The Residence of Reflected Virtue sat in the heart of the capital's noble quarter, its walls higher and more imposing than the other estates surrounding it. Guards in the prince's colors—deep blue with silver phoenixes—stood at attention by the gates. They checked Yuelai's credentials with professional efficiency before allowing her entry.
The compound was vast. Yuelai followed a servant through courtyards and covered walkways, past ornamental ponds where koi flashed like living jewels beneath the water's surface. Everything was elegant, refined, and subtly intimidating. This was not just wealth—this was power made manifest in architecture and landscaping.
They arrived at a private garden tucked away from the main buildings. Here, the carefully manicured perfection gave way to something more natural—ancient trees providing dappled shade, stone paths worn smooth by generations of feet, and in the center, a pavilion open on all sides to catch the afternoon breeze.
A man sat alone at a low table in the pavilion, studying a Go board.
Even seated, his bearing spoke of authority. He wore robes of deep blue silk, simpler than court dress but of obvious quality. His hair was pulled back in a scholar's topknot, revealing a face that was aristocratic without being soft—sharp cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it smiled rarely, and eyes that tracked Yuelai's approach with unsettling intensity.
Prince Luo Zhenge. First Prince of the Luo Empire. Head of the Censorate.
And somewhere beneath that collar, hidden by silk and distance, a phoenix tattoo.
Yuelai's heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her expression neutral, her stride measured.
There's no way he remembers. I was just a girl standing beside a Shen general at a ceremonial gate. He was in his carriage, barely glanced at me. And even if he did, I look nothing like that girl now—I'm in an official's uniform, binding my chest, walking and talking like a man. He can't possibly recognize me.
She stopped at the appropriate distance and bowed. "Inspector Wei Han greets Your Highness. This humble servant thanks you for the summons."
Zhenge's eyes remained on the Go board, studying the black and white stones arranged in complex patterns. When he finally looked up, his gaze was direct, assessing, and utterly unreadable.
"Wei Han." He gestured to the cushion across from him. "Please, sit. I find myself in need of assistance with a problem."
Yuelai settled onto the cushion with careful precision, maintaining Wei Han's controlled movements. This close, she could see the prince more clearly—probably around twenty-four or twenty-five, with the kind of face that would be handsome if it ever fully relaxed. But there was something coiled about him, like a blade kept perpetually half-drawn from its sheath.
"I'm honored Your Highness thinks I might be of help," Yuelai said carefully.
"Mmm." Zhenge turned the Go board so she could see it more clearly. "Tell me—what would you do here?"
Yuelai studied the board. Go was a game she'd learned from Junwei, who'd been passionate about it. They'd spent countless afternoons playing, her brother patiently teaching her the principles of territory and influence, of knowing when to sacrifice stones to gain advantage.
The position on the board was complex. Brutal, even. Black and white stones clustered in formations that suggested a game that had been going on for some time. But the more she looked, the more she understood—this wasn't just a difficult position.
It was impossible.
If black moved to capture the white group on the right, white would counter by taking the larger black formation on the left. But if black tried to save the left group, white would crush the right. Every move led to loss. Every strategy ended in defeat.
"This is..." Yuelai paused, choosing her words carefully. "A challenging position, Your Highness."
"Challenging." Zhenge's lips curved slightly—not quite a smile. "A diplomatic answer. What it is, Inspector Wei, is hopeless. No matter what black does, white wins. The game was lost several moves ago, but black continues playing anyway."
There was something in his tone—not quite mockery, but an edge of dark amusement. As if the position on the board represented something more than just a game.
"Sometimes," Yuelai said slowly, still studying the stones, "the only winning move is to overturn the board entirely."
Zhenge's eyes sharpened with interest. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that if the rules of the game guarantee defeat, perhaps the game itself needs to change." She met his gaze. "Though of course, in an actual match, that would be considered poor sportsmanship."
"Indeed." Zhenge leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. "But we're not talking about an actual match, are we, Inspector Wei?"
The question hung in the air, weighted with implications Yuelai couldn't quite parse. Was he testing her? Threatening her? Or simply making conversation?
Before she could formulate a response, Zhenge's attention shifted away from the board entirely.
"If I remember correctly," he said, his tone casual, conversational, "you have a twin sister, don't you?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
Yuelai's mind raced. Twin sister? Wei Han didn't have a twin—he had Wei Ling, but she was younger by two years, not a twin. But Wei Ling and Wei Han had looked remarkably similar, similar enough that from a distance or in the right circumstances...
What is he implying? Does he know I'm a woman? Is he mistaking me for Wei Ling? Or is this a test to see how I react?
