Chapter 277

Chapter 277

"A snow year, a rich year."

Eve leaned against the car window, tapping it with her fingers—two dull, heavy thuds.

Fluttering artificial snow drifted down from the sky, and the central avenue leading to the palace was jammed with hovercars, a veritable gridlock. Even the Medici family's vehicle had to wait patiently. Through the flurry of pure white snow, the massive, wall-sized screen of the central mall broadcast the Imperial TV's New Year greetings. The host, in a bright red gown, wore a warm and genuine smile on her rounded face:

"Dear viewers, as the New Year's bell is about to ring..."

While she observed the outside world with keen interest, the Medici Patriarch sat on the other side of the car, wearing non-prescription glasses. After finishing one document titled "Empire Year XXX Anti-Monopoly Law New Revision (Draft)," he moved on to another: "Post-Disaster Emergency Food Relief, Transport, and Free Market Guidelines (Draft)." Though he had reviewed them more than once, with the traffic at a standstill, he took the opportunity to reread these yet-to-be-approved policy proposals, ensuring he hadn't missed any details.

For a while, the only sounds in the car were breathing, the rustle of turning pages, and Eve's rhythmic tapping on the window.

After what felt like an eternity, the hovercar finally entered the palace grounds. The driver breathed a sigh of relief and said respectfully to the First Steward in the passenger seat, "Sir, we've arrived."

Without waiting for assistance, Eve unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out as soon as the driver opened the door: "You can put those documents away now, Prime Minister."

On the other side, the First Steward respectfully opened the door for the Medici Patriarch and then followed behind him like a shadow, quiet and obedient. Sparti offered his arm for Eve to take, his smile flawless: "You know what you’re supposed to call me today, right?"

Eve nodded. She remembered her role as his illegitimate daughter—a child not born to the family head would face a complicated process to become the heir.

The gilt doors, draped with red, stood wide open, separating two worlds with vastly different temperatures. Warm air and the sound of camera shutters washed over them. So many members of the Medici family had been invited to the New Year's Glory Ball that they arrived in several staggered groups. For instance, the Second Steward had brought Frank and Luo Lin ten minutes earlier.

But without a doubt, the focus of attention was always the Medici Patriarch and the young heir standing beside him.

The stylist had specially prepared matching formal wear for the two. Under the dazzling, almost blinding lights, the Empire's Prime Minister wore an impeccably tailored white suit, a gold bowtie fastened with a sapphire pin. His posture was upright, his features—carved by time—still handsome, with the fine lines on his brow adding to his mature charm.

Beside him, Eve had swept her silver bangs back, revealing her striking face in full. Over her pure white gown, she wore a sapphire blue short blazer, radiant yet elegant.

But when the two stood together, what drew more attention than their equally stunning looks was the unique aura steeped in power they shared. Their blue crystal-like eyes seemed to hold the rise and fall of an entire world.

Murmurs of admiration and discussion spread quietly throughout the hall.

"Who is the girl next to Lord Medici?"

"You must be new here if you don’t know Miss Eve..."

"Speaking of which, Miss Eve is still unmarried, right?"

"What are you scheming?!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, she’s really mastered the noble lady act," Luo Wenqing picked up a glass of wine and remarked quietly, "Her entire demeanor doesn’t seem like that of a branch family child—more like Sparti’s own daughter. Compared to Eve, Cecil looks like she’s lacking in fortune."

Isabella: "Can you stop talking in that weird tone?"

"You dare criticize me?" Luo Wenqing flared up, "I warn you, Isabella, your mother still owes our Luo family 64,813,278.88 dollars for the military provisions. Do you know your place and mine? Show some respect when speaking to me, understand?"

Isabella: "...Did you really have to remember the amount down to the last two decimals?"

Luo Wenqing snorted loudly, crossed her arms, and turned away.

This kind of attention was a first for Eve, but surprisingly, she felt no discomfort—as if she were born to be admired. The smile on her lips even widened slightly.

What the Medici Patriarch admired most about this child was her remarkable adaptability. As he greeted passing colleagues and subordinates, he asked quietly, "How does it feel?"

"Quite good, but I only like it when people look at me, listen to me, and obediently follow my orders like little dogs. I don’t enjoy hearing others talk too much," Eve’s gaze swept around until she spotted a few familiar figures. "You must have an engagement tonight too, right? I won’t disturb you any longer. I’ll take my leave."

As a member of the royal family, the First Princess had naturally arrived earlier than anyone else for an event held on her own turf. She was now standing by the second-floor railing, waving slightly to Eve as if she had something to say.

Given the research institute’s efficiency, the development of the specialized antidote for Zerg venom and the promotion drug for secondary evolution of the Spiritual State should already be underway. It was difficult to discuss data-related issues over communication devices, so it wasn’t hard to guess why Unica was calling her over.

