The autumn rain filled the bluestone with a fishy smell. Sixteen-year-old Su Zhaoyi clutched the blood-stained hosta, her knuckles turning white. There were hurried footsteps behind her, and she staggered to hold on to the vermilion-lacquered corridor pillars. The hem of her golden-red palace dress was stained with mud, and spread dark red along with the rain curtain hanging down at the corner of the eaves.
"Seize the traitor's daughter!" The sound of armors clashing made the bells in the corridor tremble. Su Zhaoyi gritted her teeth and hid the hairpin in her sleeve. The cold metal hurt her palms - it was a birthday gift from His Majesty three days ago, but now it has become a murder weapon.
