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Zhao Yun sprang back, his feet dragging momentarily before propelling himself onto a tree trunk, where he balanced precariously on one toe, horizontally defying gravity. With a fluid motion, he launched forward, sword extended, and merely grazed Zhao Yun's strand of hair, causing it to quiver imperceptibly. Zhao Yun's reflexes were swift, his hand shooting out to grasp the sword with bare palms, undaunted by the biting pain.

Zhen Lan's grip remained unyielding, his incandescent fury boring into Zhao Yun's guilt-ridden eyes like a branding iron. Zhao Yun's stern gaze locked onto Zhen Lan's, but the intensity of their stare-down was lost on him; revealing his true identity now would serve no purpose. The situation had spiralled catastrophically out of control, transcending even his mastery.

The weight of Zhen Lan's accusation hung heavy: "You killed Jing Yi!" The words cut deeper than any blade, and Zhao Yun's hand trembled beneath the sword's hilt as crimson droplets fell onto the bamboo leaves scattered on the floor, the fluttering ones gradually settling around them like a mournful shroud.

Zhen Lan's glare seared Zhao Yun's very soul, yet the latter refused to relinquish his grip on the sword, despite the searing agony radiating from his freshly lacerated palm. Emotions long suppressed now stormed Zhao Yun's psyche, overwhelming his once-unshakeable resolve. Jing Yi's tragic demise had shattered his composure, and the resurgence of his emotions threatened to undermine his very foundations.

For how long would he withstand the turmoil brewing within? His senses, once numb, now throbbed with renewed sensitivity. The familiar steeliness of his heart began to falter, and the vulnerability was unnerving.

Zhao Yun's thoughts reeled: Had his hubris sealed Jing Yi's fate? Did he bear the weight of culpability? The self-doubt gnawed at his conscience like a relentless predator.

Zhao Yun's eyes closed, his tears momentarily repelled. But the anguish lingered, refusing to be extinguished. He couldn't succumb to grief now, not when every fiber of his being screamed for control.

Meanwhile, I lost myself in the woods, desperately scouring the bamboo trees as if searching for a lifeline. "Rong'Er!" Feng Liu's urgent calls pierced the air, but I ignored him, fleeing through the dense foliage.

My breaths came in ragged gasps as I finally paused, clinging to a bamboo trunk for support. The events of the past few hours replayed in my mind like a haunting melody: Jing Ke and Mo Qin, both lost to the shadows. Was their fate intertwined?

Feng Liu's persistent calls echoed through the woods once more. He grasped my hand, but I wrenched it free, anger and frustration boiling over.

"Why persist in following me?" I demanded, my chest heaving with exertion.

Feng Liu's sigh harmonized with mine, our labored breathing a somber symphony. "You Rong, I-" His words trailed off, but I knew what he left unspoken.

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips as I raised my head, meeting Feng Liu's concerned gaze. "I thought I'd embark on a cheerful journey, but fate had other plans." Tears threatened to surface, and I laughed again, stifling them.

Holding back my sorrow, I turned to him, my voice laced with a hint of irony. "If you're worried I'd escape, you could've ordered your guards to follow me. I don't possess enough honor to warrant the Crown Prince of Ming's personal attention."

Feng Liu's expression reflected his distress, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Zhen Lan remains with my shifu; you're safe," he assured me.

Yet, his words offered little solace. He pulled me into a tight hug, but I struggled to break free, desperation fueling my resistance.

"Feng Liu, release me!" I urged, panic seeping into my voice.

He shook his head, his grip unyielding, as if willing me to find solace in his embrace.

"Feng Liu, please," I begged, my voice cracking.

His hold tightened, a silent refusal to let go.

I stomped my feet, and Feng Liu reluctantly retreated, his eyes still pleading. Glaring at him angrily, I turned away, walking deeper into the woods. Feng Liu chased after me, his words urgent.

"Marrying me would benefit not just us, but Liang and Ming. Wei's attacks intensify daily. You need allies, not enemies!"

I halted, taking a deep breath. "You're using me to solidify your position as Crown Prince and exploit Liang's connections. Your schemes will only harm Liang."

Feng Liu sighed, grasping my hand. "Zhao Yun seeks world peace, not personal gain. Do you think he'd abandon that and his sect for you? He doesn't love you like I do, Rong'Er."

I pursed my lips, swallowing hard. His words stung, but I wouldn't give up.

A sudden gust of wind drew our attention westward. Without hesitation, I rushed in that direction, Feng Liu close behind.

As we arrived, my eyes widened in horror. Jing Yi's memorial tablet lay before me, and Shifu clung to Zhen Lan's sword, wounded. "Shifu!" I exclaimed, dashing over.

As I pushed Zhen Lan away from Zhao Yun, the sword clattered to the ground, blood splashing around it. My gaze fell upon Shifu's wound, and my heart sank. The gash was deep and jagged, stretching across his palm and wrist, exposing the delicate tendons beneath. Blood flowed freely, pooling on the ground in a crimson tide.

