Mother pulled a magnifying crystal and a pair of spirit-tweezers from under the bed. Sitting on the bed with Philip, she began prying off the diamond embellishments from the dress.
“Hey, don’t just stand there. Come help us. Didn’t that brooch you bought at the market have those shiny spirit-stones that looked just like diamonds? Let’s swap them out. Clever, right?”
Philip grinned, excited, tweezers in hand, beckoning me over like we were planning a heist.
I glared at him, walked over, and threw the dress down, crumpling it like trash.
“What’s the point of hoarding these worthless spirit-jades? What if the engagement breaks off tomorrow? You think we’ll have time to sell them in the capital?”
My outburst left both Mother and Philip wide-eyed.
Mother reached out and pinched my arm—hard.
“Ow!”
“What kind of cursed words are you spouting, huh? Don’t say such ominous things!”
“Ow, ow, ow! That hurts!”
I clutched my arm and glared at her.
The wedding was just three days away. Three days.
I’d already fed Mother every rumor and shadowy whisper about the Duke—how he was said to walk the edge of demonic cultivation, how he might’ve only targeted me for our family’s land. I even begged her to run away with me.
None of it worked. She was impervious.
“Unfaithful? Hah! Like the Baron wasn’t worse? I don’t care if he takes a hundred mistresses—I’ll take ten!”
Or—
“Our tiny coastal land? Why would a Duke with a whole province want that scrap?”
I didn’t have hard evidence to prove why the Duke needed that land.
“The contracts! We never found the damn documents!”
What was left? Wait until the eve of the wedding, hoping she’d finally see the truth? Then flee the capital, evading the Duke’s pursuit?
No. That man was too terrifying—he didn’t just crush obstacles, he obliterated them.
So, the only path left… was chaos. If I caused enough of a disturbance, maybe
they
would break the engagement themselves.
As I plotted my final sabotage, Mother suddenly gave me a sideways glance.
“You’ve been acting strange lately. You know that?”
Her expression turned soft—almost concerned.
“Is it… because of that?”
“What?”
What now?
I looked into her eyes, wondering if she was finally taking me seriously.
Maybe she’d understood—maybe I could finally tell her:
Mother, the Duke’s a lunatic cultivator with eyes like blood and a heart like frost—
“It’s because you feel like I’m abandoning you for the Duke, right? Oh, Emelline. You poor child. Don’t worry. I’ll always be your mother. No man will change that.”
“…?”
Before I could react, she pulled me into a tight embrace.
And of course, Philip—with that lumbering frame and awkward sense of timing—squirmed into the hug, clinging to us like a vine to a tree.
I grit my teeth, crushed between the two of them.
Heavens. Just kill me now.
“Mother… sob… I’ll try… I’ll really try to be good now…”
Philip, sniffling like a child despite his size, whimpered,
“I promise… I won’t hang around those weird women anymore… I’ll stop going to that place… the one with the night-blooming roses… I just don’t want gossip to spread in the cultivation circles…”
Mother patted his back with a thump-thump, now crying too.
“You useless brat! That wretched den of vices again? I swear, if word gets to the noble sects about what you’ve been up to…”
“But… tonight’s special… They said the princess might visit
Night-Blooming Rose
tonight…”
“You thick-headed fool! That princess is a close acquaintance of Young Master Erik! Enough already—just come here… my sweet daughter… my hopeless son… wahhhh…”
Night-Blooming Rose.
A hidden gathering ground where the elite of the cultivation world mingled behind closed doors—noble-born or rogue cultivator alike. A place Philip haunted far too often.
Ah, pathetic Philip… off to ruin another woman’s fate.
Wait a second.
In that moment, a rather cunning scheme flashed through my mind.
Still held in Mother’s embrace, I turned quietly to Philip and asked under my breath,
“Is it true… that the princess will be attending?”
✵
✵
✵
That night, I wandered the resplendent capital, cloaked beneath a traveling robe.
The streets of the imperial capital were more dazzling than anything imaginable in the southern provinces.
Back in the South, everything shut down by the hour of the monkey. People were asleep with their feet up by the time darkness fell…
Nobles and wealthy commoners strolled through the lamplit streets clad in robes and garments of obvious expense. The alleys teemed with beggars and peddlers seeking coin from such folk.
Do these people not sleep?
Most of the women wore dresses that exposed their collarbones and shoulders—
It was clear to me: capital dwellers were immune not only to slumber but also to cold.
My senses were overwhelmed by gleaming crystal spheres overhead and the clashing scents of men’s and women’s perfumes.
Country bumpkin from the South.
A phrase I’d grown numb to hearing ever since stepping into this city—and tonight, I finally felt it down to my bones.
The night market of the capital overflowed with enchanted tools forged from ancient spirit stones, alongside newfangled contraptions powered by something called “electricity.”
Items like these… for such low prices!?
I nearly spent the last of my spirit coins—money I’d set aside just to get myself drunk tonight.
Focus, Emelline! You’re not Philip!
I shook my head furiously, breaking the trance of temptation, and kept walking—until I stopped before a humble stall.
Before me were shoes—simple ones, yet priced almost suspiciously low.
Peeking out from beneath my robe were my worn, scuffed leather shoes.
Right… I forgot to prepare proper footwear.
As I hesitated, the middle-aged stallkeeper, sensing an opportunity, eagerly spoke.
