His Majesty chose not to employ the Imperial Guards for two reasons. First, because Deputy Commander Yan Congzheng had past ties with Ye Jiao, and there was concern he might show partiality. Second, involving outsiders in this matter, if word were to spread, would compromise the dignity of the royal family. After all, even Ye Jiao was now considered half a member of the imperial clan.
The Empress pondered Li Chen's words from earlier in the day, her heart drumming with unease. It was clear they were hiding something from her—Li Chen, Ye Jiao, even her own son, Li Zhang. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been left so passive, allowing Li Chen, with but a single sentence, to prompt the Emperor into summoning Ye Jiao and thus granting her a chance to evade punishment.
She had merely been furious at Ye Jiao for injuring her son and wished the Emperor to summon Li Zhang for a look. Once the Emperor saw the wound, his fury would have been inevitable, and no excuse from the others could have sufficed. Self-inflicted injury? Could her gentle son be allowed to be bullied just because of his kindness? His Majesty had already resolved to appoint the Crown Prince—yet these people still showed no restraint.
However, for Li Chen, this confrontation bore only benefits. He could not forever play the dutiful son, known only for his skills in acupuncture and massage. He had to let His Majesty see that he was not only learned but also capable in martial arts, a man of boundless potential. Self-inflicted injury? Ye Jiao couldn't even best Zong Quanwu—could she truly coerce Li Zhang into hurting himself?
Li Chen gazed into Ye Jiao's eyes, their glint sharp and steady. He lifted his hand in a modest gesture and said courteously, "I humbly ask the Marquis to show mercy."
Ye Jiao returned the courtesy with equal poise. "I wouldn't dare."
"What weapons do Your Highness and the Marquis intend to use?" Gao Fu led them to a wider space by the palace gates, away from the Emperor and Empress, and bowed as he inquired.
"Throwing knives shaped like daggers," Ye Jiao replied. "The Prince of Jin used them today as well."
Though similar in size to daggers, throwing knives had lighter hilts and tassels at the end. Once thrown, they struck the ground with their tips downward. Li Zhang hadn't come; what weapon he'd used earlier depended entirely on what Ye Jiao chose to say now.
This forced Li Chen, who had originally intended to wield a longsword, to change his weapon. He replied in a low voice, "Then I shall use throwing knives as well."
A fine silk screen was raised before the Emperor and Empress to shield them—without hindering their view or compromising their safety. The Emperor narrowed his eyes slightly and turned to the Empress. "What does Zitong think?"
The Empress steadied her nerves, her face etched with worry. "The Marquis is soon to be wed—is this appropriate? I fear…"
"Do not worry," the Emperor reassured her warmly. "Prince Wei knows his limits."
As the eunuch carried the box of throwing knives to the entrance of Nanfeng Hall, he was intercepted by Deputy Commander Yan Congzheng.
"What is this?" he asked.
"The throwing knives for Prince Wei and the Marquis's martial demonstration," the eunuch answered respectfully, eyes downcast.
Yan Congzheng opened the box, weighed a knife in his hand, scrutinized the connection between hilt and blade, then brought it close to his nose for a sniff. He ran his fingers along the blade before placing it back in the box.
"Sir, you are—" the eunuch began uncertainly.
"Prince Wei is of noble status," Yan said. "I'm merely checking to ensure no mishap befalls you."
The eunuch bowed in gratitude, but Yan gently stopped him with a raised hand. "Go on."
Prince Wei was indeed precious, but Ye Jiao was even more so. He wanted to ensure no broken weapons or hidden poisons would endanger her. Still, Li Chen was his brother-in-law. Yan turned toward Nanfeng Hall. The sunset's golden rays pierced the hall like thousands of lances, casting a radiant glow. Could Ye Jiao truly handle this?
As Ye Jiao picked up her knife, unease flickered in her eyes. During her last duel with Gesang Meiduo, her sword had snapped in a single exchange, severely denting her confidence.
