Tlhe walls of the grand hall loomed high above her, casting long, dark shadows across the stone floor. The once-gleaming pillars were now tarnished, their edges chipped and worn by years of neglect. Murong Shuyin's steps echoed through the silence as she made her way deeper into the heart of her family's crumbling estate. The heavy scent of mildew and dust filled the air, but none of it bothered her. She had long grown indifferent to the crumbling remnants of what was once her legacy.
It had been a week since her meeting with Kieran, and already, the faint stirrings of power were beginning to take root within her. She could feel the tendrils of influence swirling around her, like whispers at the edge of her consciousness. The Shadow Court's offer had been a necessary gamble, but Shuyin wasn't one to back away from risk. She was a master at playing the long game.
The plan had been set in motion.
She stopped in front of the massive double doors that led to the private chambers of her father's study. Though she had not set foot in this room for years, the memories of it were still vivid—memories of scheming, of plotting, and of a man who had been too ambitious for his own good. Her father had been the head of the Murong House, but it was his thirst for power that had ultimately led to their downfall.
He was too weak, Shuyin thought, her expression hardening. But I am not weak. I will never be like him.
Pushing the doors open, she stepped inside.
The room was exactly as she remembered it—dark wood furniture, shelves lined with ancient tomes, and a massive desk that her father had once sat at, carving out plans for his ascension. Now, it was empty, just another relic of a time that was long past. But to Shuyin, it was a symbol of what she had to reclaim.
She walked to the desk, her fingers brushing over the dust-covered surface. There, hidden beneath a pile of neglected scrolls, was a sealed envelope—a final message from her father, no doubt. Shuyin's lips curled into a cold smile as she opened the letter, her eyes scanning the words with practiced ease.
"Shuyin, my daughter, I trust you will be the one to carry on the legacy of the Murong House. You have the intellect and the cunning to do what I could not. Remember this—power is not given, it is taken. Do not let anyone stand in your way. Take what is yours."
The words echoed in her mind, but they were nothing more than hollow promises now. Her father had been weak, his ambition clouded by idealism. He had not understood the true nature of power. But Shuyin understood. Power was not about nobility or righteousness; it was about control. It was about taking everything from those who would stand in your way and turning it into your own advantage.
I will take what is mine, she thought. Everything they have, everything they are, will be mine.
Her fingers slid to the drawer of the desk, where she knew her father had kept his most valuable possessions—his personal seals, the family's insignia, and, most importantly, the records of his dealings with various factions across the empire. These records were the key to everything—who had betrayed them, who had aided their rise, and who had contributed to their fall.
As her hands sifted through the papers, her eyes caught a name—Zhao Liang. The same name that had appeared in the reports of her family's assassination. Zhao Liang had been one of her father's closest allies, a trusted general, and yet he had turned on them when the winds of politics shifted. His betrayal had been the beginning of the end for the Murong House.
Zhao Liang, she mused, her lips curling into a smile. I will make you pay for what you did.
Shuyin knew that to rebuild her family's power, she would need allies. And to secure allies, she would need leverage. Zhao Liang, with his military prowess and influence, would be a valuable asset. But first, she would have to eliminate him as a threat. And to do that, she would need to be both cunning and ruthless.
Just as she was about to gather the last of the records, a noise came from behind her—a soft shuffle, a rustling of fabric. Shuyin's senses sharpened in an instant, her hand reaching for the hidden blade at her side. Her eyes darted toward the source of the noise, only to see a young woman standing in the doorway.
She was dressed in the faded robes of a servant, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if to hold back the tremble that Shuyin could sense radiating off her. The woman's face was pale, her eyes wide with fear, but there was something else in her gaze—curiosity, suspicion, and a deep, unspoken knowledge.
"You… You're the Lady Murong," the woman whispered, her voice barely audible. "What are you doing here?"
Shuyin straightened, her gaze cold as she regarded the girl. "What I do here is none of your concern, servant," she said icily, her tone dripping with authority. "But you have seen something you should not have. So, you have two choices—leave and forget what you saw, or stay and join me."
The servant's eyes flickered with hesitation, and for a moment, it seemed like she might bolt, but then something in Shuyin's gaze stopped her. It was not fear that held her there, but something far more dangerous—fascination.
"I… I'm not afraid," the servant said quietly, taking a step closer. "I know who you are. The rumors… the whispers in the halls. Everyone thought you were dead."
Shuyin's lips curled into a smirk. "Rumors are nothing more than tools, and I am very skilled at using them."
The servant swallowed, eyes still locked on her. "What will you do now, Lady Murong?"
Shuyin considered her for a moment. She could feel the potential in the young woman—perhaps she could be useful. "You will serve me," Shuyin said flatly. "You will bring me information. All that you hear, all that you see, you will bring it to me. In return, I will ensure your survival. I will protect you from the shadows."
The servant blinked, taken aback by the offer, but she nodded slowly, a strange sense of resolve creeping into her features. "I understand."
Shuyin watched her leave, the door closing behind her with a soft click. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Allies, even unwilling ones, are valuable tools.
And with the right leverage, she would have everything she needed.
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