Three figures moved like mist through the alleys behind the estate walls—silent, unseen, their dark cloaks blending into the night.
Yu Ying signaled with a slight flick of her fingers. The perimeter had been marked, the guards’ rhythm memorized. With grace that came from years of training, the sisters took flight.
Their feet landed on the wall’s edge with barely a whisper.
A moment later, they dispersed like shadows cut loose from the same flame.
Yu Lan ascended to the rooftops without effort, her slender form outlined against the moon as she crouched low atop the tiled ridges. With her sharp gaze sweeping from courtyard to corridor, she became the eye above—watchful, patient, calculating.
Yu Mei glided along the outer garden path, then slipped behind the ornamental tree near the western wall—a flowering willow twisted with seasonal vines. Her voluptuous figure pressed close to the trunk, lips curled into a playful smirk as she scanned the grounds for signs of their target. Every so often, she twirled a strand of hair around her finger and hummed softly to herself, clearly enjoying the thrill of the night hunt.
Yu Ying, the youngest, took the middle ground.
Creeping along the shadows beside a plum blossom bush, she finally settled into a low squat behind a tall screen of latticework near the side veranda—an ideal position. From here, she had an unobstructed view of both Zhao Ming’s private room and the adjoining study.
The window screens were pulled slightly open—just enough to glimpse movement inside.
Then it happened.
Zhao Ming stepped into the room, backlit by a soft, golden lantern. He reached up and undid the clasp of his outer robe, letting it slide from his shoulders in a practiced motion. The robe pooled silently around his feet. He turned slightly, and the light caught the lean contours of his back, the taut muscles under his skin flexing as he shifted.
Yu Ying froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He wore only a light inner tunic now, and as he reached for a fresh one—folded neatly on a nearby bench—the fabric pulled against his torso, revealing the clean lines of his chest, the subtle ridges of muscle earned not through vanity, but the quiet rigor of a disciplined body. His waist tapered, the belt riding low on his hips before he tightened it.
Her face burned.
Her fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the latticework. Why is he undressing with the window open? How shameless!
She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away—but not before stealing one last glance. This isn’t like me, she scolded herself. I’m not like Mei’er who drools over any good-looking boy she sees…
And yet, for a brief, confusing moment, Zhao Ming’s image lingered behind her eyes.
After a few deep breaths, she forced her focus back into place. Get it together, Ying’er. You’re not here to ogle men. You're here on a mission.
Inside, Zhao Ming finished changing and sat down for dinner. A light meal, nothing extravagant. He ate slowly, lost in thought. There was something methodical, even scholarly, in the way he carried himself. Not like a typical noble son. Not quite a warrior either.
She narrowed her eyes.
When he finished, he rose and stretched briefly, before stepping into the adjacent study room.
Ying’er’s breath quickened. Now's the time.
She ducked lower behind the screen and signaled with a soft birdcall—just once. A signal the other sisters would understand. Target is in study.
From above, Yu Lan adjusted her stance, blades hidden in her sleeves.
From the garden wall, Mei grinned in anticipation, then rolled her shoulders like a cat ready to pounce.
Meanwhile, Yu Ying crept forward, ghost-like, edging along the corridor toward the side window of the study. Her eyes scanned for traps, her fingers testing for loose wood panels.
Tonight, they would not be watching Zhao Ming from the shadows.
They would be inside his domain.
And if luck favored them… they would leave with something to expose, manipulate, or control him.
Or perhaps, if Mei’er had her way… with far more than they bargained for.
Zhao Ming stepped into the quiet study, the scent of old paper and ink greeting him like an old companion. The oil lamp on the side table flickered gently, casting warm golden light over the neatly organized room. He moved with practiced ease, taking a moment to prepare the brush, inkstone, and a roll of fine paper that had been resting on the side shelf. Everything felt calm. Familiar. A sanctuary amid the swirling currents of Beihai’s political undercurrents.
Outside, hidden in the shadows beyond the wall, Ying’er crouched low behind a trimmed hedge. Her brows furrowed slightly as she watched through the narrow opening of the partially drawn window. She had expected movement, some secret correspondence, or maybe a meeting—but Zhao Ming simply sat there, still as stone, staring at the paper before him.
What is he doing… just looking at blank paper like that? she grumbled inwardly, pressing a hand to her cheek in mild irritation. Is he imagining Lady Yu’s hand again? Shameless man…
Just as her imagination was about to run off in a jealous spiral, Zhao Ming moved. He dipped the brush into the ink with a controlled swirl, then began writing in a steady, elegant script. Curious now, Ying’er leaned forward instinctively.
