"The wound in my grandson," the Matriarch said at last, her voice barely a whisper against the silence, "was carved twenty-two years ago. He was only eight. Do you know what happened?"
"No," Ling Xiao replied, the word feeling heavy in the quiet room.
"His father," she said simply. The word didn't carry the warmth of a memory; it carried the cold weight of a documented case file—something recorded, filed away, and never allowed to heal. "Long Wei's father was a brilliant commander, but a catastrophic human being. What he did to that child in the name of 'making him strong'..." She trailed off, her gaze fixed on the jade fish sitting motionless on the table. "Wei does not speak of it. He does not even acknowledge it. He has forged himself into something armored, made entirely of iron and cold function. Most who meet him believe the man inside was born that way." She looked directly at Ling Xiao, her eyes piercing. "He was not born that way."
Ling Xiao thought back to the training courtyard. He recalled the sword-forms drilled so deeply they had become as natural as breathing, and the scars he had seen—the ones that didn't look like they came from a battlefield.
"The prophecy," Ling Xiao said carefully, "says the wound will open in his thirtieth year."
"In sixty-three days," the Matriarch confirmed. "I do not know its exact nature. I only know that the last time a Long Clan general's wound 'opened'—in the ancient language of the spirit-records—he walked into the northern sea and never returned."
The incense swirled; the candles flickered. Outside, the rhythmic clashing of blades had finally ceased.
"I'm not a physician," Ling Xiao said, his voice steady. "And I'm not a shaman. I'm just someone from a different world who stumbled into a marriage bed, possessing a soul-signature for a prophecy I didn't even know existed."
"Yes," the Matriarch agreed. "That is precisely the situation."
"It's not exactly a stable foundation for saving a life."
"No," she replied. "But it is the only foundation you have." She fixed him with those winter-sea eyes—the same eyes as her grandson's, but tempered by sixty more years of patience. "My grandson will never accept help from someone he deems beneath him, someone weaker, or someone who fears him. He has spent twenty-two years perfecting the art of refusing help." She paused. "And yet, you walked into his training yard uninvited, held a sword with reasonable competence, and spoke of a game from a world that doesn't exist."
"He told you about the courtyard?"
"He tells me nothing. My secretary sees everything." A faint shadow of a smile crossed her face. "And he did not send you away."
Ling Xiao processed this. "You're saying my approach should be—"
"I am saying," she interrupted gently, "that my grandson responds to surprises because almost nothing surprises him anymore. He responds to strength because he has only ever been met with fear. And he responds—though he would deny it to his grave—to being known." She picked up the jade pendant. "No one has tried to truly know him in a very long time. He does not make it easy."
"That's an understatement," Ling Xiao muttered, then caught himself.
To his surprise, the Matriarch let out a dry, genuine laugh—brief and unperformed. "You have a modern tongue," she noted.
"So I've been told," Ling Xiao replied.
She stood up slowly, refusing her attendant's help with a sharp wave of her hand. She walked to the window overlooking the garden, and Ling Xiao followed, standing a respectful half-step behind. Below, the estate was alive with movement—servants, stewards, the daily choreography of a powerful house.
Then, parting the crowd like a stone parting water, came Long Wei. He was dressed in dark training clothes, carrying a document case. He moved with an unhurried, predatory grace.
As he reached the center of the garden, something made him stop. A marginal sense—the animal awareness of being watched. He looked up. His eyes locked onto the window. He found Ling Xiao.
For three or four seconds, the world seemed to freeze. Long Wei's expression remained unreadable. His gaze held for one more heartbeat before he turned away, the crowd closing in behind him once more.
"Sixty-three days," the Matriarch whispered. "It is not much time."
"No," Ling Xiao agreed.
"The wound will not announce itself. It will just arrive. He will tell no one; he will simply start to disappear."
Ling Xiao looked at the empty space where the General had been. "I'll find him," he said, and the conviction in his own voice surprised him.
[System: ...Host.]
[A pause—unprecedented for a celestial AI.]
[Mission 1 is still active. 36 hours remaining. However, the System wishes to note that what you are doing now may be significantly more important than the original mission parameters. The System is recalibrating... Please do not inform anyone I said that.]
"One more thing," the Matriarch added as Ling Xiao turned to leave. "The court visit is in twelve days. You will be presented to the Emperor as his consort."
"Is that a problem?"
Lady Long Ruoyan looked at him with equanimity. "It is the problem after the problems you have now. Deal with those first."
Ling Xiao bowed and departed. He found a quiet alcove in the corridor and sat on the cold stone floor for a few minutes. He didn't panic. His modern soul was built for crisis management.
Where am I? Inside a political minefield, married to an armored man, facing a sixty-three-day countdown.
What is happening? I have a function. That function involves the most difficult man I've ever met.
What can I use?
[Thirty-six hours,] the System murmured, sounding uncertain.
"Sixty-three days," Ling Xiao corrected quietly. "We're playing a different game now."
He stood up, brushed off his robes, and stepped back into the morning light. He had an aching wrist, a prophecy to unpick, a court debut to prepare for, and a man who had been bleeding internally for twenty-two years.
Ling Xiao set his feet. One problem at a time. But he finally knew which problem was the real one.
****************
Author's Note:
"Things are heating up! 🔥 Ling Xiao is starting to realize that surviving in this world is going to take more than just wit.
If you liked this chapter, please Add to Library and drop a Power Stone! Your support is the fuel that keeps this story going. Let's see if we can hit [insert target, e.g., 5] Power Stones for an extra update this week!
See you in the next chapter!"