NOVEL WEB Chapter 241: The Crown Prince Arrives
The sky over the southern gate had turned black by the time his banner appeared.
A single white flag, rimmed in silver thread, flapped limply in the wind. It was unaccompanied by the usual pageantry—no drums, no horns, no horses adorned with armor. Only one covered palanquin, escorted by ten quiet men in gray cloaks.
There wasn't a single royal color among them.
"You're certain it's him?" I asked.
Shi Yaozu stood beside me, arms folded, his face unreadable as ever. "I matched his gait from the records. The last time he was seen publicly, he walked with a slight limp from a war wound to his right thigh. It's still there."
"He came himself," Mingyu murmured behind us, voice laced with distrust. "Either he's bold or desperate."
"Both," said the Empress, cool and dry. She stood straight-backed in the fortress gallery, arms draped in thick fox fur, her fingers absently curled around the edge of the balustrade. "Men always are, when they realize power no longer sits in their hands."
From the high tower, the bell remained silent.
No war was declared.
Not yet.
But the air was too still. Even the crows were quiet. Snow had begun falling again, fine and dry, blanketing the ramparts in a film of white dust. Below, the frozen banners barely stirred. It felt less like winter and more like the world holding its breath.
I descended the stone steps before anyone could object. Snow crunched under my boots, the wind dragging my cloak behind me like a long, trailing shadow. The courtyard was half-frozen, the ice mottled with gray ash where the last campfire had gone out. Around the outer ring stood twelve obsidian pillars—each carved with names of fallen warriors.
Shadow padded beside me, his paws silent despite the ice, breath forming low, steady clouds. His body remained taut, watchful, as if the air itself disturbed him. Shi Yaozu followed a pace behind, his coat collar pulled high, one gloved hand resting near the hidden blade at his hip. His steps were precise. Balanced. He never looked directly at the palanquin—but I knew he saw everything.
The palanquin had stopped at the edge of the obsidian threshold—just outside the first ceremonial gate. Not close enough to be considered an honored guest. Not far enough to be dismissed as an enemy.
A careful distance.
Measured, like everything else about this.
When the curtain finally shifted, the man who stepped down was younger than I expected. Not soft, but not war-worn either. He wore no crown—just a long travel robe lined in pale wool, dusted faintly with snow, and a leather belt with a silver lily clasp. His face was sharp-featured and clean-shaven. No beard to hide behind. No adornment to distract.
His eyes were the color of ink just before it dried.
He stepped down without ceremony.
No trumpet. No herald. No shield to hide behind.
His gaze found mine instantly.
And then he smiled.
It wasn't charming.
It wasn't threatening.
It was...curious.
"Princess Zhao," he murmured, dipping his head just slightly in greeting.
I didn't bother to correct him.
He didn't deserve the title in return.
"You crossed the border without invitation," I said. "Why?"
"Because the alternative was another three provinces lost."
"Then you came for peace."
"No," he said. "I came for you."
Behind me, Yaozu didn't move, but I could feel the shift in his presence. Not fear. Not even anger. Just the dangerous stillness of a blade unsheathed.
I tilted my head slightly. "Did Yuyan put you up to this?"
"She warned me against it," he replied. "Said you'd kill me where I stood."
"She's smarter than you, then."
"I don't doubt it," he said easily. "But she's never razed a valley."
The air around us shifted. My mist stirred faintly at the hem of my sleeves—subtle, like breath against glass. Even the temperature felt different, the cold sharpening to a brittle edge.
"And you think you understand the cost of that?"
"No," he said. "That's why I came."
He took a step forward.
Shadow growled, low and guttural, the sound rippling across the courtyard like thunder beneath skin.
The guards on the ramparts tensed, crossbows half-raised. I didn't need to look up. A flick of my fingers steadied them.
"Alone?" I asked.
"For now," he said.
"And what do you want, Li Xuejian?"
He glanced upward briefly—toward the ridgeline where the black pine bowed under heavy snow. A long breath passed between us. Not cold enough to fog, but dense with something else.
"I want to understand," he said. "The girl they buried before she ever spoke. The ghost of the mountain. The widow who didn't weep."
He lowered his gaze again.
"I want to know the truth. Not from your soldiers. Not from stories. From you."
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I stepped forward.
The mist followed—black and delicate, curling like smoke from my sleeves, trailing across the snow between us. It didn't strike. It didn't burn. But it moved toward him like a question that already knew the answer.
He flinched once—barely—but held his ground.
The mist licked at his boots, coiled up his calves, searching. It didn't find fear. Only tension. Expectation.
He let it.
A thread of respect coiled behind my ribs.
The mist circled once more, then withdrew, slipping back into the folds of my cloak. The courtyard stilled.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"Neither are you."
A long pause.
He broke it. "I still want peace."
"Then you've chosen the wrong path."
"Perhaps. But I had to come."
"To see the witch?"
"To see the woman who made an empire stop breathing."
From the fortress balcony, the Empress's voice rang sharp.
"Will you be staying for tea, Crown Prince? Or shall we ready your grave?"
He smiled and bowed toward her voice, low and deliberate.
"I'd be honored to stay. If Her Highness the Witch permits it."
I watched him a moment longer.
He didn't tremble. He didn't gloat.
He waited.
A man willing to be turned away.
But not afraid to ask.
I turned without a word. "You have until the coals burn out."
He followed.
Of course he did.