Beneath the hustle and bustle of the Great Yong Dynasty's capital lay the cold rigidity of a strict social hierarchy. The scorching sun baked the bluestone roads, giving rise to distorted heat waves, and fueling countless ambitions and desires.
Ling Zhao, or rather, the destitute scholar Lin Zhao, was currently walking toward the government affairs office outside the Imperial Palace. He wore a washed-out blue gown, his already slender frame looking even more frail in this body. Fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his face held the paleness of malnutrition. The information regarding this identity had fully integrated into his mind: family ruined, parents deceased, arriving in the capital with a distant relative's letter of recommendation. He now resided with a cousin several times removed, enduring snubs and scorn, with his only hope resting on the impending Imperial Examination, aiming for a dramatic rise in status.
His target was the deposed Crown Prince, Xiao Jin, confined to the cold halls of the Eastern Palace.
[Target Character: Xiao Jin.]
[Identity: Former Crown Prince of Great Yong, deposed three years ago due to the "Witchcraft Scandal," currently confined to the Eastern Palace. Birth mother deceased early; maternal relatives' influence is weak.]
[Current Status: Frail and sickly, temperament gloomy and paranoid, secretly accumulating power, planning a palace coup during the 'Autumn Hunt Ceremony.']
[Redemption Difficulty: B+ (Complex court intrigues, highly cautious target, deep-seated malice).]
Ling Zhao's gaze swept over the distant, magnificent cluster of heavily guarded, gold-tiled palaces. The Eastern Palace lay within, like a luxurious tomb.
His excuse for being here was a temporary assignment secured by his cousin's connections—to organize and proofread a batch of ancient books from the previous dynasty in the Imperial Archives under the Internal Affairs Department. It was a tedious, thankless task, but one of the few legitimate ways to frequently approach the palace perimeter, and potentially intersect with affairs related to the Eastern Palace.
The gatekeeper of the Internal Affairs Department was a snob. After examining his recommendation letter and documents, he looked Ling Zhao up and down, snorted disdainfully, and tossed him a wooden waist token. "Storage Room C, West side annex. Enter at Chen hour (7-9 AM), leave at You hour (5-7 PM). No delays, no wandering. If you damage anything inside, selling yourself won't cover the cost!"
Ling Zhao took the token without changing his expression, offered a word of thanks, and followed the directions, passing through several gates toward the secluded, mold-scented hall filled with old books.
Storage Room C was indeed deserted, manned only by an ancient supervisor who was practically dozing in the doorway. Inside, bookshelves lined the walls, shrouded in cobwebs. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light filtering through the high windows. Ling Zhao didn't mind; he sought this very anonymity.
He began the daily routine of sorting and proofreading the obscure ancient texts. His movements were swift and highly efficient, yet he maintained silence and a low profile. He used the opportunity of organizing the archives to subtly skim through sporadic records related to the Eastern Palace's expenditures and personnel movements. Everything appeared unnervingly normal—normal rations, normal physician visit records—as if the person confined inside was merely an insignificant distant member of the royal family.
But Ling Zhao knew that beneath the calm surface, strong undercurrents churned. He could sense a few different glances occasionally falling upon this unremarkable archive. There was the expected supervision from the Internal Affairs managers, the surveillance from other factional spies, and even… an extremely subtle, cold scrutiny, as if from an abyss.
Was it Xiao Jin's people? Or had Qin Jin's primary consciousness once again fixed its attention on this fragment?
Half a month later, on a drizzly afternoon, the opportunity quietly presented itself.
A pale-faced, beardless eunuch with cold eyes arrived at the archive, followed by two junior eunuchs carrying a heavy camphor wood chest.
"Our family is the Eastern Palace's Chief Eunuch, surnamed Sun," the middle-aged eunuch's voice was sharp and thin, tinged with arrogant condescension. He slapped a book list onto the table in front of Ling Zhao. "His Highness requires these texts for study recently. Find them quickly, inspect them thoroughly for damage or insect infestation, register them, and I shall return for them tomorrow."
The Eastern Palace! Eunuch Sun!
Ling Zhao's heart stirred, but his face remained impassive. He respectfully accepted the list. "Yes, Grand Eunuch Sun. This humble one will handle