Eve blinked at Unica, signaling her not to make any moves and to wait for Eve to come to her.

The Oliver Family didn’t seem to have arrived yet. She scanned the room several times but didn’t see Lorca.

The normal procedure for the New Year's Glory Ball involved a long preliminary period. As invited guests arrived, those who came early would engage in brief socializing. At this stage, it was usually easy to tell who was aligned with whom.

Then, the perpetually late royal family would make their entrance. The emperor would deliver his lengthy, cliché-ridden, yet somehow different every year, New Year's address. Once that speech was endured, the ball would officially begin.

Assuming entry started at 18:00, the speech would begin at 19:30 and wrap up by 20:30. After that, until 24:00, people would dance, enjoy the food, engage in secret affairs, or conspire—each to their own.

It was almost 19:00 now, and some idle guests were already casually dancing in the ballroom, mostly young people. The small gems on their formal wear refracted the light, sparkling beautifully.

The Oliver Family had finally arrived. The family head and his wife were speaking with another middle-aged man who looked familiar. Eve recognized him as Jacob Oliver, the Imperial Minister of Education.

Lorca followed behind his parents. Alice wasn’t there—she was likely still cleaning up the battlefield in the Swan Galaxy. Since both the commander Frigga and deputy Anthony were prominent figures required to attend the royal ball, Alice had been left behind to handle the aftermath.

Ludwig was also absent. Eve guessed he had probably already taken a starship to the Swan Galaxy to find her. The Oliver Family had a warm family atmosphere, and the family heads couldn’t bear the thought of Alice spending the New Year alone in far interstellar space.

As for Lorca, the moment his eyes met Eve’s, his face visibly brightened, and his smile became unmistakable.

"Where are you off to?" Eve had only taken two steps when the Medici Patriarch grabbed the collar of her blazer, stopping her. "Are you really going to abandon your poor, lonely old father and rush off to some young, handsome young man? How heartless. Come, dance with me."

Eve nearly stumbled from his sudden pull. With so many eyes on her and the Medici Patriarch, she had to play the part of a devoted daughter, even if it was just an act.

She tugged her blazer back into place and forced a dry laugh: "Dancing is one thing, but please spare me the mushy talk from now on."

The Medici Patriarch replied, "If you don’t like Lorca, don’t lead him on. It’s too cruel to play with someone’s heart like that."

"……"

Words failed her. Eve wanted to defend herself but couldn’t find a rebuttal.

The old fox had tricks. When it came to being annoying, the Medici Patriarch had won this round.

To the soft strains of music, the two glided into the ballroom. Eve’s dancing skills were quite limited—she only knew how to persistently use the simplest three-step rhythm. After having his feet stepped on multiple times and getting smacked in the face by her flying blazer during a turn, the Medici Patriarch finally gave up on trying to cultivate any artistic appreciation for dance in his heir, who, despite her pretty face, had no grace in using it.

He moved through the steps half-heartedly and asked, "You’ve been spending a lot of time with Princess Unica lately?"

Eve glanced at the First Steward standing by the wall, suspecting she had tattled. But since it would be impossible to keep it a secret beyond tonight, she admitted openly: "We do have a somewhat friendly collaboration."

"Princess Unica is indeed quite decent—arguably one of the few presentable members of this generation’s royal family. Maintaining good relations with her is beneficial, as long as you keep the relationship within appropriate bounds," he led Eve through a quarter-turn, her pale skirt fluttering like moonlight. "She has no talent for the Spiritual State, so she’s barred from ascending the throne."

"Then who do you think has better odds?"

The Medici Patriarch smiled slowly: "My dear, are you trying to fish for information?"

"I’m just concerned. After all, you’re the helm of the entire family. If we steer onto the wrong course, the great ship called Medici will be doomed."

Eve didn’t meet his eyes but lowered her gaze, as if studying the patterns on the carpet or counting her steps.

"I feel the need to remind you, Father, that Chris is not someone easily controlled," she said. "I hope you won’t play with fire and burn your own hand."

Just then, the movement of the music ended. The conductor of the royal orchestra raised his baton and began a livelier concerto.

Eve took a step back, lifted the hem of her skirt, and curtsied politely to the Medici Patriarch. Then, without looking back, she hurried off toward the Oliver Family’s young suitor.

"Though I’m not sure how you managed to get in, stay close to me later."

In a small room on the second floor of the banquet hall, a tall prince with dark red hair pressed a black-haired maid against the wall. From a distance, the scene resembled a classic forced seduction trope—unless one noticed the shock on the prince’s face and the determination on the maid’s.

