Recovering the jewels was bound to be a struggle; at the very least, Queen Zuona would not return them willingly. Moli was well prepared for this.

With the help of her kin, she was confident she could complete this mission and reclaim all the gems belonging to Queen Yin, just as she had done with the Dragon Blood Stones.

With the conversation concluded, Cen Qing picked up his pen once more, but the tip hovered over the paper, and for a long time, not a single word was written.

The first step is always the hardest.

What he thought would be a piece of cake completely stumped him. Your Majesty? “Dear”? Or something else?

Just the question of what to call him had him scratching his head.

Moli leaned in curiously and asked cautiously, “Your Highness, are you facing a dilemma? Could you tell me? Perhaps I can help.”

“I’m writing a love letter,” Cen Qing said bluntly, with no intention of hiding anything. “Unfortunately, it’s not my strong suit. I just feel like something’s missing in my head.”

In his previous life, he could have easily written a thesis.

He never imagined that a few words of love would stump him so completely, leaving him feeling at a loss. “A love letter?” Moli’s voice rose sharply. “To whom are you writing it?”

“To the Lord of the Snow Domain, of course—the Witch Spirit King.” Cen Qing gave her a puzzled look, finding the question rather superfluous. He twirled the crystal pen barrel incessantly, colorful light flickering between his fingers, mirroring the state of his mind at that moment.

Complex, restless, and at a loss.

“He is my betrothed, my future husband. In every respect, it is essential that we maintain a harmonious relationship.”

A love letter. Witch Spirit King.

Maintaining a good relationship.

For a moment, a blank expression crossed Moli’s face.

She had to admit that His Highness the Prince’s reasoning was quite practical.

“As far as I know, the Witch Spirit King is ruthless and brutal—a tyrant through and through. In a fit of rage, he once unleashed a blizzard that wiped out tens of thousands of Fallen Treants. He has also caused the earth to split and triggered avalanches, forcing the combined forces of the Savage Orcs and the Longhairs to retreat in defeat. I fully support your foresight, but I hope you will proceed with caution,” Moli said solemnly.

“I am both serious and cautious,” Cen Qing paused, gripping the pen with one hand. “I am destined to stand against my father and many nobles. The path ahead is crucial; I will not allow myself to make a single misstep.”

“But…”

“Imagine this: a betrothed who admires him, relies on him, and yearns for his favor—or a reluctant tribute forced upon him. Which one has a better chance of survival?” Cen Qing leaned forward, propping his chin with one hand, and turned his head to look at Moli. “What I said earlier was absolutely no joke.”

What he said before… the Demon Concubine?

Moli opened his mouth, then, after a long moment, said, “You’re right.”

“So, my loyal Moli, I need some sweet nothings to win over my future husband.” Cen Qing winked at Moli and said with a radiant smile. Moli pondered for a moment, then suddenly remembered something. “I have a diary left by your mother, along with some letters. Perhaps they can help you.” 

“My mother’s diary and letters?”

“The diary chronicles your mother’s battle experiences, and the letters are from various members of the royal family and nobility, expressing their admiration for her.” A look of nostalgia crossed Moli’s face. “Your mother, Queen Yin—she was not only of noble blood and exceptional ability, but her beauty was also legendary. Her suitors were as numerous as fish in a river, but alas…”

The maid’s voice suddenly trailed off.

Her gaze grew dark and menacing, her expression turning somber. It was clear she was thinking of Gorod.

That despicable scoundrel—using sweet talk and a flawless disguise to pluck the kingdom’s most beautiful rose, only to cruelly snap it off, leaving nothing but scattered petals on the ground.

“Never mind, let’s not dwell on such disheartening matters.” Moli shook her head vigorously, slapped her cheeks with both hands, and pulled herself together. “If you need it, I’ll go fetch it right away.”

Cen Qing didn’t press the matter further and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Please wait a moment.” Moli turned and left, hurrying out of the room. She returned in no time, carrying an exquisite box.

The corners of the box were wrapped in gold leaf, and the lid was carved with roses, each blooming in brilliant splendor. The edges of the petals had faded slightly, and rust spots had crept onto the lock, clearly showing its age.

The lid of the box opened to reveal a well-preserved diary bound in stiff animal hide from a beast hunted by the Queen Yin. The pages were slightly yellowed, requiring extra care when turning them.

