"Gulp… gulp… ha!"
Lucien staggered toward the gates of the Heaven Dou Imperial Palace, wine jar clutched tightly in his hand.
"Stop!"
A squad of royal cavalry rode into position, blocking his path.
"Which bastard dares to stroll up to the palace like this!"
Swish—
Steel gleamed as every guard drew their blade, encircling the drunken intruder.
Lucien hiccupped, then grinned lazily. "Oh? You want to fight? I love fighting."
"Defying royal authority? Arrest this drunkard!" barked the guard captain.
But the instant Lucien unsheathed his sword, a blast of Sword Qi rippled outward. Black flames licked the blade, and the horses neighed in terror, rearing violently.
Chaos erupted in their ranks. Even the captain's knees weakened as that terrifying pressure shattered his fighting spirit.
"Enough!"
A commanding voice rang out.
"Your Highness!" The guards instantly sank to one knee, heads bowed.
"Ha! My little Xuexue!" Lucien roared happily, staggering forward and gripping Xue Qinghe in a bear hug.
"…Little…?"
Xue Qinghe's expression stiffened. To be hugged so brazenly in front of the entire palace garrison—and called something so ambiguous—it made her heart skip for the wrong reasons.
"Brother Lucien," she managed, forcing a smile. "Did you come to see me?"
Lucien laughed carelessly. "Of course! I came to drink with you."
"Then why didn't you use the token I gave you last time?"
Lucien blinked. "Token? Don't remember."
Xue Qinghe faltered. She could have sworn she'd given him one when they drank together before. Was she misremembering because of the alcohol? Forget it.
Removing the jade pendant from her neck—a swan etched in gold—she handed it to him. "Here. With this, you can visit me anytime."
Lucien pressed the pendant to his lips with a loud slurp. "Smooth and milky! Haha—come on, Xuexue. Let's drink!"
With a firm hand around her shoulders, he practically dragged the crown prince back toward the palace.
"Brother Lucien," Xue Qinghe said stiffly, "next time we hug, could you not touch my backside?"
"…."
The guards behind could only gape, faces full of disbelief. Their carefully trained warhorses had panicked before that black sword—yet this drunkard threw an arm around the noble crown prince and called him Xuexue.
The relationship looked… very odd.
…
…
Inside the palace.
"You didn't come just to drink, did you?" Xue Qinghe asked, eyes narrowing slightly. She knew better—Lucien was the type who never came early unless there was profit involved.
"Gulp, gulp… ha!" He belched. "Didn't you say I could drink with you whenever I like?"
"Of course. As long as you wish."
"Good! Then I'll stay here tonight."
"Cough—" Xue Qinghe nearly sprayed out his drink. "T-that's… inconvenient."
"Inconvenient?" Lucien waved him off. "Your bed's huge. Fits two, easy!"
Her heart nearly stopped. "No!"
"Stingy…" Lucien sighed dramatically. "Fine, then. Just give me two jars of wine. I'm going out traveling soon—I need something for the road."
Xue Qinghe's eyes flashed. So this was it. He came for more wine.
"No problem. I'll have someone fetch it—"
"No! I'll go myself." Lucien slung an arm over her shoulders. "You lead the way."
And so she did.
When the enormous royal wine cellar opened before them, Lucien's eyes lit up like a child in a candy shop.
"Do you have a Soul Guidance Device?" he asked eagerly.
"…Why?"
"To store wine, of course!"
Lucien only had one, and its space was pitiful. Normally he didn't mind, as long as he had enough jars for a day. But in front of a treasure trove like this? He couldn't let it slip by.
Xue Qinghe sighed. She could already see the outcome.
Hours passed. From afternoon until deep into the night, Lucien roamed the cellar, drinking and laughing as he stuffed hundreds of jars into multiple Soul Guidance Devices. Three in total, packed full.
And all Xue Qinghe could do was watch.
In the end, Lucien finally nodded in satisfaction. "That'll do. I'll drink these first, and when I'm back, I'll take more."
Her lips twitched. Take these first? You practically emptied the cellar...
Lucien then produced the soul bone Xue Beng had once given him, dropping it casually onto the table. "Here. This covers the exchange for your jars and soul guides."
Xue Qinghe raised an eyebrow. "So I lose hundreds of jars of wine and two soul guides, and all I get is this soul bone?"
"It's not even the attribute I want," Lucien dismissed with a wave. "Too gentle. Replace it for me sometime—with an explosive one."
Her mouth opened, then shut again. Replace it? Did he think she sold soul bones the way others sold fruit in the market?
Her protests went unheard.
Lucien had already slumped over, snoring in drunken peace.
Xue Qinghe pressed a hand to her forehead. Recruiting this boy wasn't like gaining an ally—it was like adopting a disaster.
Still, she found herself moving to lift him, dragging his tall frame onto a bed. It was late—too late to send him away.
For a moment, her gaze lingered. His face in sleep was breathtakingly perfect. The sharp jawline, the narrow eyes softened by the haze of drunkenness… even she, who rarely gave much thought to appearance, found her heartbeat unsteady.
Her eyes drifted lower—to the black sword lying beside him.
That weapon…
The day at the gates, when Lucien drew it, every specially trained warhorse had panicked. That sort of fear wasn't normal. She remembered clearly the overwhelming feeling rushing through her own chest the moment the blade was exposed. And now, it was right here.
Curiosity burned.
Carefully, silently, she extended her hand toward the sword's hilt.
Buzz—
A faint glow erupted.
Boom!
A burst of Sword Qi threw her violently back, slamming her into the wall.
She gasped, looking at her right arm. Black mist coiled tightly around it, suppressing her energy, suppressing even the holy light surging in her veins.
Her pupils shrank.
Her Martial Soul—the Seraphim. Symbol of god's light. The most sacred of the angel lineages. Yet here… completely suppressed.
"No… impossible…"
The pressure grew heavier. She felt her disguise shatter under the weight.
Tear!
Fabric ripped as golden wings spread forcibly from her back, tearing through her robes. Her features shifted, the illusion fading—
The straight bridge of her nose, the sharp yet graceful phoenix eyes, cascades of golden hair spilling down her back.
The "crown prince" dissolved in an instant.
What remained on the bed was no Xue Qinghe.
It was Qian Renxue, Seraphim heir.
And not by her choice—the Martial Soul had been forced out under this sword's oppressive power.