Two years had passed in the blink of an eye. Yet in these two years, the changes that swept across the lands were not confined to the Heaven Battling State alone. Even the mighty Qin State, once an unshakable pillar of stability, found itself shaken to its core.
The emperor of Qin, long regarded as a man of iron will and indomitable health, suddenly fell gravely ill. His decline was so abrupt that whispers spread like wildfire across the capital—poisoning, curses, dark arts from the shadows. No physician could determine the cause, yet his condition only worsened with each passing moon.
Faced with a throne that could no longer command with strength, the crown prince was declared the acting ruler, entrusted to govern in his father's stead. Though the decision bore the emperor's seal, it was heavily guided by the prime minister and a handful of old ministers whom the emperor had once trusted with his life. Now, those same men maneuvered behind closed doors, carving influence from the emperor's weakening grasp.
Amidst this turbulence, one name was conspicuously absent—Qin Tai Jian, the youngest son. The emperor had deliberately denied him any official post. To the court, it seemed the thirteenth prince had been stripped of relevance, cast into the shadows of palace life. He made no effort to interfere in state affairs, content—or so it appeared—to indulge his hot-headed temper, ignoring the currents of politics swirling around him.
Yet those who dismissed him as idle overlooked the quiet storm beneath his calm.
For two years, Tai Jian bore the weight of countless trials. His wife, Tie Hongchen, once a beacon of light and strength, was now bound to him not only by marriage but also by the chains of fate and politics. She was a princess of another state, and with the balance of power shifting within Qin, her presence was like dry oil set beside open flames. At any moment, she could become the excuse certain old ministers needed to strike at the thirteenth prince.
No one knew the true reason for the strange turns in both kingdoms. No one—save Tai Jian.
In the shadows, he had long perceived the hand of a hidden force—the Shadow Guild. Their movements grew bolder, their eyes upon him more frequent. But for two years he endured their scrutiny, laying low, wearing the mask of uselessness. Every day was a game of survival, evading the predators that circled closer and closer.
Even when calamity struck Tie Hongchen's homeland—her father slain in a rebellion led by her own elder brother—Tai Jian had not moved openly. The grief in her eyes had been a dagger to his heart, but he had known the cost of rashness.
She, however, had not.
That night, Tie Hongchen's rage and sorrow had boiled over. She demanded to leave the palace, to return to her homeland and fight for her father's honor. Tai Jian had been forced to knock her unconscious with his own hands, a choice that carved an invisible scar between them.
"If you go," he had whispered to her sleeping form, "I will only be left to collect your corpse."
To protect her, he became her jailor. To save her life, he crushed her heart.
From that night onward, their bond grew brittle. Tie Hongchen's eyes no longer shone with warmth when they fell upon him. To her, he had become a coward.
"With our strength, we could have saved him!" she cried one evening, her voice cracking beneath tears. "What is the use of practising together if we cannot protect our loved ones? I would rather suffer alone than cultivate beside a man who hides in shadows!"
She had turned from him then, grief in every step, yet Tai Jian had not stopped her—only barred her from leaving the palace.
"No matter how much you hate me," he murmured to the silence she left behind, "I cannot let you throw yourself to death. You think them unprepared? They sent their vice dean… Do you truly believe your father, a seasoned expert, fell by mere chance? Do you think my death guards died meaninglessly? You are too naive, Hongchen."
But he spoke only to himself. She had long since shut her heart to his words.
In truth, much of what she believed to be cowardice was sacrifice. Unknown to her, Tai Jian had created a network of loyal shadows—his death guards. These men were ghosts, recorded as dead within the empire's ledgers, stripped of names, families, and pasts. They lived only for him and died only by his will. When intercepted, they would crush the poison hidden in their mouths, leaving behind corpses with faces ruined and skin rotting within moments. None could trace their origin. None could tie them to the thirteenth prince.
Their loyalty was unquestionable, but their existence was a heavy secret. The princess, untouched by the truth, came to despise him more deeply with each passing day.
Yet in silence, Tai Jian bore it all.
In these two years, he had built his force until it rivaled the Shadow Guild itself. Secret bases, hidden supplies, masked warriors—his foundation was laid. He struck at the guild in silence, destroying two of their operating hubs without leaving a trace. On one occasion, in the fury of grief after Hongchen's father's death, he had gone further still.
He sought battle.
And he found it.
Against one of the Shadow Guild's vice deans, Tai Jian unleashed his madness. Their clash raged with such ferocity that both combatants left the field drenched in blood. Tai Jian's body bore wounds that might have killed another man, but his yin-yang cultivation sustained him. As long as the sun rose, as long as the cycle of day and night endured, he would heal.
The vice dean, however, suffered worse. Forced to bed for months, he vanished from sight, his absence spreading unease within the guild. And though they never suspected Tai Jian, they grew wary of Qin State, believing such a fighter could only be hidden within its borders.
Now, in the present, Tai Jian sat quietly in his chambers, a painting brush in hand. His strokes moved across the canvas with surprising gentleness for a man so feared. At his side knelt Xue Kai, his most trusted guard.
"Master," Xue Kai reported, his tone respectful yet firm, "two more of their bases have been erased. We left no trace. No clues remain."
"Good," Tai Jian said evenly, his eyes never leaving the painting. "And the families of the soldiers?"
"They are settled. As you instructed."
Tai Jian nodded once. He was not cruel; he honored his men's sacrifices. For those who signed away their lives as death guards, he ensured their families were provided for, hidden and safe. It was the least he could do for soldiers who would die faceless, nameless, and unremembered by history.
Yet Xue Kai lingered, unease in his eyes. "Master, your condition is worsening. If this continues… you will not survive three more years. Why not dual cultivate with the princess? It would balance your energy, perhaps even heal you."
Tai Jian's hand paused on the canvas. His voice was soft, but unyielding.
"She is not a cauldron for me."
"Master," Xue Kai pressed, his tone heavier now, "have you forgotten why you married her in the first place?"
"I have not forgotten," Tai Jian replied, a faint smile on his lips. "But that was then. This is now. Many years have passed. I will not drag her deeper into this darkness. She has suffered enough."
"Yet you still sneak into her chambers every night to suppress her cold energy," Xue Kai snapped. "You slip her herbs infused with yang to keep her alive. And what of you, Master? Each night, her cold lessens while your yang burns fiercer. Soon, no yin herb will sustain you. Your life force will burn out before its time."
Tai Jian only smiled, lifting his painting for inspection. "Tell me, Xue Kai, what do you think of this?"
The guard clenched his fists. "You are impossible!" He turned sharply, storming toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Tai Jian asked casually.
"To find a way to extend your life, of course."
"Don't go kidnapping doctors this time," Tai Jian called after him.
Xue Kai froze in the doorway, his jaw tight. The last time Tai Jian had been wounded, he had kidnapped renowned physicians from across the continent, dragging them to Qin in desperation. He had been scolded for it endlessly afterward.
This time, he said nothing—only left with fire in his heart.
Alone, Tai Jian set aside his painting and gazed out the window at the waning sun.
The shadows believed him crippled. The court believed him irrelevant. His wife believed him a coward.
Let them.
For within the silence, his fire only grew.
And soon, the flames hidden in the shadows would burn the world anew.