Cen Qing’s reasoning was compelling. Compared to mere goodwill, this explanation was far more practical. Yet Zuona still didn’t believe him.

Noting her skepticism, Cen Qing didn’t seem to mind. He motioned for the maids to withdraw and reminded Zuona, “Since you wish for me to depart with dignity, we shouldn’t waste any more time. I’m sure the tailors you’ve brought are skilled, and I’d be delighted to have them work on my attire.”

He had easily stirred up the waters, creating a terrifying whirlpool, yet the instigator decisively withdrew.

While Zuona remained mired in her own turmoil, Cen Qing smiled broadly and spread his arms, gesturing for the tailors to step forward to take his measurements, then proceeded to describe the style he preferred right then and there.

“I don’t like being constricted; something loose-fitting would be best. As for the embroidery pattern, how about roses? I like gold.”

“As you wish.”

The tailors were on edge, yet their hearts grew calm.

They glanced at Zuona to make sure she had no intention of stopping them, then immediately walked over to Cen Qing with a tape measure. Their movements were meticulous, and their hands were steady.

Once the preparations were complete, they brought out the fabric.

Cen Qing selected half of it and kept the rest as well. Amid the tailors’ incredulous stares, he instructed a maid to take it away and put it away. His demeanor was so natural that by the time everyone came to their senses, the fabric had already been cleared away.

“Since it’s a gift for me, there’s no reason to take it back. And as for all of you,” Cen Qing surveyed the tailors present with a smile, “I’m rather particular. You must remain in the Black Tower until all the work is completed. When I set out, if you wish, you may become my retinue— including your families.”

The tailors were momentarily stunned, but quickly caught on. This was a gift!

They nodded frantically, their faces filled with excitement, and each of them moved to tears with gratitude.

Having overheard secrets they shouldn’t have, they had all braced themselves for the worst. If they left the Black Tower today, the Queen would surely have them executed. Cen Qing had given them a glimmer of hope.

Even if it meant leaving their homeland behind and journeying to the unfamiliar Snow Domain, they would gladly accept it. Staying alive was more important than anything else!

Compared to the tailors, the court ladies were even less fortunate.

They could only pin their hopes on their families back home, praying that Zuona would fear the power of the nobility and not silence them by making them vanish without a trace.

When Cen Qing announced she would keep all the tailors, Zuona merely furrowed her brow and said nothing. Her mind was in turmoil; she couldn’t wait to see Zax, hoping to discuss a strategy with her brother.

If the king truly harbors murderous intent, how should they respond?

This was by no means an easy task. The slightest misstep would result in their bodies being shattered beyond recognition, with no place to bury their remains. Time flew by like a white horse passing through a crevice—fleeting and gone in an instant.

At dusk, Queen Zuona left the Black Tower, accompanied only by her lady-in-waiting; there was no sign of the tailors. Watching the procession recede into the distance, the tailors felt immense gratitude toward Cen Qing.

“Your Highness, thank you for your mercy. I swear on my soul that my family and I will remain loyal to you!”

Having sworn their oaths, the tailors followed the maids out of the room and headed to the workshop prepared for them. It is worth noting that their attendants also remained behind, and thus their lives were spared.

Throughout the process, everyone kept their mouths shut and their eyes fixed straight ahead, speaking and moving with precise, measured steps, without uttering a single question.

The door closed behind them. Cen Qing turned and walked to the window, leaning his hands on the windowsill to look down at the area below the Black Tower, his gaze following the queen and her entourage as they moved forward. Moli walked up beside him. After much hesitation, she finally asked, “Your Highness, why did you warn her?”

“It will be quite interesting,” Cen Qing replied evasively, only deepening Moli’s confusion. “I don’t understand,” the maid said.

