Xue Ruyan had done many questionable things in her life—stealing from immortal nobles, impersonating sect ladies for easy coin, accidentally burning down a minor clan's granary because she misunderstood the phrase "make it disappear."
But this job felt… different.
She had been hired to impersonate the daughter of the Cloud-Soaring Feng Clan—not for amusement or profit, but to sabotage the daughter's own arranged marriage.
A peculiar request, even for her. Though admittedly… it ranked high on her "top five most curious jobs."
Earlier that morning, Feng Ningyu had clutched Ruyan's hands with the desperation of an opera actress performing her final tragic act. Her grip was delicate yet insistent, her eyes shimmering with a blend of entitlement and panic.
"Just make him hate me," she had said, her voice trembling in a pitch meant to evoke pity. "As long as he cancels the engagement, Father cannot blame me. You understand, don't you?"
Ruyan arched a brow. "Who is the groom again?"
"Li Mozhi," Ningyu enunciated, each syllable dripping arrogance.
She shook her head, hair ornaments chiming. "He's from the lower realm. A newly ascended immortal. He's never met me. Impossible he knows anything about my person."
She paced in her silk slippers, fanning herself, each movement designed to convey leisure, power, and superiority. "You know," Ningyu continued, eyes glinting with faint amusement, "these lower-realm mortals… ascending, thinking they can claim a place among immortals… it is laughable. They claw through sects, poison their bodies with energy they cannot contain, and for what? A taste of glory they will never truly earn."
Ruyan suppressed the smirk threatening her lips. Such arrogance was a gift. It gave her leverage, a script upon which to perform.
"Your task is simple," Ningyu said, spinning her fan with a flourish, letting the wind catch it and stir the edges of her elaborate silk sleeves. "Be me. Remind him that he will never, ever be one of us. Speak as I would. Delight in showing him that he is nothing more than an intruder in the realm of true immortals. Let him feel the weight of his own inadequacy."
"…And I get paid how much?" Ruyan asked lightly, eyes drifting to the wooden box in Ningyu's hands.
With a dramatic flourish, Ningyu opened the lid. Gold gleamed inside, warm as afternoon sunlight.
Ruyan's breath paused. Then a slow, sharp smile curved her lips.
"Deal."
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Before a bronze mirror in her small room, Ruyan drew a thin thread of spiritual light between her fingers. The illusion rose with a soft hum, shifting her cheekbones, brightening her eyes, reshaping her lips—until Feng Ningyu's infuriatingly delicate face stared back.
"Ugh." She poked at the reflection. "I look like I've never lifted anything heavier than a porcelain teacup."
A small movement at her waist caught her attention. The tiny ornament she had attached—a ball of cream-gold fur tipped in black, fox-like in shape—wiggled irritably.
"That face looks like more trouble than the old one," a tiny voice muttered.
Ruyan's lips curved into a faint smile as she leaned closer. "What's wrong with my old face?" she whispered.
The ornament sighed, shifting into a miniature three-tailed fox perched upon her waist like a guardian of mischievous pride. "You mean the face belonging to our favorite mooncake shop owner? Now that you're off on this ridiculous task, I cannot even get our treats," Jinri complained, nostrils flaring.
Ruyan stroked his head, smoothing the tiny fur. "Don't be grumpy. We survive first, feast second."
"I am not grumpy," he replied, puffing up his chest in indignation. "I am merely hungry. Melt-on-your-tongue meat. Honey-glazed sweets. The finest treats you promised. You cannot deny me this."
"Later," she muttered, tying her hair into Ningyu's elaborate noble style, silk ribbons curling perfectly around the high bun, ornamental pins glinting in the lantern light.
The next hour was torture.
Feng Ningyu's luxurious robes—embroidered with golden cranes and lined with pearl-white fur—were heavy, suffocating, and aggressively inconvenient. Ruyan stumbled several times, the long silk hems threatening to drag her face-first to the floor.
"This dress will be the death of me," she muttered.
"There, there," Jinri said from her sleeve, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Suffering is fashionable."
"Shut up."
By the time Ruyan reached the Moonlit Pavilion, she felt as though she had fought half a war.
The main hall unfolded like a palace forged from gold and jade. Lanterns glowed against crimson beams, incense curled through carved wooden panels, and the aromas of roasted meats and delicate pastries choked the air with tantalizing cruelty.
Jinri sniffed. "Ryu. Ryu. Smell that."
"Later," she hissed.
"…Fine. Starve me, then."
A maid approached with a courteous bow. "How may I assist you, my lady?"
"Li Mozhi," Ruyan said, dripping Ningyu's signature haughty poise. "He is expecting me."
"Of course, Lady Feng", the maid replied with a polite curtsy, then led her toward the private stairs.
Ruyan ascended carefully and drew a slow, steadying breath, silently grateful for Jinri's presence beside her on every mission. The sun fox had the uncanny gift of accompanying her unseen—no mortal, no immortal could sense him unless he willed it. In the chaos of stolen identities and treacherous schemes, Jinri was her constant, her perfect companion, a quiet anchor in a world of danger.
The doors at the end of the hall slid open with a hushed whisper. Ruyan's breath caught. The room beyond seemed to pulse with life and danger.
In the center sat a man like a predator at rest, surrounded by courtesans whose laughter danced around him like perfumed smoke. He leaned back with effortless command, swirling wine that gleamed like garnet.