Beneath the diary lay a large bundle of letters, the vast majority from the suitors of Queen Yin—some nobles from within the kingdom, others from beyond its borders. Cen Qing untied the knot, saw that the wax seals could still be pieced back together, apologized to his mother, and began to unfold and read them one by one.

This was very helpful to him.

One broadened his horizons, two opened his eyes, three cleared up his confusion, and by the fourth, his creative juices were flowing. He continued to unfold the letters, skimming them from beginning to end, reading ten lines at a glance.

After reading all ten letters, he finally felt confident.

He immediately spread out a sheet of paper, picked up a pen, and words of affection flowed from the tip—elaborate in style, every word and phrase brimming with emotion.

Sending this letter would clearly express his admiration. As for whether the Witch Spirit King would be moved, Cen Qing understood that things wouldn’t be too easy. After all, this wasn’t a fairy tale.

Regardless, as long as he made an impression on the other party, the situation wouldn’t be too bad—at least it wouldn’t be any worse than it was now. Inside the Black Tower, the Vampire Prince set his sights on his goal and began writing furiously, throwing himself into the task of composing love letters with astonishing passion.

Inside the palace, Gorod was, for once, thinking clearly.

In a rare move, he had suspended the banquet and taken the initiative to summon his ministers to finalize the alliance and make the last preparations for dispatching the diplomatic mission. The summoned nobles arrived at the palace one after another, among them Zax, the foreign minister who had originally advocated for the marriage alliance.

Once all attendees had arrived, the hall doors closed. Occasional murmurs drifted out, but the wind sweeping through the corridors blurred the sounds, making it nearly impossible to make out a single word.

In the Queen’s bedchamber, however, an eerie silence reigned.

The ladies-in-waiting, having been dismissed, withdrew from the room in silence. The attendants were also sent away and could only stand anxiously in the corridor. Zuona had sent everyone away and now paced alone before the fireplace.

The hem of her skirt, embroidered with amber and pearls, dragged along the floor. As it brushed against the carpet, it emitted a faint rustle—a sound that mirrored her current state of mind: her thoughts were in disarray, and she could not sit still.

She glanced toward the window from time to time, even pushing it open, but not a single Blood Owl had returned. The most likely possibility was that something had gone terribly wrong.

“Useless good-for-nothing.” 

“How dare he, how dare he!”

Recalling the humiliation of a few days ago—the shock of having her golden crown torn from her head and the shame and fury that followed—Zuona gritted her teeth, her rage boiling over.

The king had even ordered her to hand over all the jewels she had taken.

“They don’t belong to you, Zuona.”

Gorod spoke lightly, his tone nonchalant. Zuona was furious, but she didn’t have the courage to rebuke him to his face. She knew she was powerless.

Gorod needed Cen Qing for a political marriage, as a tribute to the Lord of the Snow Domain. Regardless of his future, he had to remain alive until he left the Royal Capital.

Gorod would tolerate him to a certain extent—that was her only hope.

Cen Qing used this opportunity to reclaim his mother’s jewels; both in terms of reason and compassion, Zuona had no room to refuse. She couldn’t even kill him to put an end to it once and for all.

“Damn it!” Zuona clutched her hair tightly, her fangs protruding from her gums as she cursed loudly with the most vicious words. Unfortunately, it was all in vain.

She was destined to lose these jewels.

The bitterness of gaining and then losing tormented her, leaving her restless and anxious. She could only pace back and forth in the room, like a pendulum with no end in sight. The queen’s fury had no outlet and had no effect on the king whatsoever.

As the council meeting concluded, Gorod suddenly remembered something. He summoned the most skilled court painters and ordered them to go and paint a portrait of Cen Qing.

“My son needs a portrait.”

According to the traditions of the vampire clan, family members leave behind a portrait every ten years, and the royal family was no exception.

Cen Qing clearly had none.

He had been confined to the Black Tower from a young age, and all traces of his growth had been deliberately erased—by none other than his own father.

The greatest irony was that even the king’s illegitimate son could come and go as he pleased in the palace, leaving his own mark behind. Yet Cen Qing, as the firstborn of Gorod and the first in line to the throne, did not have a single portrait displayed on the walls—not even the one taken at his birth, which the king had ordered removed.