"Have the weapons been inspected?" the Emperor's voice rang out from behind the screen, as if sensing her worry.
"They have, Your Majesty," the eunuch replied, kneeling as he collected the tray. "Provided by the Armory Office, personally examined by Deputy Commander Yan."
The Emperor nodded, and Ye Jiao felt the knot in her chest loosen. She stood in the hall, her shadow stretching long beneath the setting sun. Across from her, Li Chen had already taken his stance, the aura around him sharp like a soldier poised to strike.
It was only recently that Ye Jiao had begun to grasp the intricacies of Li Chen. He had feigned illness to evade overseeing the ritual at Yuanqiu. He had "accidentally" knocked into Li Jing, causing the wooden canopy to collapse. According to her investigation, Li Chen's men had arrived at Yuanqiu before the Emperor's procession. What had he done there? Removed the supporting brackets? Those very beams that Li Ce had painstakingly installed through sleepless nights?
These people, unscrupulous and brazen, forced the righteous into endless toil, only to suffer calamity. If Li Ce forbade her from fighting in secret, then she would strike in broad daylight—right beneath the Emperor's gaze!
Ye Jiao tossed her knife into the air and caught it with practiced ease. Her boots kicked aside her skirts, and she lunged forward.
The first strike was sharp and swift, like a shaft of light breaking through storm clouds—bold, unrestrained, bursting with dynamic freedom.
Li Chen dodged the blade. His knife lashed out, his sky-blue robe a storm cloud barreling into the beam of light. The clouds were thick, the force powerful—it was as if night had descended, veiling Ye Jiao's eyes and extinguishing the gleam of her weapon.
A loud crack resounded as their weapons clashed. Both were forced back. The sash on Ye Jiao's shoulder was torn clean in half, while Li Chen remained untouched.
She cast the sash aside and stood breathing lightly in the hall. Behind the screen, the Empress appeared even more anxious than Ye Jiao. She gasped, clutching her chest with relief that Ye Jiao was unharmed.
But Ye Jiao had no time to rest. Li Chen pressed forward, this time without a weapon. His fist crashed into her arm, and she nearly lost hold of her blade. Forced into retreat, she backed away step by step. Li Chen pursued relentlessly until she found herself cornered in the sunlit window, with nowhere left to flee.
Then she struck.
Her punch, like a fireball soaring through the air, blazed with fierce intensity. Though not as forceful as Li Chen's, it was faster. Even a glancing pass left a burning sting. One blow. Two. Three. She landed all three before Li Chen finally stepped back.
The strikes ignited fury in his chest. He longed to retaliate with his blade. Taking several large steps backward, he widened the distance between them and abandoned close combat, hurling his knife instead.
It whistled through the air, clipping a strand of hair from beside Ye Jiao's ear.
Clearly, Li Chen was adept with hidden weapons.
This time, Ye Jiao seemed frightened. She retreated—again and again—like a dying bonfire in the depths of winter, fading into ash.
Her pomegranate-red skirt fluttered in layers, then unfurled as she dashed toward the window. She leapt onto the corridor column, soaring high into the air. From above, she descended upon Li Chen like a star from a dying flame—fragile, but brilliant.
Li Chen, calm and collected, picked up his blade once more. His fingers tightened around the hilt as he hurled it upward at an angle, directly at Ye Jiao.
Then he rushed forward. Whether Ye Jiao fell wounded or the knife missed, he had to catch her. This was, after all, the Southern Fragrance Hall. Even in victory, he couldn't let her fall. She was Li Ce's betrothed. Li Chen had no desire to create enmity.
But just then, a blinding light enveloped him.
The sun, moments from setting, cast its fiercest glare. Ye Jiao's crimson skirt had already swept past him like flaming clouds scattered by wind, revealing the dazzling brilliance of the sunset. The glare burned his eyes. Tilting his head back, Li Chen momentarily lost sight of his target.
The thrown knife missed—and fell.
Blade down.
Straight toward his neck.