The prince's voice drifted down from the window above.
"Right, servant?"
Xiao Liu tensed behind the shrubs, breath held, bramble digging into his limbs. He didn't move—couldn't.
His heart pounded so hard the ground must have felt it. His hand clenched around a twig—snap.
Idiot.
Stupid.
Zhixian's voice bore no hint of jest or confusion. He knew.
Inside, the other man's amused voice replied,
"You're getting paranoid, Kai. It's only been three days. You act like there are assassins under every leaf."
Because he was right.
Still, he dared not move—a twitch, a breath, and he was exposed.
Inside the room, the floor creaked—Zhixian was moving.
Toward the window.
Xiao Liu pressed flat beneath the stone sill.
From this angle, he couldn't see much beyond the glint of lantern light through the crack between the shutters.
He lay still, the cool earth leeching warmth from his skin.
Steps approached. Paused.
Then—nothing.
A long beat passed, and xiao liu slowly peeled open an eye, half expecting to see the prince in front of him.
Zhixian didn't speak again. For a moment, silence reigned, and then—perhaps satisfied or merely amused—the prince turned back. The sound of his boots moving away was maddeningly casual.
"Still. If I stay in this palace another week, I'll lose my mind. I can hear the walls breathing."
Lian gave a low chuckle. "You could ask His Majesty for leave. I brought a few leads with me from the border provinces. With your name, we could investigate directly."
Leads.
The word echoed like a hook in Xiao Liu's mind.
He wasn't just imagining it. Zhixian had something. Something worth investigating.
The brief hope bloomed — then soured.
Because that meant Zhixian might not know who was listening — but he knew someone was.
He was being toyed with.
He couldn't stay.
Xiao Liu began the slow crawl away, taking care not to disturb the dry brambles beneath him.
A misplaced footfall now would be fatal. It took him minutes to edge past the courtyard shrubs.
When he was clear, he rose and dusted himself off.
Just as he turned, torchlight flashed—armor. A patrolling soldier.
Shit.
A patrolling soldier rounded the garden bend, head turning toward him.
He dropped beside the well, grabbing a bucket and miming tired work. The soldier passed with a grunt.
Xiao Liu didn't exhale until the sound of footsteps faded.
When he finally reached the servant's hall, his tunic clung to him with sweat, and dirt caked his sleeves.
He barely crossed the threshold when Sira stepped into his path.
"Where the hell did you go?" Her tone suspicious.
"I—uh—went to the well to get water for the linens—"
"Don't insult me." Her eyes narrowed. "You were nowhere near the laundry chambers."
Xiao Liu straightened. "I got lost. The palace is huge, and I—"
"You're not very good at lying," Sira cut in. Then she sighed and stepped back. "But Prince Zhixian seems amused by your incompetence. I'll let it go. This time."
He inclined his head. She'd be watching.
But so would he.
*****
Later, in the dim hush of pre-dawn, Xiao Liu passed beneath the high stone walls once more, dressed in servant's black, his hood drawn low.
He followed the route he had traced in his mind dozens of times—out of Prince Zhixian's courtyard, through the kitchens, past the laundry halls, down the corridor where night runners flitted like ghosts on their errands.
Blending in was easy.
Timing was what mattered.
He slipped past two guards at the southern gate, darted behind a column, and slid through the iron arch into the palace's belly.
The dungeons stank of mildew, blood, and stone.
He found the cell by instinct. Third on the left. Rusted bars. A slumped form inside.
"Minister Zhang."
The man stirred. Pale, bruised, one eye swollen shut. He looked up through tangled gray hair.
"You—" A rasp. "Come to finish the job?"
"No." Xiao Liu hissed. "I'm here for the truth."
Zhang laughed, a rasping cough. "You'll get nothing. I didn't—I was innocent—"
"No one believes that!" Xiao Liu snapped. It took everything in him not to release his alpha scent.
"Don't hurt me!" Zhang cowered. "I'm telling the truth!"
"Liang." Xiao Liu's voice dropped. "The Liang family. You were there."
At the name, something flickered behind the man's eyes. He shook his head slowly. "They burned it all. All of it. You're wasting time."
"Who gave the orders?"
A long silence.
Xiao Liu turned—then froze as Zhang spoke again.
"Zhao gave the orders—but he wasn't the one behind it. Higher. Too high to name and live."
"Proof?"
"Ledgers," Zhang whispered. "Zhao kept them. Names. Orders. All real. Hidden… his estate. The one the Crown confiscated. Under the east wing. Behind the lion statue."
Footsteps echoed from the corridor.
Xiao Liu spun, cloak catching against stone.
He bolted, retracing his steps—then veered down a side hall.
Torchlight flared. He dropped into the tunnel, sealing it just in time.
*****
By the time Xiao Liu returned, dawn clawed at the sky. He made it to his cot without incident.
He collapsed onto the cot, mind churning.
If the prince already had access to those records—if the Crown truly seized everything—there was a chance the documents were now somewhere inside the palace. Or... they might have been destroyed. Buried. Hidden again.
And if they weren't... if he could get out and reach the estate himself...
