Crimson Nine drew a small, dark atomizer from her sleeve—a "scent neutralizer" she had just synthesized using the tactical bracer to extract and concentrate several potent medicinal herbs. With a light mist over the Snow Mountain Ginseng, the alluring, sweet fragrance was instantly replaced by a faint, almost imperceptible scent of char, before fading into absolute nothingness.
"Your Highness, since the State Preceptor wants to see where his 'butterflies' fly, let us point them toward a scenic route."
From a micro-storage compartment in her bracer, Crimson Nine produced a transparent, gelatinous substance. This was a high-fidelity synthetic pheromone, originally designed for modern insect trapping. She carefully transferred the phosphorescent powder from the ginseng onto the gel, her movements as precise as a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
"Shadow Blade, enter," she called out softly.
She took the pheromone gel, now laced with the tracking powder, and discreetly tucked it into the inner folds of a handkerchief left behind by that morning's arrogant palace official.
Crimson Nine turned to Xiao Zhan, her eyes sharp as blades. "Have Shadow Blade return this handkerchief to the Imperial Observatory. Remember, do not leave it in Xing Chen's bedchamber. Drop it near the 'Pit of a Hundred Insects,' where he breeds those tracking butterflies."
Xiao Zhan understood instantly, a flash of admiration crossing his handsome face. If the tracking powder returned to the source, the butterflies would fall into a frenzied loop. The Preceptor's "divination" would not only fail but lead him to believe there was a traitor within his own ranks.
Crimson Nine then tossed the poisonous ginseng into a lead-lined box to shield its chemical signature, replacing it with a common ginseng of the same shape.
"The play for the betrothal is over, Your Highness. When the Preceptor wakes tomorrow to find his butterflies circling his own doorstep, his expression will be a masterpiece."
Watching her efficient, ruthless methods, Xiao Zhan felt a surge of excitement. For the first time, he felt he had found a true intellectual equal. He stood up, and though he still covered a light cough, his posture was as straight and unyielding as bamboo.
"Ning'er, I find myself looking forward to the day we set foot in Zhanchuan more than ever."
[The Second Prince's Manor: An Abyss of Envy]
Inside the Second Prince's estate, exquisite porcelain lay shattered across the floor, accompanied by the harsh sound of tearing silk. Servants knelt in the corridors, trembling, terrified to even draw a loud breath.
"I don't believe it! What does that sickly ghost Xiao Zhan have that I don't?" Xiao Yu's eyes were bloodshot as he hurled a priceless antique inkstone against the ground. "Chu Zhaoning was meant to be my primary consort! She belongs to me!"
Ever since witnessing her peerless spirit at the palace banquet, Xiao Yu had been possessed. His mind was filled with the image of her in white—her cold, arrogant, and disdainful gaze in the garden. He had forgotten how he once humiliated her; he only felt that Xiao Zhan had swooped in to steal his treasure.
He obsessively believed that her coldness was merely lingering anger over the broken engagement. He thought that if he just lowered his guard and humbled himself, she would eventually come crying for his forgiveness.
"Your Highness, please calm yourself..." a trusted advisor urged under the heavy pressure. "The Emperor's decree is set, and you are still under house arrest. If this causes a scene, Noble Consort Zhao will have a difficult time explaining it to the Emperor."
"Explain? My mother only tells me to endure!" Xiao Yu kicked over a chair, his face darkening. "So Xiao Zhan is going to Zhanchuan? Fine. That godforsaken place is far from the Emperor's reach. 'Accidents' happen easily there. What I cannot have, he shall not hold in peace!"
He turned abruptly, his voice chillingly grim. "Contact the people out there. I want Chu Zhaoning to know that in this kingdom, only I can protect her. Only I... am worthy of possessing her. As for Xiao Zhan—let that sickly ghost actually die on the road!"
[The Imperial Observatory: The Pit of a Hundred Insects]
State Preceptor Xing Chen woke to a strange, restless vibration.
It wasn't the wind, nor the footsteps of an attendant. It was the sound of insects.
Tens of thousands of tracking butterflies were fluttering their wings in the cellar. The sound, which should have been a rhythmic, subtle drone, had become frantic and chaotic, like thousands of restless hearts beating out of sync.
Xing Chen snapped his eyes open. "What is happening?"
He threw on his robes and hurried out. Before he even stepped out of the inner hall, his nose caught a faint, nearly non-existent scent that made the hair on his neck stand on end.
The tracking powder. The phosphorescent scent he had personally formulated to mark his prey. It should have been on Chu Zhaoning, or the ginseng sent to the General's Manor.
"Impossible..."
He rushed to the Pit of a Hundred Insects. When the doors swung open, his breath hitched.
Thousands of butterflies were spiraling in a mad, overlapping cloud, colliding with one another in a corner of the cellar door, as if pulled by an invisible thread. They weren't chasing a distant prey. They were swarming a discarded palace handkerchief lying on the stone steps.
The handkerchief lay there, pristine and white, yet in his spiritual perception, it radiated a "mark" a hundred times more intense than Chu Zhaoning herself.
A chill ran down Xing Chen's spine to the crown of his head. What did this mean? It meant the mark had been transferred. The target had been "decoyed." And he, the caster, had been completely oblivious!
"Someone... is using my own craft to deceive me." Xing Chen slowly raised his hand, his fingertips trembling with a mixture of rage and shock.
This wasn't a feat of brute force. To transfer the mark without alerting the butterflies, to mask the scent and then lure it back to the source—the opponent didn't just understand medicine; they understood the very logic of his occult arts.
In fact, they understood "tracking" better than he did.
The Preceptor's gaze locked onto the handkerchief. It belonged to the female official sent by the Second Prince's Manor yesterday.
"A mole..."
Once the thought surfaced, it could not be erased.
The butterflies continued to spin in a mad, closed loop—a dead end. For the first time, Xing Chen felt a tremor of doubt in his infallible "Heavenly Calculation."
And in a place he could not see, Crimson Nine stood on the balcony of the General's Manor, looking toward the Observatory with a cold, mocking smile. She was going to drag the entire Imperial Observatory into a "Cognitive Hell" of her own design.