Yuan Wei slipped out of his room the moment the palace quieted. He'd barely slept, tossing and turning over the same maddening thought:
Where did the real me hide those damn papers?
The novel had never bothered to explain the details. One vague sentence near the end: "Yuan Wei fled with the documents in hand." That was it. No route. No hiding place. No clues.
And now, somehow, he had to find them before anyone else did.
He made his way toward the eastern wing, keeping his head down, pretending to admire the gardens like a peaceful young noble taking a morning stroll.
Inside, he was dying.
The hidden door was still on his mind — the dusty, vine-covered panel that he accidentally discovered yesterday. If the real Yuan had stashed anything important, it would be there.
He turned the corner—
—and froze.
Voices.
Two very familiar voices.
Prince Jian's calm, collected tone.
Prince Lei's lazy drawl.
They were standing right in front of the hidden door.
