Wu Seven wasn’t so lucky. Focused entirely on retrieving the box, he reacted a half-beat too late to the sudden attack.
Thud! An arrow pierced clean through his right shoulder blade. The force staggered him, and with a muffled groan, the ebony box slipped from his grasp.
Not far away, Wu Nine, who had narrowly dodged an arrow, lunged for the box.
But the attackers gave them no chance to breathe. Several swift shadows surged from all directions, striking from impossible angles!
Their movements were stripped of flourish—only pure, lethal precision.
Two went straight for the wounded Wu Six and Wu Seven, one entangled Wu Eight, who had just escaped death.
The last two shadows aimed directly at the fallen ebony box.
One of them thrust a short blade at Wu Nine’s throat.
Wu Nine jerked back, the blade grazing his neck and leaving a bloody line. Rolling with the motion, he drew his dagger and blocked upward. *Clang!* Steel met steel. The pain in his hand told him his opponent’s strength far exceeded his own.
“Grab the box!” Wu Nine roared.
No matter who these enemies were, the box could not fall into their hands.
Wu Eight was locked in combat with a ghostlike foe, whose ruthless strikes targeted vital points, forcing him into desperate defense.
The two shadows attacking Wu Six and Wu Seven showed no mercy.
Wu Seven, gravely wounded, managed a few feeble parries before his throat was cut.
Wu Nine glimpsed his comrade’s fall from the corner of his eye, his temples pounding. He surged forward, forcing back his opponent, and his fingers brushed the box’s edge. Suddenly, agony shot through his leg—a throwing knife buried deep in his shinbone. Stumbling, he was struck by a brutal knee to the groin.
“Ughhh…” Wu Nine collapsed, vision blackening.
Meanwhile, another shadow snatched up the ebony box.
“Withdraw!” the leader barked, wasting no time.
The fighter holding Wu Eight intensified his assault, driving him back, then feinted and disengaged.
Wu Six and Wu Nine, wracked with pain, tried to pursue.
But the box-bearer flicked poisoned silver needles behind him. Invisible in the night, the hair-thin needles pricked their necks and arms. A wave of paralysis spread instantly, burning pain consuming them as their bodies went limp.
Once the corpses lay still, the leader gestured.
Two shadows stepped forward, pouring acrid black liquid from special pouches over the bodies.
“Checked—no identifying marks,” one reported, tossing standard-issue throwing knives into the dissolving fluid. “They’re the Crown Prince’s dead men, disguised with false identities.”
Another quickly erased traces of the fight—blood wiped, footprints scattered.
The leader inspected the box’s seal one last time.
From afar came the sound of the night watch. She raised her hand, signaling retreat.
The shadows melted into the darkness, leaving only dissolving corpses.
The stench of charred ruin masked the reek of corroded flesh.
By dawn, patrolmen would find nothing but nameless bodies among the ashes.
“Midnight third watch, all is well…”
*Bang! Bang, bang!*
The watchman’s clappers echoed through the night.
The Princess’s residence lay in silence, broken only by the steady footsteps of patrolling guards.
Baili Jun sat quietly in her study, waiting for Qingluan’s return. The candlelight flickered before her, stretching her shadow long across the shelves behind—like a beast lying in wait.
Soon, a special knock sounded at the door.
Three long, two short—it was Qingluan’s signal.
Baili Jun paused, set down her papers. “Enter.”
The door opened soundlessly. Qingluan slipped in, clad in night gear, shutting it behind her.
“Your Highness, mission accomplished!” She presented a soot-blackened ebony box, gloved hands steady. “This box is poisoned.”
Baili Jun’s gaze locked on it. “The Crown Prince’s men?”
“Yes. They dug it from a hidden compartment beneath the consort’s study. We ambushed them and cleared the scene.” Qingluan’s voice was calm, edged with the chill of battle.
“Well done.” Baili Jun nodded slightly. “Open it.”
Qingluan deftly picked the lock and lifted the lid. Inside lay several sealed letters, stamped with Ji Huai’an’s insignia, and beneath them, a ledger.
Baili Jun drew out the ledger first. A faint fragrance drifted up. She sniffed carefully—dragon musk ink, reserved for the Crown Prince’s household. Her brows arched. She opened the ledger.
*Spring, Year 21 of Yuanqi: Northern payroll, 300,000 taels; actual disbursed, 150,000.*
*Autumn, Year 22: Winter clothing, 200,000 taels; actual disbursed, 80,000.*
*Spring, Year 24: Weapons repair fund…*
Her fingers traced the red-marked numbers. A low, bitter laugh escaped her.
“Heh… well played, Crown Prince…” Her voice was dark, throat burning with suppressed fury.
This money could have fed the frontier soldiers for three years. Could have clothed them in winter coats against the cold. Could have…
In the candlelight, the numbers writhed like leeches bloated with blood.
She steadied her breath, forcing down her rage, and read on. The marginal notes bore Ji Huai’an’s sharp hand, while the main entries were penned by the Crown Prince’s retainers. Beside each deficit was the phrase: *Transferred to Youzhou.*
“Youzhou is Princess Jianing’s fief…” Qingluan realized.
The Crown Prince had funneled vast sums into his sister’s lands, hidden under her noble status—safer than any secret vault.
A true *blind spot under the lamp.*
“Your Highness, look at this.” Qingluan produced a deed from a hidden layer of the box. “Youzhou estate, signed… Chen Ande?”
“The Crown Prince’s old eunuch.” Baili Jun’s sneer deepened. “Ji Huai’an did leave a backhand.”
She held the deed to the light. A watermark revealed the mark of *Ningchang Bank*—property of the Crown Princess’s family.
She tucked the deed into the ledger. On its back, a line of writing caught her eye: ‘The Crown Prince’s payroll embezzlement must be recorded, as proof for self-preservation, lest he burn the bridge after crossing.’
Baili Jun laughed coldly. “What a pair of loyal brothers.”