By the fifth day, the palace had learned one undeniable truth—Han Jian was no longer a harmless nobody.
Whispers followed him wherever he went. Servants glanced over their shoulders, guards grew unusually alert, and even the court officials began to tread carefully. None of them could explain it clearly, but there was a sense that something sharp and dangerous now walked among them wearing the face of a quiet boy.
Han Jian noticed it all and found it amusing.
Li Shuran noticed it too—and she did not find it amusing in the slightest.
She sat before her bronze mirror, fingers tightening around a jade hairpin as she recalled the way the crown prince's eyes had followed Han Jian the day before. Not with anger. Not with disdain. But with interest.
That boy was a problem.
"He's influencing His Highness," she muttered. "And if I don't deal with him now, he'll ruin everything."
Her lips curled into a smile as a plan formed.
That afternoon, Han Jian was "coincidentally" summoned to the outer hall under the excuse of delivering documents. The moment he stepped inside, he felt it—a thin, sticky aura clinging to the air. A trap.
He laughed softly.
So this was Li Shuran's move.
Inside the hall, Zhen Luo sat at the high table, expression cool and unreadable. Feng Huai stood behind him, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Several court ladies lingered nearby, whispering behind silk sleeves.
Li Shuran stepped forward gracefully, her smile sweet enough to rot teeth. "Your Highness, this is the boy I mentioned. The one who has been… causing disturbances."
Han Jian bowed lazily. "If standing near you is considered a disturbance, then I apologize."
Feng Huai choked on air.
Zhen Luo lifted his gaze slowly, dark eyes locking onto Han Jian's. There was a flicker of amusement there, gone as quickly as it appeared. "You're bold," he said. "Do you know where you are?"
Han Jian straightened, meeting his gaze without fear. "Of course. I'm standing in front of a man who hates boredom more than rules."
The hall went silent.
Li Shuran's smile stiffened. "Your Highness, this boy has been spreading strange rumors and using questionable tricks. I suspect he practices forbidden arts."
Han Jian raised a brow. "Forbidden? Coming from someone who uses poison perfume?"
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Li Shuran's face paled. "You—how dare you accuse me!"
Han Jian tilted his head, Soul Flame Art pulsing faintly beneath his skin. "I didn't accuse. I simply stated a fact."
The air shifted.
Zhen Luo felt it instantly. His fingers tightened against the armrest as a familiar pressure brushed his senses. Power. Not raw and reckless—but controlled. Dangerous.
Interesting.
Before Li Shuran could recover, Han Jian took one step back, feigning surprise. "Oh? Was I not supposed to say that aloud?"
A soft laugh escaped Zhen Luo's lips before he could stop it.
The sound echoed through the hall like a crack in ice.
Everyone froze.
Li Shuran stared at him in disbelief. "Your Highness…?"
Zhen Luo cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Enough. If you summoned him to accuse him, bring evidence. Otherwise, stop wasting my time."
Li Shuran clenched her fists, fury burning behind her eyes. "Yes… Your Highness."
Han Jian bowed again, this time with exaggerated politeness. "Thank you for your mercy, Crown Prince."
As he turned to leave, their eyes met once more. Zhen Luo's gaze lingered, sharp and searching, as if trying to peel back layers of a mystery he hadn't meant to care about.
Outside the hall, Bai Zehan burst into quiet laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Did you see her face?"
Luo Xian sighed, though a smile betrayed him. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"How could I not?" Bai Zehan replied. "That boy just walked into a trap and turned it into a performance."
Han Jian passed by them, pausing just long enough to smirk. "First trap avoided," he murmured. "Next time, she'll try harder."
That evening, Zhen Luo stood alone in his chambers, staring at his reflection. The boy's words echoed in his mind. The power he had felt still lingered like a phantom touch.
"Who are you really?" he whispered.
Far away, Han Jian leaned against a pillar beneath the moonlight, eyes cold, smile sharp.
"Be patient," he murmured to the night. "This palace will fall apart piece by piece."
And somewhere deep within the imperial walls, the first thread of a far greater scheme tightened—unseen, unstoppable, and already beyond anyone's control.