Inside the warship, Zhao Yuying and Song Zining sat in a quiet cabin. The moment the door was sealed, the smile on Yuying’s face vanished without a trace, clouded with displeasure, her voice brimming with undisguised killing intent, “When did this happen? And by who?”
Song Zining sighed lightly as he replied, “This was perhaps—unintentional. As for the causes long back then, no one knows—not even Qianye himself. At the root of it, did all of this not stem originally from the actions of your Zhao family?”
Zhao Yuying hummed, saying, “That business from Qianye’s childhood has already been settled. But pray tell—what unexpected event do you speak of?”
At once, Song Zining recounted in detail the past ambush the “Red Scorpio Force” faced when it was entirely wiped out during a critical mission. After listening, Zhao Yuying for a long time could find no words to reply—an extended breath finally emerged.
In war and strife as warriors serving the Empire, it was inevitable. After all, could Zhao Yuying, ranked only beneath the royal princesses or young Prince in prestige, avoid enduring the fires of blood and blade?
From the dawn of its founding, scions of the Empire maintained the custom of leading from the frontlines—how else would humanity’s ascendancy arise while constantly besieged in perpetual night? Without their predecessors laid bare by spear and blade as foundation against all savage forces, how could the realm have expanded this far today?
Joining the Red Scorpion implied battlefield participation for Qianye—through two great warring factions that clashed over a thousand years, ambushes unfolded by hundreds within every conceivable method of war.
Even Zhao Yuying had once heard murmurs echoing of this decisive catastrophe the Red Scorpio once faced. Yet so much time had passed, tracing the source proved now nearly impossible. Even an effort of exploration bore possibilities it ended not through negligence, but calculated sabotage.
Despite now knowing how everything unfolded, the weight on Yuying’s chest did not dissipate—rather it sunk heavier into her bones.
By some hidden arcane method, perhaps Qianye had hidden his vampire lineage—however, such unnatural camouflage could not endure indefinitely, could it?
It just so happened both Song Zining and she were close by on this occasion—but imagine another moment with different presences present? Could the Empire truly maintain only one attitude toward vampires?
Growing more restless, Zhao Yuying’s piercing eyes suddenly locked onto Song Zining, demanding directly, “Earlier, saving Xiao Wu, surely thoughts ran through your twisted mind—that if I stood in your way, you would strike her down?”
Startled immediately, a wave of cold hostility struck Zining’s senses, prompting hurried defenses as he said, “That act—it was truly done for Qianye’s sake…”
Yet he was missing Yuying’s actual intent—Zhao Yuying’s glare only sharpened, her tone rising. “So that means, do you really imagine taking down this mad woman to be feasible?”
He instantly recognized his folly—quickly clarifying. “Absence of will is the furthest from my tongue, Yuying elder sister. Hear me out, let me clarify… please keep fists at bay!”
Of coursе, Zhao was no longer in the mode for discussions and launched at Song. In no time at all shrieks and pleas erupted through the tight halls, echoing far beyond its steel bulkheads.
With engines at maximum, the war-freighter flew past the Third Defensive Line swiftly reaching its crucial fortress. With a brief pause it jettisoned over a hundred seasoned warriors before climbing again into the void—headed back into depths owned purely by the Zhao Dynasty.
Far below within the ramparts, Zhao Funlei burst out abruptly from the high citadel in haste; gloom marked each furrowed brow as he watched departing vessels fade into distance.
Grasping the shoulders of nearby men, thunder rumbled in his question, “Yuying! Was the elder Zhao miss present aboard that convey?”
One returning officer recently debrief reported, “Miss Zhao sustained injuries too critical to continue combat; she retreated together upon our war-ship,”.
A stunned pause followed—”Injured? How could Zhao Yuying suffer grievous damage?”
The plan previously mapped saw Zhao Yuying in support position along secondary bulwark, afterward entrenched within this, the final line where she bore little danger—an arrangement orchestrated by Funlei himself. Indeed, another silent hope had bloomed: shared combat glory between them.
But now how could this minor soldier explain—what could he possibly answer!
Zhao Funlei’s own temper ignited suddenly—his frustration exploded as an uncontrolled growl, “Incompetent waste!”
The other officer—face reddening as hands clenched—tremble beneath injustice’s burden.
