ELIZABETH (PRINCESS SOPHIE’S TIRED BEST FRIEND)

Ethan Zhou had to be some kind of love god in disguise. It was the only explanation that made sense.

And the irony?

The whole thing was absolutely delicious.

Elizabeth stood just far enough back to stay in the background—arms folded, expression neutral—as the drama unfolded like a court play staged under open sky.

The best part?

Most of the players didn’t even realize they were on a stage.

There was the icy sect beauty, determined to live life on her own terms.

The tech-obsessed martial prodigy who’d once threatened to cut off a suitor’s balls for getting too handsy.

A Path Icon favorite who moved like a scandal waiting to happen.

And a princess who didn’t yet understand why she was the most worked up of them all.

Vivian Li. Shen Minhua. Marissa Lin. And Princess Sophie.

A constellation of elegance, power, and pressure—all quietly orbiting Ethan Zhou, a boy who still flinched when someone complimented his project notes.

Elizabeth was still trying to figure out how to monetize the drama.

Nothing had come to mind yet—not one useful investment angle, product, or sponsorship.

Well. Maybe a novel. A thinly veiled social satire. The kind that got banned in the Capital and reprinted twice as fast.

She considered the idea for a moment, then buried it with a sigh. Too much effort. Not enough plausible deniability.

Instead, she returned her attention to the cast of this increasingly ridiculous production.

Marissa Lin was smiling like she’d already won something. That in itself wasn’t strange—Marissa always looked like she was two steps from collecting a trophy no one else knew existed. What was strange, however, was the unspoken assumption that Ethan Zhou had been part of that prize. There was little evidence to support it. Ethan didn’t treat her like a prospective partner—more like a well-meaning family friend with a flair for the dramatic.

Still, Elizabeth glanced at Marissa again. Her bust really was impressive. Her posture alone was probably a medical feat. She wondered what kind of strengthening talisman she used for lumbar support.

Vivian Li, of course, wasn’t even on the battlefield. According to Elizabeth’s sources, she was still holed up on Lotus Peak, pouring herself into advanced sword drills and unleashing ice mana like a blizzard on command. It was intense, even by Li standards.

Apparently, the fallout from the Imperial Gala hadn’t landed well.

Vivian had been conspicuously absent, while three of the most prominent women in the Empire—Shen Minhua, Sophie Virelyn, and the Empress herself—had publicly acknowledged Ethan Zhou. Even one of them expressing interest would have turned heads. All three? That was the kind of scandal that triggered whisper networks, coded fiction, and speculative treaty amendments.

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And then there was Dathan. His outburst had surprised almost everyone. Except maybe Ethan.

The real problem, though, was that Vivian hadn’t been there to control the story. When a husband—or wife—goes unbonded and unaccompanied in political society, it’s already a liability. But leaving them vulnerable and visibly desired by rivals? That was a mistake no one expected Vivian to make.

It didn’t fit the profile.

And that’s when Elizabeth’s internal alarms started ringing. Because none of it made sense.

By every available metric—record, background, surveillance note, or cultivator report—Ethan Zhou wasn’t who he claimed to be.

He was too composed. Too strategic. Too deliberately nonthreatening, except in those moments when he wasn’t.

At times, he behaved like someone raised inside a court... and at others, like a street-level tactician who had no time for niceties. He respected decorum but dismissed it when it didn’t serve his purpose. He followed etiquette but only because it bought him leverage. He was dangerous, not because he seemed powerful, but because he seemed to be playing the game at a much higher level than everyone around him.

If she hadn’t ruled out soul-binding interference, she might have assumed he was some kind of magical identity mask—someone swapped, charmed, or hidden under a divine-level illusion.

But she’d already checked.

He wasn’t under any spell.

He was just... different.

Unexplainably different and undeniably interesting.

But perhaps the most entertaining part of the entire ordeal was watching Princess Sophie Virelyn—the “Golden Mirror of the Imperial Court,” paragon of imperial restraint and elegance (at least on the surface; Elizabeth knew better)—spiral toward obsession without even realizing it.

Sophie didn’t flirt. She didn’t preen. She certainly didn’t plot romantic intrigue. She wielded authority like a blade and moved through society with the practiced weight of divine mandate.

And yet, the moment her Insight whispered that Ethan Zhou was important?

Everything shifted.

What had started as clinical curiosity quickly evolved into something more personal. More fixated. More emotional than Sophie probably wanted to admit. For a while, Insight had quieted—suggesting that Ethan no longer mattered.

But then... something changed.

And now, here they all were.

All of it mattered. Every maneuver, every word, every flick of fan or hem—

It all orbited Ethan Zhou.

Not a prince. Not a general. A boy who talked to machines more than people and blushed when you complimented his handwriting.

And yet—

He’s going to save the world, Elizabeth thought, almost amused. Even if no one, including him, knows what from.

That was the trouble with Insight. Everyone thought it gave answers. It didn’t.

It gave direction. It gave weight. It told Sophie who mattered—but not how, and certainly not why. It whispered things like there or them or soon. It nudged you toward the right pieces without ever revealing the rules of the game.

And lately? Even that was starting to fracture.

The gaps were new. Growing.

There were days when Sophie couldn’t see anything at all—just static in her vision, the sense of pressure without clarity. As if something was shifting underneath them all, deeper than any magic could read.

Ethan was part of that blindness.

A name the Insight lit up like a beacon... but with no path, no image, no certainty attached. Just one sharp message:

He matters. What he does, matters.

Why? When? How?

It didn’t say. What it did say didn’t make sense.

Divine Moonsteel.

Wait—what? Why would divine material related to a forgotten goddess matter?

They didn’t know. So here they were. Watching. Preparing. Pulling strings. Building plans around a boy who had no idea the Empire had already begun to tilt around him.

The bell rang. Students began trickling out of their lunch pockets and social circles, flowing back toward the class wings like slow-moving tributaries.

Elizabeth sipped her tea, finished the last bite of her honey bread, and didn’t need to be told what was next.

Sophie leaned in, eyes still on the quad.

“It’s time.”

Elizabeth nodded. She’d already sent the message ahead.