Three days following the earth-shattering carnage, the Thang Long Imperial Capital had gradually returned to its facade of tranquility. The corpses and ruins on the outskirts had been cleared away, yet beneath this veneer of peace, an atmosphere of suffocating tension lingered. Every eye, from the high-ranking officials of the court down to the lowliest commoners, was fixed upon two locations: the venerable Estate of Duke Dinh Quoc and the tightly bolted gates of the Marquis of Vinh An's Manor.
Just as Tran Kien had anticipated, the grand game of chess had shifted from the blood-soaked battlefield into the treacherous halls of the Imperial Court.
Duke Dinh Quoc and Tao Chinh, armed with mountains of evidence gathered from the rebel camps and the testimonies of tens of thousands of prisoners, jointly submitted a memorial to the throne, exposing the monstrous crimes of the Marquis of Vinh An. The entire court was shaken to its core. In response, the Marquis wailed of his innocence, claiming he had been framed, while simultaneously mobilizing his political factions and utilizing every insidious method at his disposal to plunge the court into chaos.
The reigning Emperor, seated upon the Nine-Dragon Throne, showed neither fury nor joy. He listened in silence before issuing an imperial edict: "This matter is of grave importance and requires a meticulous investigation. Let the Three Judicial Offices preside over the inquiry; a definitive result must be produced within one month. Until then, the Marquis of Vinh An is placed under house arrest and forbidden from participating in state affairs."
This was a masterful move by the sovereign. It simultaneously pacified the indignation of the Duke's faction while leaving a path of retreat for the Marquis. He was kicking the ball of responsibility, forcing the two tigers to tear at each other while he sat atop the mountain, playing the fisherman who reaps the spoils.
And this move had perfectly driven the Marquis of Vinh An onto the path Tran Kien had laid out.
While the court seethed with turmoil, Tran Kien himself had vanished. His identity as "Ve Nhan" had served its purpose. He returned to being a phantom in the shadows, silently manipulating the chessboard. He sought out Shangguan Van. The "Little Sword God's" aura had become even more sharp and peerless after the battle.
"Brother Shangguan," Tran Kien spoke, "I need you to perform a task. Deliver an item into the palace and place it directly into the hands of Uncle Sword." It was a jade slip, containing the entirety of his "Cornering the Tiger" stratagem and his latest deductions.
Deep within the Imperial Palace, at An Lac Temple, all was silent. The rhythmic tolling of the temple bell and the soft murmuring of sutras usually brought peace to the heart. But for Lam Vy, this was a gilded cage. She had been here for nearly a year. Under the "guidance" of Grandmaster Phap Chan, she had lost her playful innocence, replaced by a quiet, resilient strength.
"Mistress," Uncle Sword entered, handing her a letter. "It is from Tran Kien."
Lam Vy hurriedly opened it. There were few words, containing only a single sentence: "The storm approaches; be vigilant. Trust me."
Lam Vy's eyes instantly turned red. She knew that he had finally returned.
That night, Uncle Sword quietly met with Grandmaster Phap Chan. "Grandmaster," he spoke, "I fear that An Lac Temple shall no longer know peace tonight."
Grandmaster Phap Chan, the unfathomably deep monk, merely opened his eyes slightly and chanted a Buddhist invocation. "Amitabha. This old monk is aware. The net of Heaven is vast; though its mesh is wide, nothing escapes. All karmic enmities must eventually reach their conclusion." He did not say he would help, nor did he say he would not. But Uncle Sword understood.
At the Manor of the Marquis of Vinh An, within a gloomy secret chamber, the Marquis sat with a face as ashen as death. He knew he had no path of retreat left. The Emperor had signaled his stance. If the Marquis could not resolve this mess himself, he would undoubtedly be the sacrificial pawn.
"Master..." he knelt before the eerie emerald flame.
"The time has come," the ancient voice within the flame hissed. "Unleash the final trump card. That Lac Viet bloodline must be obtained. Once we have it and fuse it with the 'Sacred Object,' then whether it be Duke Dinh Quoc or this entire Imperial Court, they shall be nothing but ants beneath our feet."
"As you command!" The Marquis of Vinh An stood, his eyes brimming with madness. He exited the chamber and summoned his final deathsworn, the strongest hidden assets he had cultivated for decades.
"Tonight," he ground out through gritted teeth, "it is either total victory or ultimate sacrifice."
"Target: An Lac Temple!"
The winds had truly risen in the capital. This time, they carried the scent of blood and annihilation, blowing directly toward the most sacred heart of Dai Viet. The game had reached its final move.