Meanwhile, Lan’er remained on the rooftop of a nearby building, eyes sharp and body poised. The courtyard had quieted significantly. Torches were being extinguished one by one, and the usual rhythm of guards shifting for the night watch had begun. With a subtle flick of her fingers, she signaled the all-clear.
Mei’er, restless and clearly bored, tiptoed along the shadows from her perch near the western ornamental tree. “Haven’t you found anything juicy yet?” she whispered as she approached Ying’er from behind.
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Ying’er didn't even flinch. “He just started writing. Get over here and keep quiet.”
Mei’er peeked over her sister’s shoulder, eyes narrowing. The moment she caught sight of the parchment under Zhao Ming’s hand, she blinked, then blinked again. “Wait… is that…?”
“…a cosmetic formula?” Ying’er finished, her voice laced with disbelief.
They watched in silence as Zhao Ming continued with calm precision, listing ingredients in careful lines. One recipe appeared to be a cream—a base for whitening the skin, safely, without the dangerous use of lead. Another seemed to be a vivid rouge stick made from safflower and beetroot for the lips.
Mei’er let out a low whistle. “Well, well… the handsome scholar writes beauty recipes. That’s new.”
But Ying’er’s eyes had narrowed, her earlier irritation melting into a calculating glint. It does make sense… he’s skilled with medicine, she thought. And these formulas could fetch a high price, especially if presented by Lady Yu first. If I hand these over, she’ll surely praise me.
Just as Zhao Ming set down the brush and let the ink dry, he reached for a lacquered scroll case. Instead of simply storing the parchment, however, he walked toward the corner shelf, felt along its edge, and pressed a hidden groove behind the decorative carvings. A soft click sounded—barely audible even in the quiet—and a slim panel swung open.
From their vantage point, Ying’er and Mei’er watched as he carefully slid the scroll into the hidden compartment, closed it, and gave no further glance as he returned to the desk to blow out the lamp.
Ying’er’s heart beat a little faster, her hands tightening on the windowsill.
“He hid it,” Mei’er whispered.
“I saw where,” Ying’er replied, her voice low and eager. “That formula… we’re going to take it.”
Above, Lan’er shifted on the roof, keeping vigil—unaware that below her, her younger sisters had just set their sights on something far more valuable than simple blackmail.
The night in Beihai deepened, the estate bathed in moonlight and secrets, and Zhao Ming, unaware of the eyes upon him, rose from his desk and walked slowly back toward his room—his shadow flickering against the wall like the last curl of smoke from a candle.
The night in Beihai deepened, cloaked in silence as the wind whispered through the branches of the Murong estate. Clouds drifted across the moon, smothering its silver glow and plunging the grounds into a heavy, shifting darkness.
From her hidden spot near the study, Ying’er narrowed her eyes, trying to determine whether Zhao Ming had already left. The candle inside the study had long since gone out, and with the moon veiled above, the room was a deep, murky shade of black.
“Can’t see anything,” she muttered, her breath barely disturbing the still air.
Mei’er slinked away toward the study’s back entrance, a quiet shadow dancing across stone and grass. A few heartbeats later, she returned and crouched beside her sister.
“Door’s locked,” she whispered. “No footsteps inside. He’s gone.”
Ying’er nodded. “We’ll go in from the window. It wasn’t closed tightly.”
Together, like cats moving in the dark, they crept toward the window. Ying’er lifted the wooden frame just enough to slip her slender body through, landing inside with a noiseless grace. Mei followed with practiced agility.
The study was heavy with the scent of ink and aged wood. The faint outline of shelves and a desk materialized as their eyes adjusted. Ying’er held up a hand. “Check for traps,” she whispered.
They moved carefully, feet silent against the polished floor, eyes scanning the ground and furniture. Nothing triggered, nothing glimmered or clicked. Satisfied, they split up.
Lan’er, perched above on the roof, caught sight of her sisters slipping inside. Without a sound, she dropped down, landing lightly near the shadow of a tree to keep watch from the perimeter. Her hand rested calmly on the hilt of her short blade.
Inside the study, Ying’er rifled through the drawers of the desk while Mei moved toward the stack of documents neatly placed on a side table. A few opened letters revealed updates—plans for the eastern hill settlement, progress in housing construction, irrigation improvements, and a proposal to bring in farming tools from neighboring counties.
Mei’er skimmed through one, lips curling into a quiet smile. “He’s… actually helping people.”
Ying’er, still thumbing through the next letter, sighed softly. “I know. It’s annoying. If only he wasn’t always flirting with Lady Yu…”
Mei giggled under her breath. “Jealous?”
“Shut up,” Ying’er hissed, cheeks warming in the dark. “Let’s find the scrolls.”
