She was dressed simply today. Her glossy black hair was styled into a cross-shaped bun, with sections looped gently beside her ears and a small portion left loose down her back. She wore no elaborate ornaments—just a single ebony hairpin as the main piece, accented with a few plain silver pins to secure the style. The overall look was understated and elegant.
Her upper garment was a misty blue, wide-sleeved, padded cross-collar blouse, layered with a moon-white short outer jacket. Below, she wore a plain white gauze skirt embroidered with subtle patterns, its hem trailing lightly. Walking forward under the soft night air and flickering torchlight, with shadowy mountains behind her, she looked like a goddess from an ancient ballad stepping out of the forest.
“The Lady of Shun’an presents a dance in celebration of the alliance between our two nations!” the Master of Music announced loudly.
Hearing this, Jiang Congyan became even more certain that the Princess Consort of Chu and Consort Zhao had conspired together beforehand.
Those present exchanged strange looks, instinctively glancing at one another. The situation was truly unusual. The day in Tai Chi Hall, when two princesses had performed music, had already been improper. Tonight, arranging for a noble lady of the imperial family to dance—was that not placing royal blood on the same level as courtesans? Had the Zhao family truly cast aside all sense of dignity?
But Jiang Congyan had no choice. To refuse now would only further anger the Emperor.
Her thoughts raced. After completing her formal bow, she lifted her head and said, “Your servant lacks talent and skill, unworthy of such an elegant occasion. I would instead offer a sword dance, to pray for the everlasting prosperity of Great Liang.”
She was not lying. She truly could not dance. In her previous life, burdened by a heart condition, she had never had the chance to learn. In this life, her constitution was still weak, and her elders would never have allowed such pursuits. Moreover, noblewomen had no need to learn dance.
Only in her early teens, watching her siblings train in martial arts, had she felt tempted. Though her body couldn’t handle it, she had learned a few decorative sword forms, playfully sparring with them like children at play.
“Approved,” the Emperor nodded.
Jiang Congyan glanced around and noticed a palace guard nearby with a sword at his waist. She stepped forward. “May I borrow your sword?”
He agreed at once, unfastening it and presenting it with both hands.
She grasped the golden bronze hilt, tightened her slender fingers, and drew the blade with effort. Clang! The sharp ring of metal echoed as sword met scabbard.
Stepping into the center, she raised her right arm diagonally above her head, the sword tip pointing downward. Her left hand formed two fingers and rested lightly along the blade. Turning her face slightly, the polished metal reflected her dark eyes—cold as stars.
Her wide sleeves billowed in the night wind like rolling clouds, contrasting sharply with her slender, austere figure. Even before she began, that single poised stance was already mesmerizing.
Tuoba Xiao unconsciously straightened, leaning forward slightly. His green eyes burned with intensity, his hands slowly clenching into fists.
Closing her eyes, Jiang Congyan recalled the sword forms she had learned long ago. Moments later, she opened them—and began.
She lifted her knee, thrust forward, turned, and slashed upward. Her white skirt flared like a blooming jade lotus under the deep blue, star-strewn sky.
Though she had not practiced for a long time, the heavy iron sword slowed her movements, lending them a hint of stiffness. Yet beauty was never fair. A truly peerless beauty was not defined by perfect technique, but by an innate grace and spirit that others lacked.
Jiang Congyan was such a beauty.
Even her imperfect movements became breathtaking in her hands. She seemed veiled in moonlight, standing apart from the mortal world—like the River Goddess of ancient poetry.
The crowd was entranced by this dreamlike vision—
When suddenly, the sound of arrows tearing through the air shattered the stillness.
Arrows rained down like meteors.
One pierced through her sleeve and struck the ground, its shaft trembling violently. She staggered but managed to steady herself. More arrows whistled past her, brushing dangerously close.
If she hadn’t shifted her movement just then, that arrow would have pierced her chest.
Jiang Congyan instantly realized something was wrong. There was no time for fear or analysis. Without hesitation, she slashed off the pinned sleeve with her sword.
Freed in an instant—
Screams erupted across the banquet.
“Assassins!” “Protect His Majesty!” Guards shouted, drawing weapons. Chaos broke out as officials scrambled. Fire basins were overturned, igniting nearby tents and tables. Flames surged into the night.
Standing in the open made her an easy target. Seeing black-clad assassins emerging from the shadows, rushing toward the Emperor and Tuoba Xiao, Jiang Congyan made a split-second decision—she ran toward the women’s quarters.
Perhaps the assassins would focus only on their primary targets.
The women’s banquet hall was less than a hundred paces away. Panic had already spread there. Only after reuniting with Ruolan and Sizi did Jiang Congyan feel a measure of relief.
“My lady!” “Are you hurt?”
But the assassins, failing in their main attack, turned toward slaughtering the women.
Jiang Congyan’s heart sank. She fled toward the gardens, others crying and scattering in terror.
The assassins were coming.
The Sixth Princess, upon hearing the news, instinctively searched for Jiang Congyan. Spotting her, she hurried after her, stumbling as she ran. Though weak and defenseless, she felt an inexplicable urge to stay close—like a lost child seeking safety.
But in the darkness, she tripped and fell.
An assassin approached, raising his weapon—
At the last second, someone slammed into him, deflecting the blow. The blade struck the ground beside the princess’s ear.
Sizi leapt in, grappling with the attacker. Though young, she was skilled in martial arts. Ruolan joined, but dared not strike recklessly.
Meanwhile, another assassin rushed toward Jiang Congyan.
With no guards left in the area, she was completely exposed.
Just as the attacker reached her—
The Sixth Princess clung to him from behind. “Sister, run!”
He struck her hard, but she refused to let go.
In that instant—
A flash of steel.
Jiang Congyan’s sword pierced straight through his heart.
The man collapsed, disbelief frozen on his face.
Blood sprayed across her white dress, staining it crimson.
This was the first life she had ever taken.
Her body went numb. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
Before she could recover, another assassin lunged, blade raised high like a crescent moon of death.
She lifted her sword to block—
Too late.
At the critical moment, an arrow struck the blade with a sharp clang, deflecting it.
She stumbled back—
And was suddenly pulled into a powerful embrace.
The sword fell from her hand.
Tuoba Xiao had arrived.
After cutting down several assassins, he had come searching for her—and witnessed a scene he would never forget:
Under the dark sky, amidst chaos, a fragile woman had raised her sword and struck down her enemy. Blood bloomed across her white dress like red plum blossoms—tragic and beautiful.
That image burned into his mind.
He knew, with absolute certainty—
This was the woman he would marry.
Holding her with one arm, he fought off the remaining assassins with the other. Soon, his men arrived, and the threat was eliminated.
The danger passed.
Jiang Congyan slowly lifted her head, recognizing him as the King of Mobei.
She tried to pull away, but his grip around her waist was unyielding.
Though safe, she felt no ease.
Was this coincidence—or calculation?
Suppressing her unease, she looked up at him with sincere gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty of Mobei, for saving my life.”
Her voice was hoarse, but to him, it sounded sweeter than any music that night.
He ignored her thanks.
Lowering his head, his piercing green eyes fixed on her face.
“What is your name?” he asked.
The night wind stirred. Strands of her hair clung to her pale cheek. Blood from her brow slid into her eyes, turning her vision red—and making her feel faint.