Anthony ran a hand through his hair, utterly astonished by Zuo Tan's audacity: "You dare barge into the palace? Is there anywhere in the world you wouldn’t go?"

Zuo Tan: "Well, there are places—like the Medici residence or the Cavendish estate. I wouldn’t dare go there."

The former’s family traits were too distinctive to blend in, and the latter were all from military backgrounds—impossible to imitate.

"..." Anthony closed his eyes. "Alright, stop talking. Everything you say makes my heart stop."

Although Zuo Tan insisted on not revealing her benefactor, the only one with both the influence to interfere with tonight’s palace arrangements and any connection to Zuo Tan was the First Princess.

Heaven knew how shocked he’d been when, glancing downstairs from above, he’d spotted a familiar face. He’d hurriedly ushered her upstairs, mainly because Zuo Tan was no ordinary person—Eve had unlocked an A-level Spiritual State in her, which meant she had a purpose.

Anthony neither wanted to fully comply with Eve’s wishes nor oppose her outright, so he decided to keep Zuo Tan under his watchful eye for now.

He was so lost in his own conspiratorial thoughts that he didn’t even notice the faint, unusual cracking sound from next door—but Zuo Tan did.

"Listen, you’d better not try anything reckless. Actually, tonight, Marshal Frigga has already—"

"Your Highness, wait," she interrupted, raising a finger first to her lips in a gesture for silence, then pointing toward the adjacent room. After listening intently for a moment, she stated with certainty, "There’s movement next door."

The thudding noise wasn’t something one heard in daily life, but to Zuo Tan, it was all too familiar—the sound of a knife hacking through bone, something she’d often heard aboard the "Flying Bird."

But this was the palace, wasn’t it?

"Do you smell that?"

Her face paled, a chill crawling up her spine. But Anthony’s senses weren’t as sharp as her trained ones; he relied on his instinct for danger.

The strange noise had stopped, and the ensuing silence felt wrong to Anthony.

"Smell what?" he asked.

"...Blood."

Unbeknownst to all, the clock had struck 19:30, yet the emperor still hadn’t appeared. Though the royal family had a habit of arriving late to events, they had never truly missed the mark before. Seeing this, Prince Philip called over a maid and instructed her to check on a specific sitting room on the second floor.

"Aaaah——————!!"

A piercing, blood-curdling scream rang out in that very moment.

A maid tumbled down the grand, ornate Baroque staircase, her pretty face twisted in sheer terror. Her voice seemed strangled by an invisible hand, each word strained and hoarse.

"The emperor—His Majesty has been assassinated!" Tears welled in her eyes, the gruesome scene seemingly replaying before her. "In the first sitting room beside the central staircase. An assassin has infiltrated the ball."

Though frightened, her colleagues, under the head steward’s orders, bravely rushed forward to lead her away. Prince Philip, who had initially sent the maid to investigate, looked stunned but reacted swiftly. Meeting the shocked and questioning gazes of the crowd, he strode quickly to the Medici Patriarch and requested, "Prime Minister, would you accompany me to see what happened?"

Sparti Medici set down his wine glass, lifted his chin calmly, and said, "After you."

The First Steward quietly followed suit.

In the queen’s sitting room, Frigga, who had taken care to dress up for the occasion, heard the piercing scream and paused in surprise, as if astonished that the assassination hadn’t targeted someone in her room.

"This is bad," she murmured with a sigh. "I’ve become the false target."

In one swift motion, Frigga sliced her lavish gown into shreds, revealing a crisp military uniform underneath. Also on the second floor, the First Princess had immediately met up with her younger brother after the incident.

"Anthony, stop running around. Stay with us for now," Unica said sternly, slightly turning to reveal Isabella and Luo Wenqing standing behind her. "An assassin has slipped in. We’re in a dangerous situation—especially the royal family. This seems like a targeted attack on the House of Otto."

But Anthony ignored that, urgently asking, "Where’s Eve?"

"Why are you looking for her? Do you suspect her?"

Luo Wenqing interjected lazily, pointing toward a spot in the hall downstairs. "But I saw clearly—she’s been whispering with her young fiancé the whole time. This really has nothing to do with her."

The group instinctively followed her gaze.

Snap.

Eve snapped open the folding fan she’d borrowed from Luo Lin, holding it up to cover her face—and the smirk that seemed out of place.

"See," she sighed with feigned melancholy to Lorca, "the situation I feared most has happened. Why do fools always think they understand Qin Mengde better than I do?"

"—They don’t even know who Qin Mengde hates the most."

Lorca: "When should we make our move?"

"Let’s discuss it with Unica first," Eve replied. "After all, we won’t be the ones taking the stage later."

She lifted her head lightly, her clear, beautiful blue eyes locking directly onto the few people sneaking glances at her from the second floor.