“Your Highness, the dagger beneath your sleeve... it’s trembling.” Du Yaoyao smiled as she crushed the teacup, golden light swirling in her eyes.
Reborn as a low-ranking palace maid in the Tang dynasty, she possessed eyes that could see straight into people’s hearts. The murderous schemes swirling around the imperial bed, the war clouds gathering among the regional warlords, and the young general who was always polishing his Mo Dao beneath the moonlight all became constellations in the star chart in her hands.
When the Xuanwu Gate massacre unfolded three months ahead of schedule, Lin Yixuan’s blade pressed against her throat. “Who are you, really?” Three thousand voices echoed through the palace, inside and out. Du Yaoyao touched the bloodstained lapel of his robe. “The one whose heartbeat resonates with yours.”