And now, the king was going to great lengths, as if decorating a gift, just to please the Lord of the Snow Domain.

“You two go together. Remember, make my son look handsome.” Gorod leaned back in his chair, his tone flippant and deeply unsettling. Cen Qing’s features did not resemble his own; he took after his mother.

Yet there was no doubt that he was handsome. Black hair, black eyes—symbols of noble lineage. “Go on, and don’t let me down.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.” The painters slung their easels over their shoulders, gathered the various pigments needed for their work, and left the castle with heavy steps, heading toward the mysterious Black Tower.

Recalling the dark rumors about the Black Tower, and thinking of the dying page and the gravely wounded knight, they couldn’t help but shiver, their hearts sinking.

Yet the king’s command could not be disobeyed; they could only hope that His Royal Highness the Prince was in a good mood, and that all the good fortune of their lives would come to fruition at this very moment. 

Meanwhile, in the distant northern borderlands of the kingdom, a rebel army launched a surprise attack in the blizzard.

Fallen Treants knocked down vast sections of the stone wall, swarming through the breach to engage the garrison in fierce hand-to-hand combat. Flames shot skyward, the whistling of arrows cut through the air, and screams rang out in an unending chorus.

Crimson stained the ground, and blood spattered in all directions.

Combatants frequently tumbled from the ramparts; after a final scream, they all met their end, their corpses freezing in the biting wind.

The Fallen Treants revealed their true forms, lifting massive boulders to hurl at the defenders behind the wall. The wandering vampires, hidden in the treetops, repeatedly drew their bows, picking off their targets with precision.

Dark orcs took a running start and leaped over the walls, swinging their crude, heavy weapons to knock down two or three defenders at a time, unleashing a one-sided slaughter.

Several shadows plummeted from the sky. They seized the defenders on the ground, soared high into the air, and then let go, sending them crashing to the ground.

“Savage Feathered Folk!” 

“Fire!”

Under attack from both the ground and the sky, the defenders were stretched thin and scrambled to keep up, plunging into chaos in an instant. Not far from the battlefield, on an isolated cliff, several Silver-White Wolves appeared in the snow.

The wolf was massive, its broad chest clad in armor, and its forepaws equipped with steel claws. Its eerie green eyes were sinister and terrifying, and its sharp fangs glinted with an intimidating cold light.

Upon reaching the cliff’s edge, the wolves’ heads lowered one by one, revealing the figures on their backs.

Tall and slender, with long necks and finely defined jawlines, their skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. Each wore a cloak adorned with unique patterns, each design distinct and clearly marking their race.

They were Wraiths, the mightiest race in the Snow Domain. Their inherently savage nature struck terror into the hearts of the surrounding kingdoms.

“The rebel forces are growing in strength and becoming increasingly formidable.” 

“The savage tribes intend to take advantage of the chaos.”

“We must report this to His Majesty.”

“The vampire clan—what a bunch of useless fools.”

As they spoke, the sound of a horn carried on the wind, and a large contingent of vampire clan reinforcements appeared, charging headlong into the battlefield.

Their timing was impeccable; they appeared as if sent by the heavens, catching the rebel forces off guard and swiftly turning the tide of battle.

“Looks like they aren’t entirely useless after all,” remarked a Wraith.

“We can’t let the rebel forces keep growing. We should consider the vampire clan’s proposal for an alliance,” another spoke up. “I hear the vampire clan is sending a prince. He has ancient matrilineal bloodlines—he must be quite a beauty.”

“When it comes to being a sight for sore eyes, who can compare to His Majesty? He can just look in the mirror.” 

“…You’re right.”

Seeing that they were straying from the topic and their conversation was becoming increasingly off-track, the eldest Wraith spoke up to remind them: “Although this isn’t Storm City, you’d better be careful.”

“Understood.”

The young wraith heeded the warning, running a finger across his lips and saying not another word.

The outcome of this battle was already certain. The Wraiths had no intention of lingering; with a cold hand patting their mount wolves, they turned and headed back. The fighting in the borderlands continued, but the mount wolves on the cliff had already departed.

They raced through the woods, moving as swiftly as the wind.

After bursting out of the forest, the pack crossed the snowy plains, vanishing in the blink of an eye as streaks of light.