Chapter 1: Beginning with a Single Needle

“The master has ordered that even if we have to turn the capital upside down, we must find her.”

So noisy.

In the secluded alley, even the sound of breathing seemed harsh, let alone the faint footsteps and murmured voices drawing nearer.

Qiao Qingyun’s eyes snapped open. She stared blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings, a dull ache pulsing in her head.

As she shifted, she realized she was curled up, hidden behind a bamboo basket, and another body lay atop her—cold, lifeless, utterly still.

“The old bastard surnamed Qiao took one of my arrows—he won’t make it. His daughter’s delicate and weak, she can’t have gotten far. Split up and search!”

The voices were closing in. A chill prickled down Qiao Qingyun’s spine. Narrowing her eyes, she let her fingers drift over the corpse beside her, and sure enough, found an arrow lodged deep in his back.

Right through the heart—beyond hope.

It all became clear. The man beside her was the “Qiao” they spoke of. As for herself... she had become someone else, caught up in a deadly manhunt.

No time.

The footsteps drew closer, her gaze sharpened. Moving swiftly, she slipped out from behind the body, carefully shifting it aside. Rummaging through her own belongings, she extracted a sewing needle from her pouch.

It would have to do.

A trace of regret flickered in her eyes. Lips pressed tight, she gripped the needle between her fingers and crouched behind the bamboo basket, her gaze fixed on the alley’s entrance—like a wolf poised for the hunt.

A shadow appeared at the mouth of the alley. As the assassin approached, Qiao Qingyun flicked a pebble across the way, drawing a faint clatter from the opposite basket.

The killer hesitated, turning to investigate.

Now!

With a flick of her wrist, the silver needle shot out, burying itself in the back of the assassin’s neck—vanishing from sight.

“Ah!”

“Damn.” She hadn’t expected him to cry out. As he collapsed, Qiao Qingyun dared not retrieve her needle. She paused, listening for movement outside the alley, and then ran.

Left, or right?

She didn’t know these streets, so she followed her instincts, dodging blindly, evading her pursuers, until she found an unlocked door. The room beyond was dark, unlit—she slipped inside, meaning to hide.

But before she could catch her breath, she found herself staring into two pairs of eyes.

“Shit…” Qiao Qingyun cursed under her breath, fingers groping her pouch, heart sinking.

Only one needle left—how could she handle two?

“Misunderstanding! I’ll just be going,” she said, weighing her options and immediately choosing to back down. One hand on the door, she forced a nervous laugh, eyes wary.

A soft laugh answered her.

Trouble.

One of the men drew his sword and lunged. Qiao Qingyun’s lips pressed into a thin line; her eyes flashed cold. She sidestepped, twisting, and jabbed her needle into his pressure point.

One down, but the other was even more dangerous.

She looked at him—the darkness blurred the details, but by the moonlight, she glimpsed his outline.

A face as fine as carved jade, eyes bright as stars, lips set in a stern line—like snow atop a distant mountain.

Even that faint outline was enough to take one’s breath away.

Qiao Qingyun’s mind wandered for a heartbeat. She sighed, then spoke in a gentler tone, as if negotiating: “Brother, let’s make a deal—pretend you never saw me tonight?”

“No.” His voice was as gentle as a spring breeze, yet it sent a chill through her.

Before she could react, he struck.

Qiao Qingyun sprang aside, agile as a cat. She heard the door behind her splinter under his blow—she didn’t have to look to know it was ruined. Her eyes darkened, but her voice remained light, even as she fought back: “The lamp’s out, I saw nothing. Do you really have to kill me?”

“Oh?” The man’s answering hum was almost amused. With a flip of his fan, he blocked her fist and turned the handle into an offensive move.

Damn, impervious to reason!

Sweat beaded on Qiao Qingyun’s forehead. She didn’t dare relax, but after several exchanges, his fingers closed around her throat’s vital point.

His hand was flawless, pale as jade—if not for the deadly pressure, she might’ve admired it longer.

“Wait!” she blurted, catching her breath and speaking quickly, “Your left hand—there’s no strength in it, is there?”

During their brief fight, she’d only just managed to hold off his fan. If his left hand had moved, she wouldn’t have lasted this long.

Clearly, this man was not one to fight with half his strength—so she saw another path.

Qiao Qingyun seized the opportunity, grasped his hand in return, closed her eyes, and focused, speaking rapidly: “Your pulse is sometimes weak, sometimes strong, as if a stream had been cut off, but there’s still a trace… You’re poisoned.”

He gave a soft chuckle, fingers tightening rather than releasing, clearly skeptical.

Qiao Qingyun met his gaze without flinching, her eyes burning with conviction: “I can cure you.”

“Killing me gains you nothing. But if you let me live, you might regain your hand.” Her voice was calm and persuasive, impossible to doubt. “Or are you afraid to even try?”

“To try?” He laughed softly.

So, Seventh Prince’s tactics had grown so blatant—sending spies by such clumsy means, just to get someone close to him.

He studied her in the moonlight, something flickering in his eyes, his tone icy: “And if you fail?”

“There’s no one I can’t cure—only those I choose not to.” Qiao Qingyun narrowed her eyes, sensing his shift in attitude, and pressed her advantage without hesitation.

She had the confidence for good reason.

Her mind raced, sorting through every relevant detail as if flipping through files. In an instant, she’d narrowed down the possibilities: “There are only a few poisons that can cripple an arm without spreading further. The antidote is tricky, but with acupuncture and bloodletting, supplemented by medicinal baths, the effects can be suppressed.”

Suppressed, not cured.

Others might find that inadequate, but if she boasted too much, he would only distrust her.

Seventh Prince had certainly done his homework to tempt him.

A flicker of darkness crossed the man’s eyes. He pulled a half-smile, unreadable: “Is that so?”

“No one but me can treat you. Will you take the gamble?” Qiao Qingyun met his gaze, chin lifted, confidence blazing.

“Why not?” He stifled a cold laugh, impatience glinting in his eyes.

If he killed her, who knew how many more would follow? It was better to keep her under watch.

He folded his fan, seized Qiao Qingyun by the collar, and whisked her out the back. With a few light steps across the rooftops, he delivered her to his estate and tossed her at the feet of the waiting steward.

“Prepare a room for her in the east wing,” he ordered coldly, looking down at her, lips curling in a smile that was more threat than amusement. “If there’s no improvement in three days… Well, the black dogs in the yard haven’t had fresh meat in some time.”