MTLNOVEL Chapter 198: The Honey Trap
Zhu Deming didn't like playing games.
Not because he couldn't but because he was too good at them.
Most of the women that he met all wanted to see behind the half mask, to see if it was truly as bad as what everyone said. They were willing to do anything to see the monster beneath the silk of the imperial family.
He sat quietly in the outer garden chamber, his posture relaxed with one arm resting over the carved back of his chair. A small cup of wine rested between his fingers, untouched. Across the room, music played—soft guqin strings paired with the trickle of a water basin. Lanterns swayed gently overhead. Everything about the room was curated. Warm. Inviting. Harmless.
The perfect illusion.
He didn't look at the girl kneeling by the edge of the mat. She wore sky-blue silk and hair pins shaped like blossoms, a servant from one of the low households—pretty, quiet, forgettable. The kind of girl no one questioned when she lingered near the Chancellor's sons. The kind of girl a noble might confess things to in whispers.
The kind of girl who thought she could sell secrets and disappear before anyone even noticed.
Deming smiled faintly.
Let her think that.
Let her think this was about flirtation and status. Let her believe he was the weakest link—the scarred prince, the forgotten one, softer than his brothers, easier to approach than the Crown Princess.
That was the bait.
And the fish had bitten.
She poured the wine slowly, delicately. Her fingers brushed the rim of his cup.
"Do you always sit alone this late, Your Highness?" she asked sweetly.
"Only when I need silence," he replied, eyes still on the koi pond through the lattice wall. "The palace echoes too much."
"You seem burdened."
"I am."
"Perhaps I could lighten that burden."
He let the silence hang.
Let it stretch until it almost hurt.
Then he turned his head—just slightly—and met her gaze.
"Tell me, girl. Have you ever played Go?"
She blinked. "I… No, Your Highness."
"Pity." He leaned forward and set the cup down. "It's all about patience. And control. You don't win by rushing. You win by cornering. Piece by piece. Until your opponent realizes they were trapped three moves ago."
She laughed lightly. "Then I would lose terribly."
"Oh, I know."
She froze.
And in that moment, she knew.
Deming raised one hand.
The shadows moved.
Two silent figures emerged from the garden wall—dressed in deep gray, faces veiled, footsteps soundless. Shadow Guards. Shi Yaozu's men, trained before the capital ever knew their names. The girl scrambled backward, but Deming didn't flinch.
"Search her sleeves."
They moved fast.
Within seconds, they'd disarmed her—a thin blade, a poison pin, and a folded letter sealed with a familiar mark: the merchant guild of Baiguang.
She screamed.
The blade went to her throat.
"Not yet," Deming said.
The guards held.
He stood slowly, approaching her where she knelt now—no longer graceful, no longer serene. Just shaking. Barefoot on the stone floor, silk torn, hair disheveled.
"I didn't mean harm," she whimpered. "I was only—"
"Only what?" Deming asked calmly. "Trying to pass along Crown Princess Zhao's travel plans? Or mine?"
She swallowed hard.
"Who gave you the seal?" he asked.
She shook her head violently. "I don't know his name! I was told to wait by the Red Orchid Gate and deliver the letter when—"
He crouched beside her.
"When?"
"When you went south," she whispered.
He stared at her for a long time.
Then he took the letter and rose.
"Your Highness?" one of the guards asked quietly.
Deming tilted his head. "Leave her."
The girl gasped with relief.
"Unharmed?" the guard clarified.
Deming glanced at the koi pond again, then smiled faintly. "Alive."
The girl let out a sob.
"But burn the seal into her palm," he said, voice soft. "And let her run."
That made her scream again.
The guards dragged her out. She thrashed. Cried. Begged. It didn't matter.
By morning, she'd be gone.
By nightfall, Baiguang would think she had betrayed them.
A broken tool. A liability. They'd find her before she ever reached the border.
And she'd lead them straight back to whoever sent her.
Deming watched the ripples in the pond grow still again.
Then he broke the seal and read the letter.
Half code. Half poison.
Coordinates. Orders. Names he didn't recognize—but some he did.
A minister's cousin.
A physician in the west wing.
A member of the Emperor's hunting party.
He folded it carefully and tucked it into the inner lining of his robe.
Then he turned toward the shadows and spoke low.
"Tell the Crown Princess. And tell Yaozu—no one leaves the palace unless she says so."
The guards vanished.
Deming stood alone for a long time, staring at the spot where the girl had sat.
Not because he pitied her.
Because he knew there were more.
And he wasn't done yet.
Deming didn't move right away.
He stepped over to the koi pond instead, watching the fish circle lazily beneath the surface. One of them had a tear across its side—likely from a hawk strike earlier in the season. It swam lopsided now, slower than the others.
But still alive.
Still trying.
"Do you know why I kept this pond?" he asked quietly, though no one was there to answer. "Because it reminds me what weakness looks like when it refuses to die."
The wind shifted slightly. The scent of jasmine drifted in from the upper terrace—old, faded. A reminder of a palace that used to be beautiful before fear made everything sour.
He reached into his sleeve and pulled the letter back out. It was short. Efficient. But the implications were loud.
If they had planned to intercept Xinying on the road south, then someone inside the court knew her exact departure window. Which meant it wasn't just spies they were dealing with—it was coordination. Internal timing. Leaks placed not near her, but near him.
A chill passed through his spine, but it wasn't fear.
It was clarity.
He refolded the letter and burned the edge with the candle flame beside him. Let the fire curl around the Baiguang seal until only ash remained. He didn't need the evidence. He was the evidence. And soon, so would the next body.
The soft scrape of cloth drew his attention.
A servant had stepped into the far corner, wide-eyed, pale. Likely delivering wine.
Likely listening.
Deming turned his head slowly, and the servant froze.
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to.
"Fetch General Sun Baotai," he said coolly. "And tell him this—if one more rat sneaks through his gates, I'll start boiling the traps with the bait inside."
The servant fled.
Deming poured himself a fresh cup of wine and let the silence settle once more.
There would be no more warnings.
Only lessons.