Chapter XCVIII - The House of Secrets
Rain fell again.
Not the gentle rain from before.
This rain felt urgent.
Sharp.
Relentless.
As though the heavens themselves understood time was running out.
—
Shen Li had not entered her childhood home in years.
Not truly.
After her mother's disappearance, the residence slowly became a place of memories rather than life.
A place of ghosts.
A place of questions.
And now—
it had become a crime scene.
—
Prince Rui refused allowing her to go alone.
Naturally.
Absolutely naturally.
The moment the Emperor informed them about the break-in, Prince Rui had already begun issuing orders.
Additional guards.
Restricted access.
Full investigation.
Steward Zhou later remarked that Prince Rui appeared more alarmed about Shen Li visiting her childhood home than he had been during military campaigns.
A fair observation.
Very fair.
—
The residence stood silent beneath the rain.
The outer gates remained damaged.
Freshly broken.
The intruders had not bothered hiding their entrance.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because professionals usually concealed their movements.
This felt rushed.
Desperate.
As though they were racing against someone.
Or something.
—
Prince Rui entered first.
Of course.
The silver wolf guards followed immediately afterward.
Only once the entire property was secured did he finally look back toward Shen Li.
Then quietly:
"Now."
The single word somehow carried:
concern,
protectiveness,
and approximately seventeen unspoken warnings.
Dangerous man.
Very dangerous man.
—
Inside—
the residence looked untouched.
At first.
Furniture remained in place.
Paintings remained hanging.
Nothing appeared stolen.
Then Shen Li noticed the study.
Her mother's study.
The door stood open.
The lock broken.
And suddenly—
she knew exactly where the intruders had searched.
—
The room felt smaller than she remembered.
Dust covered shelves.
Old scrolls lined the walls.
Memories lingered everywhere.
Then Shen Li slowly approached her mother's desk.
The same desk.
The same chair.
The same window overlooking the plum blossom garden.
For one painful moment—
she could almost imagine her mother sitting there again.
Writing.
Waiting.
Protecting secrets alone.
—
Then Prince Rui stopped beside her.
His gaze swept across the room once.
Twice.
Then immediately narrowed.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because he had noticed something.
Then quietly:
"This shelf moved recently."
Everyone looked up.
The shelf appeared ordinary.
Ancient.
Dust-covered.
Yet Prince Rui was already walking toward it.
The soldiers exchanged exhausted looks.
Because somehow—
Prince Rui spotted hidden compartments the way other people noticed furniture.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
—
A few moments later—
the shelf shifted.
A hidden mechanism clicked.
And the entire room froze.
Because behind the shelf—
a concealed chamber appeared.
—
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Because hidden chambers belonged in legends.
Not noble residences.
Not real life.
Then Shen Li stepped forward slowly.
The chamber was small.
Barely large enough for one person.
And inside rested only three objects:
a wooden box,
a sealed journal,
and a portrait.
—
The portrait changed everything.
The moment Shen Li saw it—
she stopped breathing.
Because it depicted her mother.
Young.
Beautiful.
Smiling.
Standing beside two other people.
One was immediately recognizable.
The Emperor.
Years younger.
Years happier.
The second—
nobody recognized.
Yet somehow—
the stranger immediately drew attention.
Because he stood at the center.
Not the Emperor.
Not Lady Shen.
Him.
—
Prince Rui stared.
Then quietly:
"Who is he?"
The Emperor stepped forward.
Looked.
And froze.
For the first time in days—
genuine shock crossed his face.
Then:
"Impossible."
The room chilled instantly.
Because everyone was becoming tired of hearing that word.
Then the Emperor whispered:
"He died before I took the throne."
Silence.
Then:
"My uncle."
The world stopped.
Absolutely stopped.
—
Because suddenly—
the conspiracy had entered the imperial bloodline directly.
Not advisors.
Not tutors.
Not consorts.
A prince.
A royal prince.
—
The Crown Prince arrived moments later and immediately read the inscription beneath the portrait.
Then froze as well.
Because written in elegant ink were four names:
Lady Shen
Crown Prince Jian (the future Emperor)
Prince Rui (young)
Prince Cheng
Prince Cheng.
The Emperor's uncle.
Dead for decades.
Or so history claimed.
—
Then Shen Li opened the sealed journal.
And the first page contained only one sentence.
One sentence that made Prince Rui's eyes darken instantly.
The Keepers were founded by Prince Cheng.
Silence crashed through the hidden chamber.
Because finally—
they had a name.
A founder.
A beginning.
The first real piece of the puzzle.
Then Shen Li turned the page.
And read the next line.
Her heart stopped.
Because it said:
If you are reading this,
then Prince Cheng's heir has already begun moving.
The room froze.
Again.
Because the implication was horrifying.
Prince Cheng might be dead.
But his heir wasn't.
And somewhere in the capital—
that heir was already making their next move.