Chapter 16

The old bard's hoarse voice, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirred ripples of hope in Serena's stagnant heart, but also stirred up undercurrents beneath the surface. She dared not linger, enduring her exhaustion and hunger, and continued her trek south through the mountains. Each step felt like walking on cotton, her vision blurred, and she was sustained only by willpower.

She had to find a relatively safe hiding place to wait for the slim chance of a response, while trying to solve the pressing problem of survival.

Lady Luck smiled upon her. Beside a secluded mountain stream, she discovered a shallow cave, half-hidden by vines. The entrance was narrow, allowing only one person to crawl in, and the interior was small, but it was dry, secluded, and offered shelter from the wind and rain. To her at that moment, it was nothing short of paradise.

She used this place as a temporary shelter. During the day, she dared not venture out, only cautiously emerging at dusk and dawn to search for water and anything else that could fill her stomach—wild berries, sour wild fruits, the occasional edible root she could dig up, and even having to try catching small fish and shrimp from the stream, eating them raw, just to sustain her basic needs. At night, she huddled in the cold cave, listening to the howls of wild beasts and the whistling of the wind through the treetops, clutching the badge tightly, recalling again and again her mother's blurred face and the old bard's rough but hopeful ballad.

She became emaciated; the dresses that once fit her now hung loosely on her body, her long golden hair was tangled and withered, and her skin was rough. Only her blue eyes, which were still strikingly bright because of her tenacious will to survive, appeared larger and more vulnerable as they were sunken in their sockets.

Several days passed without any news. Hope flickered like a candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment. She began to doubt whether her decision had been too naive. Perhaps the Norton family had long since fallen into decline, or perhaps they simply didn't care about her, this troubled "outsider" with their blood, or perhaps the song had never even reached their ears.

And danger is never far away.

On one occasion, while venturing near the edge of another, slightly larger town in search of more food, she nearly ran into a patrol of soldiers. She even clearly saw the wanted posters they were holding, bearing a rough sketch of her! She scrambled back into the mountains, her heart pounding all night.

On another occasion, while drinking water by a stream, she encountered a wild boar that had come out to hunt for food. Its ferocious tusks and fierce eyes terrified her. She desperately climbed a tall tree, and only after the wild boar left in a huff did she collapse to the ground, her body limp, with new abrasions on her arms and legs.

Hunger, cold, fear, loneliness... each one was eroding her will. She felt like a moth struggling in a storm, its wings already soaked and torn, on the verge of falling into the boundless darkness.

Just when she was about to give up and consider whether to risk going to a monastery for refuge, a turning point came unexpectedly.

It was a misty morning, and as usual, she was searching for edible fungi near the cave. Suddenly, she keenly heard a very faint rustling sound, unlike the chirping of birds or the roar of beasts; it seemed someone was approaching!

Her heart leaped into her throat! Was it a search party? Or a wild beast?

Like a startled rabbit, she quickly hid behind a huge rock, held her breath, and nervously peered out through the cracks in the rock.

From the mist, a figure slowly emerged. It was a woodcutter dressed in the coarse cloth clothes common in the Southern Territory, carrying a bundle of firewood on his back. He looked to be around fifty years old, with a simple face, dark skin, and a steady gait. He seemed to be just an ordinary woodcutter, but Serena dared not be careless in the slightest.

The woodcutter stopped near the rock where she was hiding, put down his bundle of firewood, and seemed to rest for a moment. He took a sip of water from his waist, but his gaze seemed to casually sweep over the direction where Serena was hiding.

Serena's heart almost stopped beating.

However, the woodcutter did not call out or approach. After drinking the water, he picked up the bundle of firewood again, but instead of leaving immediately, he began to hum a tuneless little tune in his deep voice, which was heavily accented with a southern accent, as if talking to himself.

At first, Serena didn't pay attention, but soon her pupils suddenly contracted!

The tune... though hummed erratically by the woodcutter, could still be vaguely discerned as the melody of the old bard's ballad about the "nightingale" and the "olive branch"!

Is it a coincidence?!

still……? !

She covered her mouth tightly to prevent herself from making a sound out of excitement. She stared intently at the woodcutter, trying to find any unusual trace on his seemingly ordinary face.

After humming that off-key tune, the woodcutter seemed to have rested enough, and resumed his steps, walking slowly into the depths of the forest. In the instant he turned around, his gaze seemed to briefly and almost imperceptibly sweep over the direction of the rocks again, before he disappeared into the thick fog without looking back.

The forest returned to silence, as if everything that had just happened was merely a hallucination caused by Serena's hunger.

But she knew it wasn't!

That melody! He hummed the melody of that song!

A surge of excitement and a deeper sense of unease washed over her. Was this the Norton family's response? Or yet another elaborate trap set by Lucien, using her only hope to lure her out?

She dared not believe it easily. She hid behind the rock for a long time, until she was sure there was no more movement around her, before cautiously peeking out.