“Oh, these glass slippers have found their destined owner! I’ll give ‘em to you cheap, miss!”
With that, she offered me a pair of translucent, pale sky-blue shoes.
“Glass slippers…?”
They looked far too soft to be made of actual glass, though.
“Of course! They’re all the rage right now, featured in the serial novel by Lady Scarlet. You know, the one where the heroine leaves behind a shoe at a banquet, and the male lead picks it up and—well!”
She launched into a full recounting of the serialized romance, complete with overly dramatic lines and flowery clichés. But to summarize:
A commoner girl, mistreated by her stepmother and half-siblings, marries a wealthy prince from the royal clan—all thanks to a pair of shoes.
A royal–commoner romance.
Predictable, really.
Just like these so-called “glass slippers” that weren’t glass at all, the story might’ve sparkled… but reality after “The End” would surely be harsh.
“Would you like to try them on?” the woman asked, peering at me.
I fingered the coins in my pouch. Even among the stall’s already cheap wares, this pair was dirt-cheap.
“How much… can you bring it down?”
Her face brightened immediately. Producing a large mirror, she exclaimed,
“Half off! I’ll give it to you for half!”
Half?!
Without another thought, I flung off my robe—revealing a dress of soft golden waves beneath.
The woman’s eyes widened.
“That’s an expensive dress, isn’t it?!”
Of course it was.
It was my
bridesmaid dress
, after all.
A costly piece, tailored alongside my mother’s bridal robes by the duchy’s artisans.
I slipped on the glass slippers.
To my relief, they paired beautifully with the golden dress.
“If I’d known you were a young mistress from a wealthy sect...”
The market aunt muttered under her breath as I pulled out a few spirit coins from my sleeve.
“Half-price really is too much, so let’s settle for just this much. A deal’s a deal, right?”
She smacked her lips—clearly pleased to get more, but also looking like she’d been tricked.
Serves you right for judging a cultivator by their robes.
I gave her a wink.
“In exchange, mind lending me your spirit-shears?”
Before she could answer, I grabbed the shears from beside her stall.
“What do you need those f—”
Snip—!
Rip—!
Slice—!
I didn’t even let her finish. I cut off the lower hem of my dress and slashed the upper fabric as well.
Her eyes bulged.
“That dress is... that’s an artifact-tier spirit dress!”
I wrapped the sliced fabric around my shoulders like a shawl and turned to admire myself in the mirror shard nearby.
So what if the dress cost a fortune? Without the right allure, I’d never stand out in this place.
I immediately felt every gaze in the marketplace gravitate toward me—my exposed collarbone, ankles, the nape of my neck.
I tossed the robe aside, tightened the straps on my spirit-silk shoes, and started walking.
After a few minutes, I spotted it: a grand, shady-looking building at the edge of the market, right by a descending tunnel. A cluster of young noblemen lingered near the entrance.
They looked my way, smiling. I could feel their eyes roaming from head to toe.
Perfect. I’d come to the right place.
Night-Blooming Rose.
Even the name was ridiculous. But tonight, this den of secret sects and hidden ambitions would be the stage for my grand disruption.
Rumor had it—the source being my ever-disgraceful brother Philip—that the princess herself was coming tonight.
Apparently, she had a wild heart and hated sharing her chosen man with anyone. To the point where she once ruined a rival’s cultivation standing in noble society.
So never, ever get on the princess’s bad side,
Philip warned.
I glanced toward the men still staring at me and examined each one top to bottom. Then, I gave them a soft, wistful look and whispered:
“…Meh. Not really my type.”
“What… what did you just say?”
One of the nobles turned crimson, clearly offended.
I smirked and waved my hand lazily at him.
When he tried to step toward me, one of his companions blocked him with a sigh.
Oh, come off it. You’re allowed to stare, but I’m not allowed to judge?
Ignoring them, I strode to the gatekeeper standing at the club’s grand entrance.
He locked eyes with me and intoned solemnly:
“What happens at the Night-Blooming Rose…”
A code phrase.
I’d gotten the second half earlier—after plying Philip with a few cups of spirit wine.
“…Stays buried in daylight.”
The gatekeeper nodded and opened the door.
Seriously, who makes their passphrase that obvious?
Then again, drunken nobles aren’t known for sharp memory.
The gates opened to reveal a lavish hallway glowing with spirit-lights.
A secret social haven of the noble sects—protected by passphrases and shrouded in illusion formations.
What a place.
I shivered with excitement as I stepped through the doors.
Of all the chaos I planned to sow before Mother’s wedding—
this was definitely the most fun.
✵
✵
✵
“Must we truly meet in a place like this?”
Eric d'Orléans spoke with clear displeasure, his gaze fixed on the dim, moody lanterns illuminating the tavern known as
The Rose That Blooms at Night
.
Across from him sat a woman who merely shrugged, her smile languid and unapologetic.
“Why not? It’s the perfect secret rendezvous spot for a clandestine exchange—dark, secluded… seductive.”
Clad in a lavish, form-fitting robe, the woman crossed her legs with deliberate grace. Her crimson lips curled into a sly grin.
Eric exhaled through his nose, his voice clipped and cold.
“What nonsense are you spouting now.”
The woman seated before him was Ella von Denik—
the first in line to inherit the imperial throne of the Hellenia Realm, a princess of unrivaled standing across the continent.
Chapter 11