The edges of the wound were raw and torn, the skin around it already beginning to swell and bruise. Shifu's hand, once strong and steady, now lay limp and lifeless, as if crippled by the sword's brutal kiss.

A faint tremble ran through my fingers as I reached out to cradle his injured hand. The warmth of his blood seeped into my skin, a stark reminder of the gravity of his injury.

"Shifu, no...this can't be," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes.

Feng Liu's voice was distant, but I felt his presence beside me, his concern palpable.

Zhen Lan's eyes remained fixed on Shifu, his face pale and drawn. His own hand, freshly cut, hung limp beside him, a mirror image of Shifu's wound.

The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of dripping blood and labored breathing. Zhen Lan stood frozen, anguish etched on his face.

My gaze fell upon Shifu's wound, and my heart sank. The gash was deep, blood flowing freely. I knelt beside him, gently cradling his injured hand.

Zhen Lan's eyes remained fixed on Shifu, his face pale. His hand, now limp beside him, revealed the extent of his injury. Blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the ground.

"Zhen Lan, no..." I trailed off, concern etched on my face.

His silence was deafening, his stillness a testament to his inner turmoil.

"Your hand," I murmured, gently grasping his injured palm. Zhen Lan's eyes fluttered, his face flushing as he hesitated for a moment before attempting to pull away. But I held firm, ripping a strip from my hanfu's sleeve to carefully bandage his wound.

I swiftly tore a strip from the hem of my hanfu, the delicate silk ripping effortlessly. With gentle hands, I wrapped the makeshift bandage around Shifu's wounded palm, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. The fabric's softness wouldn't irritate the injury, and its delicate threads would help stanch the flow.

As I worked, my mind echoed with the lessons of Palace women: in times of urgency, a lady's attire became her most trusted tool. The intricate folds of our hanfu concealed hidden pockets for herbal remedies and hidden seams that could be repurposed as tourniquets or bandages.

With each careful wrap, I whispered soothing words, my fingers brushing against Shifu's skin. The intimacy of the moment wasn't lost on me; in ancient times, such tender care was reserved for loved ones.

Feng Liu observed from the side, his clenched fists betraying his concern. "Does it hurt?" I asked, scanning my hanfu for the balm I always carried, only to realize it was missing.

Zhao Yun's gaze dropped, and he jerked his hand free. "Zhen Lan-"

Zhen Lan's anger resurfaced as he retrieved his sword, turning on Zhao Yun. "She was a General in Liang! Even if your sect bears a grudge, Liang claims her body after death!"

Zhao Yun's eyes closed, his palm clenched. I understood the reason behind Zhen Lan's fury; their working relationship had forged a deep bond.

But Zhao Yun's next words revealed a more complex dynamic. "The elders have taken her away. Our sect's rules dictate traitors forfeit their place in Lidun Hall's memorial. Their bodies are cast into the wild."

Zhen Lan's eyes blazed with indignation. I intervened, stepping between them. "Zhen Lan, you're acting out of line. I won't let you vent your rage on my shifu. If you have issues with their rules, seek the elders' explanation-"

Zhen Lan's chuckle sent a shiver down my spine as he lowered his hand, his gaze still locked on Zhao Yun. Feng Liu's timely intervention broke the tension; he tapped Zhen Lan's shoulder, and the guard who emerged from the forest nodded in understanding.

"If you'll excuse me," Feng Liu said, his voice measured, "I have matters to attend to." He exited with the guard, leaving me to mediate the volatile situation.

Zhao Yun's voice dropped to a whisper. "Wei's forces have invaded. Fortunately, your upcoming marriage will stabilize Liang, reassuring its citizens."

Zhen Lan's eyes blazed with anger. Marriage? His heart belonged to Jing Yi, now lost forever. Yet, to avenge her, he needed the throne.

As Zhen Lan departed, his gaze lingered on me, noticing the tender way I cared for Zhao Yun. A pang of jealousy struck; could she truly love another?

"I must inform you, the plan unfolds tonight," Zhao Yun said curtly. Zhen Lan lowered his head before disappearing into the woods.

I turned to Zhao Yun, my hands clenched. We walked back to the palace, my eyes fixed on his wounded hand.

At the temple, I halted by a small shop, seeking herbal remedies. Zhao Yun waited, sword in hand, as the bustling crowd swirled around us.

Lost in thought, he gazed up at the sky, the breeze rustling his hair. The battle's end was near; he sensed it.

As people flowed in and out of the temple, praying to Buddha, a lavish carriage swept through the crowd. Red silk draped its sides, accompanied by liveried footmen.

