The moment Jiao Shui stepped forward, Prince Yang tilted his head with a wolfish satisfaction. Lantern flames trembled, as if anticipating the unraveling he was about to orchestrate.
"Your Highness," she said calmly, "if this summons concerns me, I request clarity before the hall."
"Clarity," he echoed, savoring the word. "How quaint."
Song Lingfang bristled behind her. Prince Yang's eyes flicked to him — assessing, amused, irritated.
"Do try not to glower too much, General Song. Tonight is meant to be… festive."
Festive?The hall's tension was coiled enough to snap a kingdom in half.
Prince Yang unfurled the scroll with a sharp flick. The nobles leaned in.
"By imperial decree," he announced, "a selection shall begin. A selection for the empire's future Crown Princess."
A murmur erupted. Several nobles gasped. One fainted dramatically against a pillar.
Jiao Shui felt the world tilt beneath her.
But Prince Yang continued, voice as smooth as lacquered silk.
"Eligible noblewomen from all major clans will be brought to the Inner Court. The selection shall be presided over by—"
He paused deliberately.
"—my honored brother, the Emperor."
The hall froze.
The Emperor?The recluse who rarely left his secluded pavilion? The man rumored to be brilliant, unstable, divine-touched, or possibly all three?
Song Lingfang whispered sharply at her ear, "This is a trap."
But Prince Yang wasn't finished.
"And," he said, turning his attention back to Jiao Shui with slow, venomous delight, "the Emperor has made one personal request."
He stepped toward her, invading her space without touching her — a predator savoring proximity.
"Jiao Shui of the Shui Clan… You are to enter the selection."
The hall erupted again, this time in pure disbelief.
Song Lingfang stepped in front of her. "She is not a pawn in your games."
Prince Yang's smile didn't dim. "The Emperor thinks otherwise."
Jiao Shui's pulse hammered.This made no sense. The Emperor didn't know her. In her past life, he remained distant, a quiet shadow on the throne.
Unless—Unless Prince Yang was lying.Or unless someone had whispered her name into the Emperor's ear.
Her vision blurred for a heartbeat, a faint echo of a memory tugging at her mind — incense smoke, a hand on her cheek, a voice murmuring… "You are not meant for him."
What was that?A fragment from before her death?Or something else entirely?
Prince Yang's voice snapped her back.
"Of course," he added, "should you refuse, your clan will be accused of treason. You understand how delicate these matters are."
A collective shudder rippled through the nobles.
Jiao Shui lifted her chin, eyes cold. "You overstep."
"Do I?" His smile curled. "Or do I simply help the Emperor see what he desires?"
The last line dropped like a blade.
Jiao Shui didn't flinch outwardly, but inside, panic bloomed. Not fear — no, she had died once, fear was an old ghost.This was dread.Because Prince Yang wasn't the type to fabricate a desire the Emperor never voiced.
Someone had put her name forward.
But who?
Before she could respond, a voice — relaxed, lilting, and entirely unsettling — echoed through the hall.
"Brother Yang, you always ruin the mood when I'm trying to make an entrance."
The crowd parted instinctively.
And there he was.
The Emperor.
Tall, draped in flowing gold and black, expression unreadable. His eyes were sharp enough to cut silk and soft enough to cradle secrets.He walked as if the palace belonged to him not by birthright, but by inevitable gravity.
His gaze found Jiao Shui instantly.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Ah," he said, "so she's finally here."
Jiao Shui felt her breath catch in her throat.
The Emperor knew her.
Not as a stranger.Not as a candidate.
But as someone he'd been waiting for.