The lamps of the capital dimmed one by one as the night deepened, their glow swallowed by a thick curtain of fog. In the distance, the faint toll of the evening bell rolled across the palace walls, echoing through the long, silent corridors of the Imperial City.
That night, Fu Ling once again snuck into the palace.
The guards patrolling the outer courtyard didn't notice the shadow that slipped past them. He moved quietly, handing soundlessly in front of the emperor's palace.
The night wind stirred the gauze curtains of the main hall. He glanced once at the unconscious guards outside, breathing shallowly. He hadn't killed them, merely brushed their necks with the faintest trace of pressure that left them slumped against the marble steps.
The golden doors of the inner room slid open without a creak. This time, Wen Zhan was asleep.