Black hair spilled over his shoulders, held by a simple jade clasp. His robes—black traced with flickers of crimson—hung over a lean, dangerous frame. He radiated quiet power. Perfect control. Lethal poise.
Ruyan's instincts screamed.
This Li Mozhi is dangerous.
Still, she forced her shoulders straight, her lips forming a cool, practiced smile—the expression of a noblewoman convinced of her own superiority.
"I've heard much about you," she said. "A mortal—newly ascended—daring to sit among immortals. How ambitious. Truly laughable."
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
Dark eyes swept over her, unhurried, assessing, as though peeling back her soul layer by layer.
"You speak with confidence," he murmured. His voice was low, smooth—a quiet warning wrapped in silk.
Ruyan scoffed lightly. "Confidence? I simply cannot take seriously someone who barely survived as a mortal and now sits at the Moonlit Pavilion. Your robes are… passable. For a fledgling immortal."
The courtesans whispered sharply, but Li Mozhi remained still, as though amused by a child's tantrum.
She continued, "Perhaps you lack the etiquette expected of one meeting a noble lady. To bring courtesans here… I suppose lower-realm standards differ."
A slow, ghost-like smile tugged at his lips. "Is this your test?" he asked softly. "To offend me?"
"Test? I speak plainly. One does not ascend by accident. You either have talent… or survive by sheer luck. You, it seems, had your share of luck."
Something flickered in his eyes—not anger, but interest.
"You are bold," he said. "Most fear me. You do not."
"Fear? Of you?" she snorted. "You may have ascended, but the stench of mortality clings. An immortal now—yes—but a dog remains a dog."
His eyes sharpened. Not with insult—no, with curiosity. Controlled. Focused.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Where does such unfounded confidence come from?"
Her pulse quickened. Why is he not reacting? Why does he feel as if he's letting me walk straight into a trap?
But she couldn't back down. Not when money was on the line.
Her lips curved into a faint, deliberately condescending smile as her hand found a wine bottle. No matter.
He may resist, but the engagement must be canceled. I will not let arrogance stand in the way of a payday…
With deliberate precision, she poured it across him, the liquid splashing like a sudden rainstorm. Courtesans shrieked and fled.
Ruyan's gaze flicked briefly to the table beside him. A small golden trinket—intricately carved, gleaming like a captured sunray—sat unattended among the cups.
He didn't notice her glance.
Good.
With the silent precision of someone who had survived on sleight of hand and instinct, Ruyan brushed past the table under the pretense of adjusting her sleeve.
Her fingers moved like shadows—
and the trinket vanished into her sleeve.
It was a clean lift. No sound. No shift in the air. The perfect theft.
Her pulse didn't even spike.
She leveled herself, eyes locked on his, every ounce of her borrowed confidence radiating outward.
"I am Feng Ningyu. You cannot speak to me that way. Know your place, mutt," she said, her voice smooth, commanding, yet tinged with imperious amusement.
His lips curved faintly, as though amused rather than offended.
"Cancel the engagement," she said softly, her voice steady despite the rapid thrum of her pulse, before pivoting gracefully toward the door.
"Engagement?" His voice rose.
Ruyan's eyes narrowed slightly. She bit her lip, letting a faint shadow of steel edge her words. "I hope you're not going to play dumb with me. Inform my father of the cancellation of our engagement tomorrow… if you wish to see the light of day." She turned, forcing her steps to remain smooth, though her mind raced. Ningyu had never instructed her to threaten, yet some rules of survival—especially in the presence of this man—demanded it.
She was just about to push the heavy door open when a sudden whistle cut through the air. A sword streaked past her head with a metallic hiss. Ruyan froze mid-step, every muscle coiled. Her breath caught. This man… he is not to be underestimated.
"Immortals… truly live too long," he muttered under his breath, "they stopped using their brain properly."
He rose, each step silent yet heavy with authority. "Tell me,"his voice low, deliberate, "are you brave… or merely foolish… to steal from me?"
Ruyan didn't wait for an answer. Flames erupted around her, Jinri expanded into three-tailed glory, and the world blurred as they vanished from the hall, leaving courtesans and a stunned Li Mozhi behind and unto the rooftop, chest heaving, she crouched. Jinri shrank back to his ornament form, puffing indignantly.
"Was that… supposed to be fun?" Jinri gasped, wings drooping dramatically. "Because I nearly died. Twice. Maybe three times. You know my powers malfunction the moment I get nervous, right? I was basically decorative!"
"It was necessary," Ruyan said, though she was still a little out of breath herself. She clutched the golden trinket like a starving beggar clutching rice. "Besides… look at this. We could retire with this."
"Retire?" Jinri squeaked. "After that? I need reincarnation, not retirement!"
Ruyan exhaled, muttering under her breath, "He's far stronger than Ningyun made him seem. Far, far stronger."
Jinri stared at her, ears flat. "Or—hear me out—you might've just angered the wrong immortal we should never, ever anger." He paused. "Can we move to another realm? Change our names? Fake our deaths?"
Ruyan huffed, brushing soot from her sleeve. "The wrong immortal, maybe. But certainly not the wrong job. We get paid, we survive, we feast. That's all that matters."
She glanced once at the Moonlit Pavilion, faint smoke drifting from the hearths. And as they vanished into the night, Ruyan's grin returned, a mixture of triumph and thrill. This was the life she loved: dangerous, chaotic… and worth every coin.