The temple's majestic entrance, adorned with vibrant red lanterns, beckoned devotees and wedding celebrants alike. Intricately carved wooden doors, adorned with golden hinges and door knockers shaped like auspicious dragons, swung open to reveal a serene oasis.

Above the entrance, a grand tile roof, curved like a phoenix's wings, sheltered the faithful from the elements. Delicate ceramic tiles glimmered in shades of cerulean and emerald, reflecting the sky and nature's harmony.

Vivid silk banners, embroidered with auspicious phrases, fluttered in the breeze. Red paper cutouts, shaped like plum blossoms and peonies, danced across doorways and windows.

Incense wafted from ornate bronze censers, filling the air with sandalwood and jasmine fragrances. The sweet scent of burning incense sticks and the soft chanting of monks created a sacred ambiance.

At the temple's center, the majestic Hall of Heavenly Kings stood tall, its walls adorned with murals depicting celestial guardians and benevolent deities. The hall's interior shimmered with golden accents, reflecting the light of lanterns and candles.

On this joyous day, the temple's threshold was adorned with a majestic wedding torii, its poles wrapped in red silk and decorated with golden tassels. The torii's curved beams seemed to embrace the newlyweds, blessing their union.

As the carriage carrying the bride approached, the temple's entrance erupted in joyful chaos.

The carriage halted mere meters away, and Zhao Yun's gaze locked onto the emerging bride. Her red veil shimmered, and the phoenix hairpin in her locks glinted as she stepped onto the floor, accompanied by attentive maids. The hem of her crimson hanfu swept the ground, drawing murmurs of admiration.

As she entered the wedding hall, cheers and rose petals filled the air. The ceremony commenced, with the couple exchanging vows and bows to the earth, parents, and sky. The crowd swelled, but Zhao Yun's attention remained fixed on the proceedings, his hand clenched around his sword.

Fireworks burst across the sky in synchronized batches, illuminating the vibrant scene. I slipped out, scanning the throng for Shifu. "Shifu!" I called out, my voice carrying above the din.

He turned, our eyes meeting across the distance. A radiant smile spread across my face, and I stood transfixed, the balm still clutched in my hand. People streamed past, unaware of the unspoken connection between us.

The bustling streets pulsed around us - vendors hawking sweets, drummers pounding out rhythms, and revelers laughing - yet our gaze remained unbroken. Red decorations seemed to fade into the background as our eyes locked.

Time suspended, the world narrowing to the space between us. Zhao Yun's gaze never wavered, his expression introspective. For an instant, he envisioned me draped in the same crimson hanfu, my hair adorned with the phoenix pin.

His grip on his sword tightened, lips compressing into a thin line. In that fleeting moment, he acknowledged his true feelings. He had fallen deeply for me, though the when and how remained a mystery.

The fireworks exploded above, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across our faces, but our gazes remained entwined, a beacon amidst the tumultuous celebrations.

Gui Li's glare intensified, her grip on the sword tightening as she absorbed the shocking news. The guards patrolled the corridors, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within her. Others rushed past, dashing for the palace gate.

Xu Feng, reeling from the revelation, retreated slowly, struggling to comprehend the unfolding events. Suddenly, a connection clicked into place.

"Could Zhao Yun be-" he trailed off, memories resurfacing. The dragon design on the assassin's robe was unmistakable - Yihua Palace disciples. Jing Yi and Jing Ke's coincidental demise now seemed more than mere fate. Moreover, the Emperor hadn't ordered the attack on Ming.

"Why would Xu Jing act out of instructions for the first time?" Xu Feng wondered. "Is someone backing him?"

Gui Li's eyes narrowed. "How was the city taken?"

The guard hesitated before responding, "Just like Song... Explosives."

Gui Li's shock mirrored Xu Feng's. Explosives again? Great Wei's military might and resources were extensive, but explosives weren't part of their arsenal. The Emperor hadn't mentioned this tactic.

"If Father had such power, he'd conquer all states without resistance," Xu Feng thought. "And my brother lacks the cunning to devise this strategy alone. Who's guiding him?"

Gui Li dropped her sword, confusion etched on her face. "I'll trust you this once. We must uncover the mastermind; otherwise, the other states will fall."

Xu Feng nodded gratefully, his gaze fixed on the palace gate. "We'll have to expedite our plan. Knowing my brother, Yuzhou will be his next target. Will you join me?"

Gui Li nodded resolutely, grasping her sword.

As they assessed the palace's security, Xu Feng donned a black mask and coat, transforming into a shadow. Gui Li positioned herself behind a wall.

"On the count of three," Xu Feng whispered.

Gui Li readied a poisoned needle fixed to her finger, poised to strike.

With precision, she flung the needle at the guards and sprang onto the roof. Arrows followed, surrounding them.

Xu Feng leapt up, pushing Gui Li aside. An arrow lodged in his shoulder, eliciting a pained groan.

"Xu Feng!" Gui Li exclaimed, alarm widening her eyes.

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