He had fought valiantly through nearly impossible survival against second bulwark’s overwhelming horde, now returned anew to fight for third’s fate—the kind marked by sacrifice eternally in battle—how dare he be thusly abused without merit?
Yet Zhao Funlei, son born of Viscount’s House lineage—a man whose pride never knew submission—now faced the very storm of warriors whose survival had cost every breath.
The ripple was undeniable—resentment echoed around as warriors who’d just barely escaped their mortal fates saw their comrades insulted unjustly before their eyes.
Zhao’s mind suddenly clarified, realizing the error in casting blame so carelessly.
Yey he always wore pride heavier than his sword. Under so many eyes, to bow and apologize—to a mere soldier—was not a step he’d force from his will, not now, not here. Thus snappily dismissing everyone with a grunt, strode back into main stronghold’s chamber silently.
Atop the war-bulky vessel again, Qianye, Zhao, and Song each isolated in individual chambers entered their own cultivation states.
Qianye induced boiling his warrior blood to mend himself but even so found origin energy depleted.
Zhao and Song’s states bore even worse prospects—severely debilitated through heavy blood loss demanding immediate attention before their systems could regain balance.
Despite her outward composure, every liter Zhao sacrificed while mending Qianye’s wounds held origin force essence embedded, leaving her entirely spent—not even fit to withstand simple combat maneuver now; returning alongside vessel wasn’t merely retreat—it was her body’s unavoidable call.
Shortly after beginning however, Qianye broke from meditation, stepping outside once sufficiently stable.
No blood essences were available here to restore his reserves rapidly—the scale his “Taishang Fighting Method” consumed risked disrupting the war-ship’s balance.
A slight recovery offered him freedom otherwise he would meditate relentlessly without rest.
Opening the door Qianye’s eyes instantly met Song’s waiting patiently immediately outside—the shock evident—his expression shifted into mild concern; “Zining? Why hast thou forsaken cultivation to recover thy wounds instead?”
“Illnesses minor, none so dire. There exists however matters I’d discuss urgently.”
A suspicious line deepened upon hearing this from Qianye; “You truly consider this issue dire enough to interrupt your healing process?”
After all Song had entered this vessel already bruised from fortress defenses.
With significant energy siphoned from internal reserves, his wound states bore heavier damage than what currently limited Qianye.
Still, Song insisted. “Let’s first enter. Then proceed.”
Closing his chambers behind him while Zining seated himself abruptly, sweat suddenly emerged upon his forehead. Surprise flashed Qianye’s expression, “Brother…what ailments still plague thee?”
“Adrenal terror,” Song replied bitterly, recomposing.
He continued, “Thankfully the present savior was our dear elder sister Yuying. If others had come calling instead—who knows if I would not have acted rashly already in the heat.”
Qianye responded simply with an equally low tone; “Yuying has…learned the truths, then.”
“You shared half her blood—could she really avoid discovery now?” Song answered. “Nonetheless, it proved your special relationship saved you—how else would one willingly bleed themselves so thoroughly for a sibling?”
Another long breathe left as thoughts wandered Qianye, his heart filled with appreciation. If Yuying, Jundu’s steadfast trust, Junhao’s valor, Ruxian’s clarity—had those figures not reached to bridge ancient vendetta, would he really have stepped once more into ancestral lands bearing Zhao names anew?
Meanwhile Song’s legs betrayed nervous agitation, forcing him to his feet pacing restlessly within cramped quarters. As he circled again he voiced, “I’ve thought on this repeatedly and each time I return—your battlefield behavior in both engagements felt… off rhythm.”
“You do not move as a true-blooded Man should!”
Another slow exhale— Qianye responded, “It maximizes both efficiency, endurance on field—each I kill, means brothers I can preserve.”
Yet Song snapped in rebuke, “What foolish naivéty is this!? Believe us, you to have avoided observers entirely? What of our elder war commanders who live for slaying vampire legions decade after decadе—how could they fail recognize classic superior blood techniques if enacted before their own eyes!? What if amongst us hides some saboteur with hidden intent? If such eyes catch you mid-attack?”
Qianye sighed, “Yet amidst battle’s storm where death walks hand-in-hand with glory…what could possibly run through minds then, amid life’s final flicker? Besides—if blood abilities had never intervened that day, you would likely no longer bear breath today. One shot to you likely equals bisect your very body.”
