Chapter 9: Blades in the Night in Markdown

Title: Shadow of the Silent Blade

The shadow darted across the wooden lattice door just as Ning Xiaoling’s eyes snapped open.

Who’s there!

A chill surged into her limbs. She shouted sharply, fully awake in an instant.

Only silence answered.

But it lasted no more than a breath. Before she could finish inhaling, from the darkness on her right came a faint, buzzing hum—along with a sudden stab of murderous intent.

A sharp crack rang out as a porcelain vial shattered.

A long blade thrust out from between the wooden shelves, its icy tip aimed straight for her throat.

It was a vicious strike, swift and precise like a viper lunging from the grass—deadly and impossible to defend against.

Yet some instinctive flash of awareness seized Ning Xiaoling. Even before the porcelain broke, her body had already recoiled. By the time the blade lunged forward, she had retreated two steps. The killing intent burst forth, but its edge no longer reached her.

The assassin, hidden in the shadows, was startled by her reaction. Blocked by the lattice cabinet between them, he couldn’t immediately follow up with a second strike.

Ning Xiaoling had avoided the deadly blow, but her body trembled uncontrollably, eyelids twitching as fear took hold.

The doors were shut tight, the room narrow and dark. That cruel blade still gleamed somewhere in the shadows, hungry and waiting for her.

She had never faced such terror before.

Before she could gather her thoughts, a crack split the silence—the assassin smashed the blade deeper into the wood. Instead of drawing back to circle around, he slammed the hilt, forcing the tip to burst through. At the same time, his figure blurred as he swept around the cabinet, closing in fast.

Murderous intent filled the room once more.

She couldn’t see the exact path of the blade, only felt her senses scream in warning. Her body moved instinctively, leaning back in retreat.

Just as the edge neared, the night wind stirred. A window banged open, the curtain billowing. Lanternlight spilled in from the corridor, catching on the blade’s arc, making it flash like a red spark.

The same window through which the assassin had entered moments earlier.

In that sliver of light, Ning Xiaoling glimpsed the incoming strike. Her body suddenly quickened. She pushed off the ground, hands slapping the floor, body twisting sideways. In one agile leap, she slid past the fatal blow.

The blade struck home behind her with a metallic clang, burying itself in the wooden partition.

All of this took place in but a heartbeat. The assassin lunged, hand sweeping for her, but caught nothing—only the edge of her robe brushed his fingers.

He had no time to wonder how this little girl had become so fast. Instinct drove him to wrench the blade free.

But it wouldn’t move.

Pain shot through his wrist—something was biting him.

He flung his arm wildly, shaking loose a small, white figure.

A snow-white fox, tailless and no larger than a kitten, landed lightly. Then, like a bullet, it launched itself toward the girl.

The assassin’s eyes widened.

A congenital spirit? You… you’ve actually formed a spirit?

Cultivators were rare enough. But one born able to manifest a spirit—such talent was one in ten thousand.

Ning Xiaoling wasted no words. She bolted for the window lit by lanternlight.

Help!

She cried out, leaping toward the night outside.

But the assassin’s shock lasted only a moment. His hand found the crossbow at his waist.

As she leapt, he aimed at her midair trajectory and fired. The string snapped, sending the bolt screaming across the room.

No matter how gifted she was, Ning Xiaoling lacked battle experience. With no foothold in midair, she couldn’t change her path. The bolt cut straight along her arc. There was no escape.

The sharp hiss split the air.

The little white fox sensed the killing intent. Its fur bristled. It leapt up, trying to block the shot.

But its spirit was newly formed. At the clash, it burst apart like mist, scattering into sparks of light before flowing back into her consciousness.

Blood welled in Ning Xiaoling’s throat, though she hadn’t yet coughed it out. The bolt was already upon her, aimed for her waist.

Victory was certain. The assassin’s eyes gleamed.

Then—he froze.

He rubbed his eyes, doubting his vision.

The bolt pierced through the curtain and struck the wall. But the girl’s figure… had vanished like a ghost.

The main doors creaked open.

A young man in plain blue robes stepped in, face calm. In his hand dangled the terrified Ning Xiaoling.