But how?
They barely let errand boys outside the walls, let alone laundry hands.
Guards, patrols, servant shifts—his freedom was illusion.
He had to move faster than Zhixian.
He didn't finish the thought. Instead, he stared into the ceiling beams, tension curling under his ribs.
Sleep, when it finally came, was shallow and dreamless.
*****
Later that morning…
"The prince wishes to see you in the study," Sira said, her expression unreadable. "Try not to embarrass yourself."
Xiao Liu murmured an obedient acknowledgment, but his stomach was tight.
Had Zhixian followed him?
He pushed the thoughts down as he stepped through the carved doors into the prince's study.
Zhixian sat behind the long desk, his dark robes crisp and unwrinkled, sleeves folded neatly back as he dipped his brush into an inkstone.
"I hear there was an intrusion in the dungeons last night," the prince said lightly.
Xiao Liu's gut twisted. He dropped into a kneel, bowing low. "I've heard nothing, Your Highness."
Zhixian's gaze flicked toward him. "I never said you had."
A tense beat.
"Unless," he added mildly, "you have something to tell me?"
"Nothing your highness," he lowered his head again.
Another silence. Then, the prince let out a quiet sigh and set his brush aside.
"Very well. Come. Grind ink for me."
Xiao Liu obeyed, rising and approaching the table. He knelt beside the inkstone and took up the stick, his motions smooth from practice. The scent of Zhixian's robes lingered near—clean parchment, faint iron, and again that subtle osmanthus, too light to be worn deliberately.
Zhixian shifted to reach for a scroll and their hands brushed. Just for a moment. Warm skin against his knuckles. Xiao Liu jerked away like he'd been burned, though the touch had been feather-light.
Zhixian said nothing, but the corner of his mouth ticked up—he knew.
Xiao Liu gritted his teeth and focused on the ink.
The desk was littered with open scrolls and parchment—maps, military reports, unfamiliar names, provincial seals. Zhixian leaned forward again, reading swiftly. Xiao Liu kept one eye on the inkstone and the other on the pages, subtly inching forward.
The prince didn't seem to notice.
Xiao Liu's gaze skimmed over a heading: Inventory of Seized Assets – Minister Zhao's Estate. His breath caught.
He leaned closer, angling his head to read over Zhixian's shoulder.
"Hmm," the prince murmured absently, then stood. "I'll be stepping out for a moment."
Xiao Liu froze.
Zhixian didn't elaborate. He smoothed the front of his robes and stepped out, the door sliding shut behind him.
Xiao Liu remained kneeling until he was sure the prince wouldn't immediately return.
Then, slowly, heart thudding, he rose to his feet.
"Clear the table," Zhixian had said.
He would.
Just... after a quick look.
He gently unrolled the scroll marked with Zhao's crest.
The first lines confirmed it—confiscated property, rare items, documentation.
Names.
East Wing Storage Vault. Item relocated to High Ministry Archives pending review.
No mention of the lion statue.
"Interesting," he whispered.
"Isn't it?"
Xiao Liu flinched violently. The scroll slipped from his fingers.
Fuck.
When had the prince returned? How long had he been watching him?
Zhixian stood by the far wall, a hand casually stroking the rim of his teacup, gaze unreadable.
"Enjoying your reading, servant?"
Xiao Liu forced a calmness into his limbs, slowly reached for the fallen scroll.
"I was just cleaning, your highness."
"I didn't ask you to read."
Xiao Liu lowered his gaze. "I do not know how to read."
"Come closer."
The air thickened. Xiao Liu stepped forward. He could smell the osmanthus again.
Zhixian leaned against the door, still so composed, so perfectly poised it made Xiao Liu's blood itch. How does someone who seemed so—beautiful—seem so dangerous?
"You seem awfully curious," the prince said. "For someone who can't read."
Silence.
Instead of kneeling, Xiao Liu raised his head.
"I only do as I'm told, Your Highness."
A flicker crossed Zhixian's face.
"You're not from the capital, are you?" He asked.
I
"No, Your Highness."
"Where, then?"
"A border village. Small. Near the Wanshou River."
The Prince hummed, then his gaze flicked to Xiao Liu's hands. "You don't move like a peasant."
Xiao Liu held his breath but refused to look away.
A slow frown ghosted across Zhixian's lips — faint, measured.
He stepped closer, voice lowering. "If you want to survive here, boy, you'll need to learn more about servant duties."
The prince's eyes flicked to the scroll on the floor. "And less about what isn't yours to know."
Xiao Liu's heart pounded louder than ever. He was caught, exposed — yet strangely, Zhixian's interest didn't feel like condemnation.
"Consider this a warning."
He straightened, lifted his teacup, and tilted it toward Xiao Liu to take. "Since you don't know how to clear scrolls, go stand outside and make yourself useful," he said, then turned and walked into the study without another glance.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Xiao Liu remained frozen, teacup trembling in his hand, mind racing: He knows. He's playing me. And he's enjoying it?
Some hunts begin with the stalk. This was only the beginning.
And two could play at that game.