Ling An, Midwinter.
The light came slowly.
Not golden. Not warm.
But thin — like something bleeding through gauze.
Outside, the city stirred. The groan of wheels. Merchants shouting half-formed greetings. But it all sounded distant, like echoes heard through water.
The world still moved.
But I had already left it behind.
Twelve were chosen to accompany me:
Eight imperial guards — loyal only by salary.
Five servants — too quiet, too observant.
None of them were mine. Not really.
Each name recorded. Each step measured.
Each one a possible traitor.
I watched the final satchels tied down, horses checked, orders whispered in corners.
I had packed my belongings myself. Not out of paranoia — out of ritual.
The act of doing it with my own hands made the leaving feel real.
Or maybe I just wanted to remember what weight felt like.
Then she appeared.
Lady Shen Yue.
She stepped into the courtyard as if drawn there by design, not choice.
Her robes were a soft, glacial white — neither silk nor wool, but something in between. Her hair was arranged in flawless coils, her face the image of composure.
Beautiful.
Yes.
But not human.
Not in the way others are.
Her eyes met mine.
Polite. Quiet.
But behind them… a stillness that unnerved me.
She bowed low.
"I am ready, my lord," she said.
There was no tremble in her voice.
No nervous flutter of breath.
Just calm. Rehearsed, or real. I couldn't tell.
And I didn't trust what I couldn't read.
"Have you ever left the capital before?" I asked.
"Only once. To attend a family funeral in Xiyuan. I did not enjoy it."
"This will be farther. Much colder. The roads are not safe."
"Neither is the capital," she replied.
That answer made me pause.
Not because it was wrong — but because it was too right.
I studied her.
She did not fidget. She did not speak further.
She stood still — as if awaiting a signal.
Or listening to something I couldn't hear.
"You seem calm," I said. "For someone joining a condemned outpost."
"I was not told it was condemned."
"Then you weren't told enough."
A beat passed.
Then she tilted her head, slightly.
"I believe you chose me for a reason."
"I did."
"Then it must be enough."
The way she said it—
Not assurance.
Not flirtation.
Something else.
Like a vow made without words. Or a test I hadn't realized I was already taking.
I turned from her.
"We ride at noon."
"Yes, my lord."
She walked away without waiting for dismissal.
A thin trail of perfume followed in her wake — not floral, not incense.
Something older.
Like ash washed in rainwater.
I stood alone in the courtyard.
The guards spoke in low voices. A horse snorted. The iron creak of a gate echoed through the stone.
But beneath it all—
Silence.
Something watching.
I walked toward the shrine at the far wall. No one followed.
The shrine was ancient, cracked along the base. The incense bowl had long since gone dry.
But today, something sat there.
Not burned.
Not blown.
A single petal.
Folded inward.
I didn't touch it.
I only stared.
And in that moment, something within me shivered.
Not in fear.
But in recognition.
The change has begun.
Not pain.
Not madness.
Just distance — from everything that once made me human.
Let them watch.
Let them believe this is about duty. Or politics. Or honor.
Let them spin their little webs.
"Whoever is controlling this," I whispered, "let them."
"Come see for yourself."
Elsewhere — Longevity Palace
Steam drifted from Wu Ling's teacup in coiling, silent ribbons.
She sat in the upper chamber of her residence — the White Pavilion. It overlooked the east wall of the Inner Court, where the wind passed over the stone like a forgotten prayer.
Scrolls lay open around her. None read. Not truly.
She was listening. Down below, the city was stirring. The gates would open soon.
And somewhere far across the rooftops, she knew her brother was preparing to leave.
"So," she murmured, "he chose her."
No emotion in her voice.
No triumph.
No regret.
Only stillness.
Like someone watching rain fall after planting seeds.
She reached into a lacquered box beside her and removed a thin jade comb.
It had belonged to their mother.
She ran her fingers along its edge — gently, like one might trace the teeth of a blade.
"It begins now."
She stood.
The movement was slow. Graceful. Final.
A servant bowed low as she stepped onto the terrace.
Wu Ling looked out across the haze. Toward the mountains. Toward the South.
"Soon," she whispered. "Soon you will understand."
In the garden below, the lotuses bloomed out of season.
The koi swam in slow, circling patterns.
One by one, the petals began to curl inward.
Far below the palace foundations, something ancient shifted.
Not awoken.
Just... aware.
She did not know it yet.
But it had already chosen.