The assassin’s heart clenched.

Go back. Don’t make me change my mind.

He opened his palm, revealing a jade token.

The assassin stiffened.

The Qinghua Division’s token… why do you have it?

Ning Changjiu’s voice was cold.

This token commands obedience. Return now. If you’re still unwilling, then come again. I will attempt to kill.

He grasped the embedded blade, wrenched it free with a flick of his arm, and slid it into its sheath. The shattered edge exploded with a crack like firecrackers.

Inside, the woman lay drenched in cold sweat, her nightclothes in disarray.

She slumped on the bed, still unable to believe what she had witnessed.

The formation had been complete, its power overwhelming. The youth had seemed cornered, trapped like a beast. Yet in the span of three breaths, she had watched him lift the lantern, step in a precise pattern—seven steps, neither early nor late—and break free of the array, standing before her.

This is my sincerity.

With no further words, he seized the jade token hidden beneath her pillow.

Only then did she realize—his sincerity was his strength.

Because he was strong enough, they had no choice but to take him seriously, even to accommodate him.

But how could such a young Taoist possess such power?

She drew a deep breath and reached for a brush and paper.

Whatever his origin, whichever side he would eventually choose, her mistress had to know at once. This mysterious youth could not be allowed to tip the balance.

She wrote quickly.

Then, stepping to the door, she whistled.

A crimson sparrow landed on the window, eyes bright and watchful. She rolled the message into a strip. The bird seized it in its beak and vanished into the night.

Watching it go, she sighed long and heavy. The night had been too sudden, too strange. She could only do what she must.

Yu’er… what are you doing?

A voice startled her.

She spun around. At the doorway stood Zhao Shisong, robe half-loose, still drowsy. His expression was tangled with doubt.

She had been too tense, never noticing his approach.

You…

Zhao Shisong’s hand shook as he pointed at her. He recalled the crimson sparrow just now, and his eyes widened.

You… you belong to her?

She stared back at him, face equally conflicted.

Anger surged through him. He stomped his foot.

Tang Yu! Have I ever treated you poorly? With her, you were only a servant. With me—fine robes, riches, comfort, all yours. Even when you were ill, I stayed by your side! What more could you possibly want?

His body trembled. His whiskers quivered, wrinkles deepening with fury.

Tang Yu’s voice was quiet.

I know you treated me well. I am grateful. I wanted to treat you well too. But…

Her tone softened, fading like the night rain that had just ceased.

But twenty days ago, you shouldn’t have gone—shouldn’t have joined those who stormed the Empress’s hall. From that moment, everything was sealed.

Zhao Shisong’s anger wavered, his eyes burning with confusion. He strode forward, face tight with grief, staring into her youthful features.

What hold does that woman have on you? You were raised near her, but with your status, you could never even have met her! Why such blind devotion? Zhao Xiang’er may have returned, but she’s weak and alone. You still have time to turn back. I… I can forgive everything.

He reached out to grasp her shoulder.

Tang Yu stepped back, eyes firm.

If I am blindly loyal, then you are blindly foolish.

Why?

You never saw the Empress’s corpse. Yet you dare to say she is dead. If that isn’t foolish, what is?

You—

She cut him off, her gaze cold as steel.

And twenty days ago, many who died in Qianyu Palace were once my sisters.

A sparrow’s cry came from outside. The crimson bird returned.

Zhao Shisong’s eyes followed it, dread rising. At last, he understood. He stumbled back, shouting in panic:

Guards! Guards!

Meanwhile, Ning Xiaoling’s chamber lay in ruins.

She sat trembling, replaying what had happened—the arrow, the hopeless plunge—then the sudden grasp that pulled her away.

She clutched Ning Changjiu’s hand, nearly weeping.

Tonight had been too terrifying.

Pressing her chest, she felt her heart pounding wildly against her palm, impossible to calm.

She curled up on the bed, frowning.

Senior brother… let’s go back…

I’ll find a proper time to send you back.

You won’t come with me?

I’ll stay.

Does this palace turmoil have something to do with you?

That is their karma, not mine.

…Then what karma are you seeking, senior brother?