She forced her expression to remain neutral, her voice steady. "Yes, Your Highness. My younger sister, Wei Ling. Though we're not twins—she's two years my junior. But we do share a strong resemblance. It's been remarked upon before."
It was the truth, or close enough to it. Wei Han and Wei Ling had looked alike—same strong features, same serious expressions, same way of holding themselves. Anyone who'd known them both would have confirmed it.
Zhenge nodded once, as if she'd confirmed something. But he said nothing more, his face giving away nothing of what he was thinking.
The silence stretched, uncomfortable and loaded with unspoken questions.
Then movement caught Yuelai's attention. Another man had been sitting at the edge of the pavilion, so still and quiet she hadn't noticed him until now. He rose smoothly and approached, carrying a leather document case.
He was perhaps Zhenge's age, with the refined features of high nobility and the bearing of someone accustomed to power. His robes were expensive but understated, marked with the insignia of a high-ranking official. There was something sharp about him—intelligent eyes that missed nothing, a mouth set in a slight smirk, as if he found the world perpetually amusing.
"Your Highness," the man said, bowing to Zhenge before turning to acknowledge Yuelai with a nod. "Inspector Wei."
"Inspector Wei Han," Zhenge said, "allow me to introduce Shen Rong, Second Son of the Marquis of Yunzhou. He serves as Vice Minister in the Ministry of Justice."
Shen Rong. The name resonated with power—the Marquis of Yunzhou was one of the empire's most influential nobles, and his family had held significant positions in government for generations. The second son serving as Vice Minister meant he was being groomed for even higher office.
"An honor to meet you, Lord Shen," Yuelai said, bowing with appropriate respect.
Shen Rong's smirk deepened slightly. "The honor is mine, Inspector. His Highness speaks highly of your... potential."
The pause before "potential" was deliberate, calculated to make her wonder what exactly the prince had said. But Yuelai maintained her composure, waiting.
Shen Rong handed the document case to Zhenge, who opened it and withdrew a thick file bound with official seals. He held it for a moment, his expression unreadable, then extended it toward Yuelai.
"Your first case as Military Inspector," Zhenge said. "All the details are contained within. Investigate thoroughly, report your findings directly to me, and request any resources you require. The Censorate will provide support as needed."
Yuelai took the file, feeling the weight of it in her hands. The leather was worn, as if this case had been handled many times before. The seals were imperial, marked with the Emperor's personal chop alongside the Censorate's phoenix symbol.
Whatever was inside this file, it was important. And dangerous.
"I am honored by Your Highness's trust," Yuelai said, bowing deeply. "This servant will not disappoint."
"See that you don't." Zhenge's voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it. "This case has... particular significance. Handle it with appropriate care."
There was something in the way he said it—a warning, perhaps. Or a test. Yuelai couldn't tell which.
She rose, tucked the file securely under her arm, and bowed once more. "By your leave, Your Highness."
Zhenge waved a hand in dismissal, already turning his attention back to the impossible Go board.
Yuelai left the pavilion, her stride measured and controlled despite the urge to flee. She could feel eyes on her back—the prince's, Shen Rong's, the guards'—all watching to see how the new Military Inspector would handle her first assignment.
She didn't dare open the file. Not here, not in the prince's residence, not where anyone could see her reaction to whatever secrets it contained. She would wait until she was back at Qingfeng Residence, behind closed doors, where she could afford to show fear.
The servant led her back through the gardens and courtyards to the main gate. The guards let her pass without comment. And then she was out, walking through the capital's streets with the weight of that file pressing against her ribs like an accusation.
Your first case as Military Inspector.
The words echoed in her mind. This was what she'd agreed to when she accepted the position. Investigation. Oversight. Rooting out corruption and treason.
She just wished she knew why her hands were shaking.
---
In the pavilion, Zhenge and Shen Rong sat in silence until the sound of Inspector Wei's footsteps faded completely.
Shen Rong was the first to speak, his tone carrying an edge of exasperation. "Why summon him personally? You could have simply sent the file through regular channels. Drawing attention to this case—and to him—seems unnecessarily risky."
Zhenge continued studying the Go board, his fingers hovering over a black stone. "This case, and this particular officer, were personally chosen by my father. I had nothing to do with the selection."
"Your father." Shen Rong's expression darkened with understanding. "The Emperor specifically wants Wei Han investigating this?"
"So it would seem."
