Mo Zhaoyuan walked slightly ahead, leading them up the wooden stairs of the inn.
The old wooden floor creaked softly with every step. The scent of damp wood and lamp oil lingered in the air. Behind him, there were only two people—a robed young man and a large-built man with heavy footsteps.
He did not look back.
Yet from the restrained breathing and the slightly unsteady steps, Mo Zhaoyuan knew one thing for certain.
The person he was protecting was gravely injured.
He stopped in front of a room on the second floor—the room at the very end of the corridor.
Far from the crowd, with thick walls and only a single entrance.
A reasonable choice for someone who did not wish to be noticed.
"This is the room, Young Master," Mo Zhaoyuan said with a slight bow. His hand lifted to open the door, then stopped, waiting for instructions.
Chen Yu glanced toward the robed youth beside him.
Lin Shuyuan stood silently. From beneath the hood, his eyes observed Mo Zhaoyuan carefully—not the gaze of a master judging a servant, but that of someone weighing possibilities.
That face.
That expression.
Even his height.
Too similar.
"Enter," Lin Shuyuan finally said, his voice weak yet controlled. "You as well."
Mo Zhaoyuan lifted his head slightly, as if surprised.
"Y–Young Master?" he asked hesitantly.
"I don't want anyone else coming in and out of this room," Lin Shuyuan continued. "You've seen my condition. Prepare some water, then stay inside."
A simple reason.
Logical.
And not suspicious.
Mo Zhaoyuan bowed deeper.
"Yes, Young Master."
He opened the door and stepped inside first.
The moment the door closed behind them, the noise of the inn was completely cut off.
Inside the narrow room, there were only three people.
A severely injured young master.
A vigilant guard.
And a servant whose face was far too similar to be called coincidence.
Mo Zhaoyuan walked to the table and poured water with steady movements.
Yet beneath that calm exterior, his mind was already forming a complete picture.
He carefully placed the cup on the table.
His hands did not tremble.
But his eyes moved—slowly, almost imperceptibly—observing the two people in the room.
The angle of the scabbard leaned slightly forward—not a parade stance, but a killing stance.
That sword was not for decoration.
And Chen Yu was no ordinary guard.
Mo Zhaoyuan lowered his head slightly and spoke in the hesitant tone of a servant.
"Young Master… your injuries seem serious. Should I call a physician now?"
Lin Shuyuan smiled faintly beneath his hood—a smile meant to appear calm, yet unable to fully conceal the pain in his eyes.
"No need to rush," he replied.
"We'll call for a physician after resting a bit."
Chen Yu stood beside the bed as before, while Lin Shuyuan sat at its edge, one hand pressing against the bandage on his chest.
Several seconds passed in silence.
Then Lin Shuyuan spoke again.
"You… look like me."
Mo Zhaoyuan lowered his head even more.
"Many people have said that, Young Master."
Lin Shuyuan let out a small laugh, followed immediately by a light cough. Chen Yu instinctively moved forward, only to be stopped by a hand gesture.
"It's fine," Lin Shuyuan said.
Then he looked at Mo Zhaoyuan seriously.
"I need your help."
Mo Zhaoyuan slowly raised his head, his gaze empty, as if merely listening to a master's command.
"What kind of help, Young Master?"
Lin Shuyuan took a deep breath.
"For a while… you will replace me."
The room fell silent.
Chen Yu was not surprised, as if he had already anticipated this, and he did not object.
Mo Zhaoyuan did not react immediately. He merely tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand the meaning.
"Replace… you, Young Master?"
"Yes," Lin Shuyuan replied softly. "Only temporarily."
He continued, forcing his tone to remain calm.
"I'm injured. And this injury… is not ordinary. If word gets out, people will take advantage of my condition."
Mo Zhaoyuan remained silent.
Yet in his mind, the fragments began to assemble.
An experienced guard.
Severe injuries.
A remote city.
Secrecy.
Lin Shuyuan continued, as if reading the doubt on the servant's face.
"You only need to appear outside. Show yourself. Walk around. Eat. Speak only when necessary."
"No fighting. No decision-making."
He stared straight at Mo Zhaoyuan.
"Once my injuries heal… you will return to being yourself. I will give you enough gold to live comfortably for the rest of your life."
Chen Yu finally spoke, his voice heavy.
"The Young Master is not lying. This is only to buy time."
Mo Zhaoyuan lowered his head again.
But this time, not out of respect.
He already understood everything.
The real danger was not external enemies.
It was the internal conflict of the family itself.
If Lin Shuyuan truly recovered, then this 'temporary substitute' would become the only living proof that he had once been weak.
And proof… is always erased.
Mo Zhaoyuan slowly raised his head.
"And if I refuse?" he asked quietly.
Lin Shuyuan's gaze hardened for a moment, then softened again.
"Nothing will happen," he said.
"You'll still be given money. We'll move to another inn."
A reasonable answer.
Too reasonable.
Mo Zhaoyuan smiled slightly—a nervous, almost innocent servant's smile.
"I understand, Young Master."
His gaze shifted to Lin Shuyuan's waist, to the silk hair tie.
"If I am to play the role of the Young Master… may I ask for one small thing?"
Lin Shuyuan frowned. "What is it?"
"That hair tie," Mo Zhaoyuan said quickly, sounding eager.
"So my appearance will be more convincing. I… want to do it perfectly."