They turned to the shelf, fingers tracing its carvings until Ying’er felt the familiar groove Zhao Ming had pressed earlier. With a soft click, the hidden panel opened, revealing a trio of scrolls within the concealed compartment.
As Mei reached in, her fingers grazing the edge of the nearest scroll, a sudden chill ran down her spine.
“…Ying’er…” she whispered. “Do you feel that?”
Ying’er froze. A presence. Unseen, unfelt—but there. Watching.
They turned sharply, eyes darting around the study, but the room remained dark, empty. Silent.
“No one’s here,” Ying’er said quickly, trying to reassure herself as much as Mei. “Grab it.”
Mei pulled out two of the scrolls, handing one to Ying’er. They turned to retreat, feet already moving toward the window.
Then—
“A thieving cat slinks in the night…”
The voice was smooth. Unhurried. Calm as a still lake—and just as cold.
A sudden whoosh of movement.
Slash!
The sound of a blade slicing air ripped through the stillness. Ying’er dropped the scroll in shock, barely ducking in time as a flash of silver cut through where her shoulder had just been. Mei spun with a gasp, her own instincts sending her diving toward the window.
“He’s here!” Mei shouted under her breath.
“No time!” Ying’er hissed, grabbing Mei’s hand as they both leapt out through the open window in a flurry of robes and soft footsteps, landing in a crouch outside.
The sisters landed soundlessly in the courtyard beyond the study, hearts still racing from the sudden sword slash. The moment their boots touched the stone path, they darted into the shadows beneath the ornamental trees along the western wall, hearts thudding in sync with the wind.
Lan’er joined them swiftly, blades still drawn and eyes sharp. “Did he see you?”
“No, but someone was there,” Ying’er whispered. “He wasn’t in the study… but something else was. That wasn’t normal.”
“I heard the sword,” Lan said. “It wasn’t him?”
“No—it felt different,” Mei murmured, eyes scanning the dark windows behind them. “Cold… like a ghost was watching us.”
The air hung heavy for a moment.
Then, as if responding to their tension, the clouds above slowly parted—and pale moonlight spilled over the courtyard like a lantern pulled from behind a curtain.
“Move!” Ying’er hissed, pulling Mei back into the shadows.
But the damage was done.
From the edge of the veranda, a door slid open with a sudden clatter.
Zhao Ming stepped out, dark-robed, eyes narrowed, a wooden sword in hand. Its lacquered surface gleamed under the moonlight like steel, and though it bore no edge, the confidence in his grip said it hardly mattered.
He had sensed the flicker of presence earlier—not just the sound, but the subtle disruption of breath, the light shift in energy that clung to assassins and thieves alike.
His gaze locked forward—and there, amidst the silvered trees, shadows moved.
Three.
One crouched low.
Two standing close.
Not guards. Not servants.
Not strangers either.
He strode a few steps forward, voice calm, yet carrying across the courtyard.
“I suppose the cat forgot its manners tonight,” he said coldly. “Did you lose your way… or were you looking for something else in my study?”
Ying’er clicked her tongue, emerging from the shadow with arms crossed. “You really are shameless, daring to speak after sneaking up on girls in the dark.”
Zhao Ming raised a brow. “You came to my study, remember?”
Mei stepped forward, trying to put herself between them. “We were just… curious. That’s all.”
“Curious about my documents? Or the hidden compartment behind the bookshelf?”
Ying’er’s eyes narrowed. “Tch. You even noticed that.”
Lan didn’t speak. She stood slightly behind the other two, eyes fixed on Zhao Ming’s grip. That sword… it was no ordinary wooden stick. The balance of his stance, the way he moved—someone had trained him well.
Zhao Ming slowly lowered the blade to his side. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Then don’t,” Ying said, stepping closer. “It’s not like we came to kill you.”
“You came to steal.”
“We borrowed,” she said with a sly smile. “And now that we’re done… we’ll be going.”
Zhao Ming exhaled, shoulders loosening just slightly. “Fine. But if you're ever curious again, knock on the front gate. I might even serve tea.”
Ying scoffed but gave a short nod, impressed despite herself.
Then, like mist under a rising sun, the three sisters vanished into the night, robes fluttering as they disappeared over the wall with practiced grace.
Zhao Ming stood still for a while, staring at the spot they had left.
“…They’re quicker than I thought,” he murmured.
But his thoughts weren’t on the fight—nor even on the scrolls. His gaze drifted upward, where the moon now shone freely.
“System,” he said quietly, “mark this night.”
A faint chime rang in the back of his mind.
[Task Progress: Interact with Friendly Guests (3/3)]
[Special Guest: ENTERTAINED (0/1)]
[Reward Pending...]
Zhao Ming turned and walked back toward the study. It was going to be a long night yet.