. With lightning speed she scooped up a handful of stones and sent them skittering in every direction. Her eyes darted, mapping the courtyard, each pebble arcing to land at the precise feet of a fleeing man.
The stones struck true. A chorus of snarls and cries rose up: men doubled over clutching knees, hands pressed to bellies, others sprawled face-first. The lime dust burning their eyes intensified the pain until they couldn’t keep moving.
The palace guards and Chu Junyi acted with cold efficiency—finding throbbing limbs by sound, they snapped fingers at pressure points and bound the assassins’ arms so no one could run.
Li Xinyue barreled into the Zhou residence and returned with clean cloths. By now the lime dust had settled; the courtyard was smothered in a small mound of powder. She felt her heartbeat slow once she saw no one irreparably hurt. The decision had been right.
She pressed a cloth into Chu Junyi’s hand. “Do these things in the house work? If so, you’ll save your eyes.”
He registered her closeness and smiled, a soft expression despite the pain. “They’ll do. We borrowed this place from Madam Zhou—she’s out right now, but she’ll be back soon. Our original plan was to lure them into a trap, clean up, and then eat. So yes—everything inside can be used, and it’s edible too.”
Relief washed over Li. She looked at Chu’s closed eyes; the skin around them was flecked white with lime dust, as were the faces of the guards—some more, some less. She let go of his hand, then, without meaning to, her fingers were seized.
She tried to pull back; his grip tightened.
“You expect a patient to do his own work?” he rumbled.
Li blinked. “They’re all worse than you? Why can’t you—”
“My abdomen’s injured.” He admitted it, quiet. “The others have scrapes, bruises. I’m worse off.”
She thought back to the way he had doubled over earlier by the wall, how his face had folded in pain. He really had been hurt. It came rushing back—he’d told her in a letter that he’d been in an accident. Her visit today had been to find out exactly what had happened.
Chu loosened his hand and then, because his eyes stung too much to wait, fumbled the rag and pressed it to his face himself.
“We were ambushed on the road the day we set out for Jiangnan,” he said. “They weren’t just common cutthroats—some were skilled swordsmen, and they had gunpowder. We were taken by surprise. Fortunately, a few of us are light on our feet and slipped away. I suspected they’d come back to inspect the bodies, so we planted the story: let it look like we almost died here and were recovering. Then we set an ambush of our own. Turn the table on them.”
“So that’s why I found you so easily,” Li said, the pieces falling into place. “You spread the word yourself.”
He smirked despite the ache. “Saved you the trouble of searching, I suppose.”
She reached into her pocket and produced the ring, setting it into his palm. “You lost this?”
He paused, then let out a short laugh as if at a private joke. His fingers closed around the ring and, without making much of a show, slid it into an inner pocket near his chest. “Dropped it back at the scene. I retraced my steps later but couldn’t find it. Strange that it’s come back.”
“Maybe Jing Bai was here,” Li said. “He could’ve missed me by moments and picked it up.”
She lunged for the ring, but he had already tucked it away and lifted his face to her with an expression of innocent surprise. Her hand hovered in midair, half‑formed into a claw, then retreated.
“Fine. Since Lord Chu isn’t gravely hurt, I won’t stay and trouble you,” she said. As a princess she used the old, formal “I” in her head, though her voice was light. She’d been away too long—imperial eyes watched the princess’s household. Better to return before any further complications.
“Yue’er!” Chu called.
Li Xinyue stopped mid-step. Her heart gave a small, unpredictable leap and she felt that peculiar, sudden fluster that always made her cheeks hot. For a moment she was unsteady; then she turned her head slowly.
“Officer Chu!” A new voice was shouting. Footsteps drew closer.
“Prefect Fu Chengyuan of Jiangnan reports to the Imperial Commissioner. Forgive our poor welcome if we were not here to meet Your Excellency properly.”
Her name—Fu—made her shift instinctively, avoiding his gaze.
Chu Junyi rose, closing his eyes and taking a cautious step forward, using his body to shield her. Prefect Fu strode up in a group of men wearing identical tunics—surely the commissioner’s escort. He bowed with the deference due an imperial representative, but his eyes flicked over the party to assess who was who.
He saw group of lightly dressed men and surmised they were the commissioner's guards. Chu’s threadbare clothing made him look like a clerk or an assistant. It was the man behind Chu who looked like an official—imposing, refined. Fu moved forward for a closer look.
Li’s fingers pinched Chu’s waist. He understood at once and, without opening his eyes, tipped his face toward Fu. “Prefect Fu, over here,” he said with a faint, gentlemanly smile.
Fu started, quickly recovered his composure, and redirected his salute to Chu Junyi. He ordered the arriving constables to take the captured assassins back to the yamen for questioning.
They set off for the yamen, the procession partly escort, partly triumph. Li Xinyue tried to slip away when they turned to leave, but Chu’s hand shot out and caught hers.
“I’m not recovered yet; my eyes can’t see properly,” he said, inventing a lie in the same breath. “Yue’er—where are you going?” He presented her as his maid, his voice casual.
The palace guards who heard were stunned into silence.
By all accounts, the famed scholar-officer had the audacity to call the princess his handmaid. There was a hum of disbelief behind them.
Li fixed him with a glare that could have melted steel. He scratched his nose with a private grin. After all, he couldn’t see the look on her face—so what did it matter?