The woodcutter left some blurry footprints in the direction he went. Beside the footprints, a very ordinary grass stem tied with a peculiar knot was tied to a branch of a low shrub.

Serena's heart raced again. She recognized the knot! It was a knot her mother had taught her, a knot passed down among the old servants of the Norton family, used for simple marking and passing safety signals! Her mother had told her about it as a funny story when she was young!

Tears instantly welled up in her eyes. This time, it wasn't despair, but a tremendous mix of bittersweet joy and hope, a feeling of being rescued from the brink of death!

The Norton family… they heard the song! They found her! Or rather, they found the area where she might be!

That woodcutter is a messenger!

She suppressed the urge to immediately give chase. Years of aristocratic upbringing and her experience dealing with Lucien had preserved a sliver of composure within her. She couldn't act rashly. She needed confirmation, she needed a safer way to approach him.

She remembered the general direction the woodcutter left in, and the knot that represented safety and rendezvous.

Hope, for the first time, touched her so truly.

She returned to the cave, slid down against the cold stone wall, and tears streamed silently down her face. She was finally no longer alone in facing this endless darkness.

She had to survive, she had to be more careful, and wait for the next, clearer signal.

She wiped away her tears, carefully put away the piece of grass with the handmade knot, and placed it together with the badge.

Just as Serena was struggling to survive in the southern mountains and forests and finally caught a faint signal from the Norton family, the distant capital was immersed in a strange calm that seemed prosperous but was actually turbulent undercurrents.

His Majesty the Emperor had been bedridden for a long time, and although news of his coughing up blood was strictly kept secret, the unease emanating from the depths of the palace, mixed with the smell of herbs and decay, inevitably seeped to the top of the power pyramid. The princes, the vast noble class, and the Senate, which held the reins of the empire, all began to quietly adjust their positions like sharks smelling blood.

The atmosphere in Duke Wilder's study was so heavy it seemed to drip water. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the outside light, leaving only the flickering firelight from the fireplace illuminating his increasingly haggard yet still sharp face. He had just seen off a guest of special status, a trusted confidant of Sir Leonard, the deputy commander of the Royal Guard.

The news was shocking, yet somehow expected.

His Majesty the Emperor's illness may not allow him to survive the winter. More importantly, His Highness Lucien, the eldest son of the Emperor, who has been largely ignored by various factions and even considered out of the picture, has seen his power quietly consolidate and expand at an astonishing pace in the Southern Territory over the past six months. He has not only quelled several troublesome local rebellions but, through secret alliances with several key neutral nobles and border generals, has also gained control of nearly a third of the Empire's grain-producing regions and a vital mining route. All of this has been carried out with utmost secrecy, only recently coming to light due to the sudden illness of the Southern Governor.

“Lucien…” the Duke murmured the name, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the smooth mahogany tabletop. He thought of his spoiled daughter, Serena, who was said to be “recuperating” at a manor in the southern border. He had sent her there initially because he couldn’t resist her pleas, partly to keep her away from the turmoil of the capital and to temper her temperament. But he never imagined that the once-shadowy prince, whom his daughter had so readily bullied, would grow into a lion capable of shaking the very foundations of the empire in such a short time!

And now, this lion's territory is where his daughter is imprisoned.

Was this a coincidence, or... Lucien's deliberate act? An ominous premonition, like a cold snake, coiled around the Duke's heart. He recalled the ambiguous letter from Serena, which had been mysteriously returned. At the time, he had dismissed it as his daughter's tantrum, but now it seemed...

"Prepare the carriage," the Duke ordered the butler who stood quietly to the side in a deep voice, his voice slightly hoarse. "I'm going to pay a visit to Marshal McLean."

Marshal McLean, a pillar of the Imperial military and the late Empress's uncle, is theoretically Lucien's maternal great-uncle. His stance is ambiguous; he has never explicitly supported any prince. Duke Wilder needs to know the old marshal's true attitude towards Lucien's rise. This concerns the Wilder family's future allegiance, and perhaps… the fate of his daughter, trapped in the Southern Territory, her life hanging in the balance.

Meanwhile, discussions about Lucien began to quietly increase in salons and banquets in the capital.

"Have you heard? In the Southern Territory, Prince Lucien is practically the one calling the shots now..."

“It’s unbelievable, just a few years ago he was… sigh, times have changed.”

"Isn't that little girl from the Wilder family in the Southern Territory? Do you think this could be..."

"Shh! Be careful what you say! The situation is unclear right now. Who knows who will be sitting on the throne tomorrow?"

The nobles exchanged knowing glances, their words filled with probing and calculation. Some families that had previously looked down on Lucien began to secretly gather all information about him; some who had previously kicked him while he was down fell into panic and desperately sought ways to make amends; while many more who had been neutral began to carefully assess the potential gains and risks of investing in this suddenly rising prince.

The balance of power in the capital is tilting at a visible speed toward the once-forgotten prince in the south.