"Then you're sending him to his death." It wasn't a question. Shen Rong moved to pour tea, his movements practiced and smooth. "What is it now—five Military Inspectors dead in three years? And your father keeps appointing new ones, keeps assigning them cases that somehow lead to mysterious accidents."
"Six, technically." Zhenge finally made his move on the board—a sacrifice, giving up territory to gain a more important position. "Though the first death three years ago was ruled natural causes. Only the subsequent five have been... suspicious."
"And yet no investigation. No arrests. Nothing." Shen Rong handed Zhenge a cup of tea. "Because everyone knows that investigating the deaths of Military Inspectors would mean investigating whoever is killing them. And whoever is killing them is powerful enough that even the Emperor turns a blind eye."
Zhenge sipped his tea, his expression unchanging. "You're speaking very freely, my friend. Some might call such speculation dangerous."
"We've known each other since we were children. If I can't speak freely with you, then there's no honesty left in this empire." Shen Rong settled back onto his cushion, his eyes sharp. "So tell me—is Wei Han going to die like the others? Is this just another sacrifice in whatever game your father is playing?"
For a long moment, Zhenge didn't answer. He studied the Go board, the impossible position, the stones arranged in patterns of inevitable defeat.
Then his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"This time," he said quietly, "it's going to be interesting."
Shen Rong raised an eyebrow. "Interesting? What makes this inspector different from the others?"
"Call it intuition." Zhenge set down his tea cup with careful precision. "The others accepted their appointments with resignation. They knew the position's reputation, knew the risks, but they had no choice—refuse an imperial appointment and face disgrace, accept it and face probable death. They chose death with honor over life with shame."
"And Wei Han?"
"Wei Han is different." Zhenge's eyes took on a distant quality, as if seeing something beyond the pavilion walls. "He took the position not out of obligation, but as a calculated risk. There's something else driving him. Something that makes him willing to step into a trap with his eyes open."
"You sound almost admiring."
"I find it intriguing." Zhenge returned his attention to the board, to the black stones facing inevitable defeat. "This case I've given him—it's designed to be unsolvable. Every investigator who's touched it has either withdrawn or died. The evidence leads nowhere. The witnesses vanish. It's a maze with no exit, a game with no winning moves."
"Like your Go board."
"Exactly like my Go board." Zhenge's finger traced the pattern of stones. "Most people, when faced with an impossible situation, either give up or keep playing by the rules until they lose. But Wei Han..." He paused, remembering the inspector's words. Sometimes the only winning move is to overturn the board entirely. "Wei Han understands that some games can't be won by conventional means."
"So you think he'll survive?"
"I think," Zhenge said slowly, his eyes still on the board, "that Wei Han is going to be far more interesting than anyone anticipates. Including my father."
Shen Rong studied his friend's face, trying to read the thoughts behind that carefully neutral expression. "You're playing a dangerous game yourself, you know. If the Emperor thinks you're protecting this inspector—"
"I'm not protecting anyone." Zhenge's voice was sharp, final. "I'm simply... curious. Wei Han was appointed to investigate corruption and treason. Let's see if he's clever enough to realize that sometimes the corruption starts at the very top."
The implication hung in the air between them, treasonous in its clarity.
Shen Rong shook his head slowly. "One day your curiosity is going to get you killed, Zhenge."
"Perhaps." Zhenge picked up a white stone, turning it between his fingers. "But I'd rather die curious than live in ignorant obedience."
He placed the stone on the board, creating a new pattern. Still impossible. Still hopeless. But somehow, with that one placement, the entire game shifted. Not enough to win—nothing could change the fundamental truth that black was doomed—but enough to make the defeat interesting.
In the distance, the sun was beginning to set over the capital, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. Somewhere in that maze of streets and residences, Inspector Wei Han was carrying a file that would determine whether he lived or died.
Zhenge smiled at the thought.
"I wonder how you'll handle this, Wei Han," he murmured. "I wonder what you'll do when you discover that the person you're being sent to investigate is someone who can't be touched. That the evidence leads to a name so powerful that speaking it aloud is treason."
Shen Rong glanced at his friend, concern flickering across his features. "And if he succeeds? If he somehow finds a way to investigate the uninvestigable?"
"Then," Zhenge said, his voice soft and dangerous, "things in this empire will become very interesting indeed."
The sun sank lower, shadows lengthening across the garden. The Go board sat between them, black and white stones locked in their eternal, impossible struggle.
And in the Residence of Reflected Virtue, a prince and his closest friend sat in silence, both wondering the same thing:
Would Inspector Wei Han be clever enough to survive?
Or would he simply be the latest name added to a list of the dead?
---
END OF CHAPTER 9