Lin Shuyuan hesitated.
The request was reasonable.
Even beneficial.
"Take it," he said at last.
Mo Zhaoyuan stepped closer.
One step.
Two steps.
Chen Yu watched him, but did not move.
And at that distance—
Mo Zhaoyuan suddenly shifted sideways.
His hand shot toward Chen Yu's left waist.
A clean draw.
The sword left its sheath.
And before anyone could react, it pierced Lin Shuyuan's throat.
Blood sprayed.
Every scenario Lin Shuyuan had imagined for his death…
not a single one involved an emotionless servant standing before him.
Mo Zhaoyuan watched Lin Shuyuan die without expression, as if nothing had happened.
No guilt.
No regret.
No pleasure.
Only a hollow emptiness.
Chen Yu reacted instantly and grabbed Mo Zhaoyuan by the throat.
Before, his Young Master had only been injured.
Now, his Young Master was dead.
He could already imagine it—returning alive would be far worse than death.
The torture awaiting him filled him with despair.
Escape was not an option.
He knew the power of the Northern Sword Clan.
Even if he fled to the ends of the world, they would hunt him down.
Yet even in a life-and-death situation, Mo Zhaoyuan showed no fear.
With difficulty, his neck constricted, he spoke.
"The world only needs Lin Shuyuan. Whoever plays that role—who cares?"
Chen Yu's grip loosened.
"If you die…" his voice was hoarse,
"who will become Lin Shuyuan?"
Mo Zhaoyuan looked at him.
His gaze was empty—as if the question itself was foolish.
"Isn't it obvious?" he said flatly.
"No one."
Then he added, without the slightest change in tone.
"And we will all die."
No smile.
No anger.
No threat.
And precisely because of that, the words sounded absolute.
Chen Yu released his grip.
"I have one last question," he said heavily. "Why did you kill the Young Master? If you replaced him, wouldn't your life be like heaven compared to now?"
Mo Zhaoyuan slowly shook his head.
"For a while, yes," he replied calmly.
"But do you really think he would let me live after everything that happened?"
Chen Yu did not answer.
Mo Zhaoyuan continued, his voice steady, as if stating irrefutable facts.
"I more or less understood everything the moment you entered. I saw your lifeless expression—until you saw me, when hope returned to your eyes like a drowning man seeing a lifeline. Then when you brought your Young Master in, I observed him as well. Even beneath the cloak, I could see a man who had been resigned to death suddenly regain vitality."
Chen Yu felt his throat dry.
"From there, my questions were no longer curiosity, but confirmation. You come from a powerful clan, sect, or noble family. This mission was meant to give your Young Master achievements and prestige."
Chen Yu clenched his fists, remaining silent.
"Your Young Master was gravely injured and resigned. But you too shared that same despair. His expression made sense—but why yours? There is only one explanation: your Young Master is a favored child. Even a minor injury could mean your mission failed, and you would be executed."
His breath caught.
"Thus, if he returned uninjured, he would be a threat to the other candidates. But if he returned gravely wounded, an opportunity no one would miss would appear."
Mo Zhaoyuan looked straight at Chen Yu.
"There is no need to think further. His death was already guaranteed the moment he returned like this."
Chen Yu stood frozen.
The man before him was not guessing.
He was assembling inevitable conclusions.
After a long silence, Chen Yu asked,
"You will replace the Young Master. But what about your identity as a servant? The original servant is dead."
Mo Zhaoyuan stared at him for a moment.
Then he poured the water on the table onto Chen Yu's clothes.
Chen Yu was startled, confused.
"Just say the servant spilled water on you, you got angry, and killed him," Mo Zhaoyuan said coldly. "Who would care about the death of a lowly servant?"
He continued,
"Give the innkeeper some compensation, say you'll dispose of the body yourself, then come back here."
After some time alone, the door opened again. Chen Yu returned with a strange expression.
The innkeeper had not grieved.
He had smiled—simply because he was paid one tael of gold.
A life worth less than a tael.
"Explain the Young Master's family in detail," Mo Zhaoyuan said, now dressed as Lin Shuyuan, pointing at the corpse.
Chen Yu explained everything—the mission, Lin Shuyuan's position in the Northern Sword Clan, and the internal conflicts.
Only after Chen Yu finished did Mo Zhaoyuan speak.
"So, the eldest is Lin Yixue, a gifted female martial artist backed by the Murong Clan. Though firstborn, she is only a candidate."
"The second is Lin Wenhao, who controls most of the family's finances and intelligence, supported by the Jade Prosperity Pavilion."
"The third is Lin Ziyu, now an imperial official backed by the Emperor of Yan."
"The fifth is Lin Beichen… an illegitimate child, born from schemes after Lin Cangjian fell into despair."
Mo Zhaoyuan processed the information.
He had two choices.
Return injured, keeping the guards alive.
Or return uninjured—and kill them all.
"Are the other guards outside the city?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
"Yes," Chen Yu replied.
"If you fought them all, could you kill every one of them?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked calmly.
After a long silence, Chen Yu answered,
"Yes."
"Then eliminate them all and return," Mo Zhaoyuan ordered indifferently.
"Understood."
Chen Yu left.
Mo Zhaoyuan stared out the window, expressionless, as sunlight illuminated the corpse of Lin Shuyuan.
A role… now waiting to be filled.