“His Majesty the King, his wife, and his trusted ministers have lost trust in one another and have grown wary of each other. Day after day, the rift deepens, until one day it may shatter completely, and they’ll turn their blades against one another. Isn’t that quite interesting?” Cen Qing turned to face the window, arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping lightly against his upper arm. Darkness fell over his shoulders, obscuring his features, while his bright eyes burned with unmasked malice.

“Are you driving a wedge between them?” Moli’s expression shifted to one of sudden realization.

“It’s a crude tactic—any intelligent person would see through it—but it’s effective.” Cen Qing assessed his own actions and couldn’t help but chuckle softly. If they don’t provoke me, I won’t provoke them.

Those who attempt to drive him into a corner must pay the price.

While Gorod was certainly despicable, Zuona was not entirely innocent either. Her mother’s inheritance had been usurped for years; reclaiming it was not the end—only by paying a heavier price could she fully make amends.

“Husband and wife at odds, ruler and subject at odds, turning on one another. Blood staining the palace red—the scene must be quite a sight.”

He turned his head to look out the window, where he could see the sun sinking and the moon rising. The sun and moon abruptly intersected, merging into a crimson glow, as if the sky were stained with blood. As the streetlights began to glow, Zuona and her entourage returned to the royal palace.

The massive castle gates swung open inward, and smooth stone slabs lay beneath their feet—each one steeped in history, dating back to the very founding of the Royal Capital.

Inside the castle, all was silent.

There were no knights on guard, nor any of the ministers who had argued so fiercely earlier that day.

Occasionally, a maid or page passed by, tiptoeing as they moved, afraid to make too much noise. When Zuona reached the entrance to the banquet hall, a sweet, metallic scent wafted past her nose.

Splatters of blood remained on the walls; a few drops had seeped into the carvings, adding a touch of grim, eerie color to the ancient rock engravings. All signs indicated that while she was away, the palace had been anything but peaceful—a bloody incident had occurred, and it was highly likely that someone had lost their life. Zuona knew Gorod well.

Clearly, His Majesty the King was in a bad mood—one might even say a terrible one. She suddenly hesitated, unsure whether to push open the door before her.

Through the crack in the door, the sound of debauchery seeped out; Gorod was once again indulging in unrestrained pleasure. Entering at this moment should not provoke his wrath. After much deliberation, Zuona finally made up her mind.

A slender hand rested on the door, skin as smooth as cream, nails crystal-clear. A pigeon’s bloodstone adorned her finger—it was the color most favored by the vampire clan, and no one was an exception.

The hall door slid open slowly, and light poured down from above, spreading a vast expanse of luminous white. Orchestral music swelled as a host of beauties, draped in sheer veils, danced gracefully to the melody. Barefoot, their waists were slender, and their arms and thighs smooth and rounded.

Their long, curly hair brushed against their cheeks as they giggled and drew near the throne, surrounding Gorod and nestling against his knees. Their eyes sparkled with allure, and every movement exuded endless seduction.

Zuona watched this scene, her face utterly expressionless. She had long since grown accustomed to Gorod’s womanizing ways.

As a wife, she was utterly disillusioned with her husband. After hearing the secrets revealed by Cen Qing, she found it even harder to look him in the eye.

Suspicion, fear, panic, and the disgust she had to hide—these emotions intertwined, leaving her distraught and utterly unable to think clearly.

Cen Qing’s tactics had been quite effective.

At this very moment, and for a long time to come, Zuona’s fear and suspicion of Gorod would not fade, and her disgust would only multiply until she could no longer bear it.

With her emotions on the verge of collapse, what choice would she make? Or perhaps she had no choice at all.

Gorod would strike first, strip her of her crown, and throw her and her entire family into prison. Taking a deep breath, Zuona did her best to compose herself as she stepped through the hall.

The wide hem of her skirt billowed in waves, concealing her pearl-encrusted shoes and muffling her footsteps.

Gorod noticed his wife. He lifted his gaze from the beauty’s bosom, swaying his glass of gin in one hand, and fixed her with a startling stare.