Song fumed further speechless but relented into exasperation—yielding reluctantly his point. “Well, I say again—regardless, when engaging future foes—keep vampiric essence at bay. Even if it seems improbable—you cannot ever afford complacent hope of being unobserved.”
Qianye countered. “Do those I slew from Dark Races grant such suspicions? Furthermore, within those conflicts—every surrounding ally belonged strictly to the Zhao dynasty’s elite.”
But as rebut began— Song cut in harsh tones dismissing the thought.
“You say loyal Zhao warriors, hmm? Listen then truth—before even your Yuying gained this status—I distrusted all involved regarding your matters.”
He left the words suspended, heavy in air.
Song continued with grave tones. “Qianye hear now—a truism I learned from time’s lessons. Anything able to go catastrophes will. Therefore, regarding the exposure of who you truly are: one cannot possibly exercise care overly cautious within battle—there is not enough!”
Now frowning in contemplation Qianye replied quietly. “Are you truly suggesting watch my brethren die in silence—while turning into an impassive specter merely because of fears?”
Song now gesticulated angrily while emphasizing passionately; “And do I, not wear the skin of brother either?”
“Think further—if your identity leaks…if they hunt the Empire’s full wrath after the blood traitor Qianye! What of you…? What of Yuying, or night-shadowing Nightingale herself?” Song paused, exasperation rising again. “Would you wish for her—and myself—do stand to confront your fate in defiance…of every order from the very Empire which raised us?”
This last question steeled the atmosphere.
Qianye silently remained mute as thunder without.
Song only added one phrase before slamming the exit behind him.
Within Blackwater City bustling with countless passersby came the calmness brought by the bright noontime sun, when the masses spilled to enjoy light rare on such cold nights, bringing joyous energy to every district within walls.
Yet at one corner of the covert agency base ‘Dark Flame,” an elegant inner courtyard housed a lone woman.
Nightingale held a book aloft beneath dappled sunlight—so immersed by the reading her mind floated elsewhere.
Sunlight glowed around delicate brows—giving her the look of an angel’s aura encircling a pale goddess in repose.
A gentle knock at the gateway broke that moment’s stillness.
Rising she pulled it open and revealed the one visitor she hadn’t foreseen: “Nanhua! Did you not accompany Zining on his war-faring today?”
The young lady just outside was in deed none other than Madam Song herself—or, at least, so she had appeared over this past period alongside Song’s name.
She smiled lightly:
“Around here, whispers abound—he now heads towards dangerous front lines, wouldn’t my accompaniment serve only as burdensome entanglement in those perilous moments best left behind? Better remain here where I await patiently for Zining shall return to me as always,”
Barely hidden sorrow seeped beneath Nanhua’s sweet faççade, echoing with the silent reality. Everyone knew the reputation surrounding young Lord Song, surrounded perpetually in company with beauty’s entourage across the lands; many eyed enviously at her status, only to hide beneath laughter at her folly when unguarded moments revealed themselves.
Nightingale chuckled at the remark. “Forgive my surprise…I nearly forgot such grace. Please, come take the seat by me—tea still warms.”
Nightingale lifted the porcelain tea pot, pouring the green stream from rim into her waiting cup.
A slender, unbroken emerald jet flowed, controlled in tempo.
The motion steady yet delicate.
Nanhua observed silently while the scene mesmerized. Then—quite unexpectantly said aloud in awe: “Ah what divine elegance surrounds thy essence.”
This caught Nightingale unaware—eyes raised, surprise etched within voice as she questioned: “What? Hmmm…”
Unfaced beneath mask Nightingale only held average appearances—now what could this stranger mean?
Yet undeterred Nanhua stared, lost again in wonder: “Even now…you are still…so beautiful…”
Checking her own being carefully Nightingale was even more baffled as confirmed no supernatural blood aura emerged from within, for never before had she dared to employ those vampirous allurements on those around—there truly couldn’t be an answer here.
But this unawareness blinded Nightingale from a different truth—her quiet, still reading posture cultivated a tranquil elegance—infused subtly with innate haughty authority into aristocratic sophistication, long cultivated unconsciously into regal grace as the most noble bloodlines of vampire clans possessed.
She no linger relied only on appearance—for Nightingale’s every movement and gaze was now infused with legendary radiance.
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