Chapter Twelve: The Unforeseen Symbol

The Crown Prince’s tone was as if seeking counsel, speaking softly, “General Shen, I do have a plan now, but I wonder if you would agree to it.”

“Your Highness, please share your thoughts freely.”

“The second young lady is indeed born of a concubine, but her mother passed away long ago, and her background is pitiable. If General Shen could take pity on her plight and register her under the name of the primary madam, then the second young lady would be recognized as a legitimate daughter and could marry into the Eastern Palace as the legitimate consort.”

Upon hearing this, Shen Fengmo’s face betrayed no emotion, as calm and unfathomable as a deep, dark lake, yet inside, turmoil churned.

To be fair, the Crown Prince’s idea was quite clever: adopting the illegitimate daughter into the primary madam’s name would grant her the status of a legitimate child on paper, while still distinguishing her from the true legitimate daughter. This compromise allowed both the Crown Prince and the Shen family to achieve mutual benefit, skillfully avoiding the Emperor’s suspicions. Undoubtedly, it was a brilliant move for both sides.

But what about Shen Ningshuang? What of his wife?

The Crown Prince would rather elevate a concubine’s daughter’s status than honor the marriage pact. How would Shen Ningshuang ever remarry in the future?

And as for his wife, not only would her biological daughter suffer injustice, but she would also have to accept an illegitimate daughter recorded under her name. How could she ever be willing to accept such a thing?

Though the family’s interests were paramount, Shen Fengmo was not a man without heart.

“Your Highness, your proposal is clear to me. However, this matter is of great importance and concerns my daughter’s entire life. I must discuss it thoroughly with my family and weigh it carefully. I hope Your Highness will understand.”

Bowing slightly, Shen Fengmo spoke respectfully but with unmistakable firmness.

Discuss? What was there left to discuss? This was clearly the best option at hand.

Yet having reached this point, the Crown Prince, though displeased, could not press further and could only patiently offer a few more persuasive words before departing with a sullen air.

After his departure, Shen Fengmo looked up at the sky and sighed heavily.

He bore the honor and destiny of the entire Shen family on his shoulders; every step was like walking on thin ice, allowing no mistakes.

Marriage into the Crown Prince’s family was a gamble. If the Crown Prince ascended the throne smoothly, given his nature, it was uncertain whether he would not betray those who helped him once he no longer needed them. If disaster struck and the Crown Prince fell from power, the Shen family would be dragged into an abyss of ruin, their end miserable beyond measure.

The greater the responsibility, the heavier the sacrifice. It seemed that one of his two daughters was destined to become a victim in this game of power—and in the worst scenario, perhaps both would suffer.

In the current situation, where should the Shen family turn?

The study was silent, yet it seemed to reverberate with countless unspoken words of helplessness and sorrow.

At this moment, Shen Ningshuang moved like a ghost in the night—light and silent.

She weaved through the alleys of the imperial city, her eyes sharp as an eagle’s, searching for any trace the black-clad men might have left behind.

She arrived near the north gate, in a narrow alley where the black-clad men had last vanished.

Crouching down, she gently touched a dark stain on the ground.

It was a bloodstain—already dried but still faintly smelling of rust.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to glean more information from this faint scent.

Her brow furrowed tightly. These black-clad men were clearly no ordinary thieves. What was their true purpose?

Rising, she continued deeper into the alley.

Her gaze searched every shadow until she noticed something unusual.

On an old wall, there was an inconspicuous mark, seemingly drawn with charcoal—a simple symbol.

Approaching it, her heartbeat quickened slightly.

As time passed, the questions in her heart surged like a rising tide, growing deeper and more intense.

She clearly recognized this symbol; its familiar form was burned like a brand in her mind.

But it should not have appeared here, not at this moment!

It was as if the calm river of fate suddenly rose in violent waves, ruthlessly shattering the established order and plunging all predetermined paths into chaos.

Could it be that the affairs of this mortal world were changing because of her decisions?

Like the butterfly effect.

She did not linger longer and quickly left.

Back at her residence, she took up brush and ink to sketch the symbol.

The last time she had seen this symbol was in her past life, used often by a certain man.

Yet in this life, according to fate’s design, it was far too early for him to have appeared; the timeline simply did not match.

If these black-clad men were his agents, that seemed utterly absurd.

Staring at the symbol on the paper, her brow remained furrowed, her mind tangled with thoughts.

Memories from her past life flooded back like a tide, and the image of that man grew clearer in her mind.

His smile, his gaze, his voice—everything replayed as though it were yesterday.

She sighed deeply. She knew she needed answers.

She needed to know if this man had truly appeared in her life ahead of time.

She needed to know whether the fate of this mortal world had already been altered.

The residence of Leng Yichen, usually quiet but not devoid of life, was today shrouded in a veil of silence.

The Emperor’s punishment weighed heavily like an iron shackle; the order of house arrest was a rope binding Leng Yichen tightly within these walls.

For days, he had secluded himself in his study.

The servants in the mansion tread cautiously, fearful of provoking him.

Night had fallen thick and heavy like black ink.

Leng Yichen sat silently at his desk, statuesque, his vacant gaze fixed upon a painting before him, his eyes revealing a complex, unfathomable emotion.

The painting depicted a young girl.

She wore a cloak, her entire form bathed in pale moonlight, save for her lips, bright red as fire, as she played a jade-green flute.

That day, if not for this mysterious girl’s timely rescue, Leng Yichen would likely have perished.

Since then, he had sought tirelessly for any clue about this woman, but found none.

As for the winged creature that had suddenly appeared that day, Leng Yichen did not find it too strange.

From childhood, he had cultivated in solitude, learning to transform the spiritual energy of heaven and earth for his own use. This was a secret buried deep within his heart.

Though he did not know who had guided him onto this path, he knew it was greatly beneficial.

He had pored over countless ancient texts, and in those mysterious writings discovered that this path potentially led to immortality.

In a world where legends of immortals existed, the presence of monsters was not so unbelievable.

Thus, when he saw the winged creature that day, though his heart stirred, he did not doubt its existence.

But this woman—was she, too, a cultivator striving for immortality?

His mind churned with confusion and questions.