Dark, cold, and malevolent.

The only thing missing was intimacy and affection.

“My dear Queen, you’re back.” Even in the presence of his wife, Gorod did not push his mistress away, but leaned back in his chair, showing not the slightest regard for her dignity. “How did things go?”

Beneath her lace cuffs, Zuona clenched her fists.

She forced herself to keep her gaze steady, refusing to look at the alluring beauties at the king’s side. Their presence filled her with humiliation, yet she was powerless to do anything about it. As queen, she had no choice but to tolerate her rivals.

How ridiculous.

“As per your orders, I conveyed your instructions to Prince Cen Qing,” Zuona said. 

“Oh?” Gorod leaned back, slowly narrowing his eyes. “How did he respond?”

“He is very humble and obedient, Your Majesty,” Zuona said, lowering her eyelids to hide the truest emotions in her eyes.

Several court ladies standing behind her were shaken to the core by her words. Suppressing their astonishment, they maintained their composure, revealing not a single trace of their inner turmoil.

“Humble and obedient? Are you joking?” Gorod was utterly astonished. He suddenly sat up straight, leaning forward so his back was no longer against the chair. “It wouldn’t be wise to deceive me.”

“I am utterly loyal to you, my Majesty, my beloved husband.” Zuona kept her eyes lowered, her face pale, and did not waver in her words.

After a long moment, Gorod pushed his lover aside, rose from the throne, and stepped before Zuona. He raised his hand to lift Zuona’s chin; his thumb and index finger were like iron clamps, capable of crushing her bones with ease. Zuona was forced to raise her gaze and meet those cold, menacing eyes.

She struggled to steady herself, yet could not stop shivering. Her fingertips trembled slightly, as if locked onto by a terrifying predator, falling into his palm, the fear of death flooding her brain, corroding every fiber of her being.

“Zuona, my wife, you wouldn’t lie to me,” Gorod murmured softly, as if speaking words of love.

“Of course,” Zuona pressed her lips together, struggling to speak. “You know he emptied my storerooms. If not for you, for your kingdom, once we enter the Black Tower, I will tear him to pieces with my own hands!”

Hearing this, Gorod burst into laughter.

His handsome face, hearty voice, and supreme power were undeniably captivating. He gently kissed Zuona’s forehead, seemingly dispelling his doubts.

“I will compensate you, my beloved Queen. Do not grieve over what you have lost; you will possess far more than you could ever have dreamed of.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

Zuona threw herself into Gorod’s arms, nestling obediently against his chest. The brooch adorning his coat caught in her hair, a sharp sting that brought her mind back to clarity.

She knew Gorod still harbored suspicion, but she had no choice but to play dumb. At that moment, she finally understood Cen Qing’s intentions.

Yet the moment she stepped into the Black Tower, she was destined to be swept into the vortex.

Closing her eyes, Zuona desperately tried to convince herself that until she was certain of her footing, she must be even more cautious, more humble and submissive, so that Gorod would lower his guard and not immediately fabricate charges to expel her from the palace or throw her into prison.

On the same dark night, deep within the distant Snow Domain, in the palace of the Witch Spirit King, a portrait hung in his bedroom.

The rustle of fabric filled the air as a slender figure approached the portrait. Fair fingers traced the contours of the figure within, while the hem of a sleeve embroidered with silver thread slid past the wrist, revealing two exquisite bracelets.

As the bracelets touched, a faint glow emerged, falling precisely upon the earring of the figure in the painting, captivating the soul in the stillness.

“Someone is here.” A clear voice rang out in the hall—elegant and restrained, like a collar fastened with jeweled buttons, exuding an air of asceticism. “Summon Fran. Order him to go to Golden Rock City.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

The wraiths outside the hall acknowledged the order and turned to float away.

That night, four shadowy figures left Storm City, like streaks of light cutting through the biting gale, heading for the Royal Capital of the vampire clan.