The city inside the sandstorm felt alive.
Its obsidian walls hummed softly, like a giant holding its breath. Jade lanterns flickered with pale blue fire. Every corner felt watched—not by people, but by the city itself.
Shen Yue's hand never left her sword. Mine stayed clenched at my side, fingers twitching whenever the bridge moved inside me. The hooded figure walked ahead without turning.
"You said you were waiting for me," I said. "Why?"
"Not you," he corrected. "The condition you carry."
His tone softened. "It speaks more loudly now."
I exhaled shakily. "It's becoming harder to hold it down."
"That is expected. Your father feeds the tower faster than you cut the bridge."
"So he's ahead of me."
"He is always ahead," the figure murmured. "But that only matters if you chase him. You must learn to move sideways."
The city's central hall loomed ahead—a ziggurat-shaped structure of smooth black stone, its roof lined with ringing chimes that produced no wind, no sound.
"We begin the third cut inside," he said.
My chest tightened.
Shen Yue touched my shoulder lightly. "I'm right here."
I nodded.
But fear still crawled up my spine like a physical thing.
Ling An thrummed with tension so heavy it made the palace lamps flicker.
Zhou's general, Qian Hetong, stood before Wu Jin with a scroll in hand, its edges stamped with the seal of the Zhou Emperor. Wu Jin's face remained unreadable, though his fingers twitched behind him.
The general unrolled the decree.
"By command of His August Majesty of Zhou, the He Lian dynasty shall submit fully to imperial arbitration, dismantle its independent armies, and deliver its king to the northern frontier for review."
A minister gasped.
Another fainted.
Wu Jin closed his eyes.
"I cannot accept that," he said.
General Qian smiled. "You misunderstand."
He held out the scroll.
"This is not a request."
Wu Jin's throat tightened. "If I refuse?"
Qian's smile widened. "Then we will appoint someone else in your place."
The words struck like a spear. Wu Jin realized, with sudden clarity, that Zhou did not plan to negotiate.
Zhou planned to replace him.
He bowed his head—and for a moment, every person in the hall wondered if he might collapse.
Then he forced himself upright.
"Give me one night," he said through gritted teeth.
Qian bowed theatrically. "Of course. Kings should have time to weep."
The court gasped at the insult—but Wu Jin didn't react.
He dismissed the court and walked alone to the high balcony overlooking the city. There, he pressed his palms against the cold stone and trembled.
The Lord Protector had said he would win.
But now Wu Jin saw the truth:
His father meant he would win—not Wu Jin.
A quiet voice behind him interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
"You're not going to kneel."
Wu Jin turned.
Wu Shuang stepped from the shadows, her expression unreadable.
"Even if you lie," she said, "you won't truly kneel."
"I don't have a choice," Wu Jin whispered. "Zhou will replace me."
"Then make sure the replacement dies before they reach the gate."
Wu Jin stared at her.
She shrugged.
"Everyone else plays by Heaven's rules. Why should we?"
He exhaled. "You speak like Father."
"I speak," she said softly, "like someone who is finished being prey."
Her eyes gleamed coldly.
"And if you fall, Jin, I fall too. That I won't allow."
Wu Jin looked at her differently for the first time—not as a sister, nor an enemy, nor a mystery.
But as someone who had chosen to stand beside him.
Or at least for now.
South of Hei Fort, the Emperor of Liang rode at the head of a glittering column, armor untarnished despite the marsh wind. The Southern King rode beside him, stiff-backed with pride and dread.
"Your Majesty," the King said, "our forward scouts encounter resistance from Western clans. Would you like me to suppress them?"
"No," the Emperor said calmly. "Let them watch. Let them wonder which throne I intend to sit on."
The Southern King nodded, though his eyes flickered sideways, betraying unease.
The Emperor noticed.
"You are troubled."
"Not troubled, Your Majesty," the King said quickly. "Only eager to serve."
"Service," the Emperor mused, "is easy on paper."
The King bowed lower in his saddle. "I exist to support your return. The South stands with Liang's rightful ruler."
The Emperor's smile thinned.
"Then prove it," he said. "When we reach Ling An, your soldiers will form the front line."
The Southern King flinched—barely, but noticeably.
"To face Zhou?" he asked.
"No," the Emperor said.
"To face my sons."
The King went pale.
But he bowed again, deeper, obedient.
"As you wish."
His eyes, however, betrayed something else.
Fear.
Or the first seeds of doubt.
In the sandstorm city, the hall of the third cut was unlike the others.
No lanterns.
Only darkness.
Only breathing stone.
Shen Yue kept so close her shoulder brushed mine with each step. The hooded guide led us into the center—where a circular pit held a still pool of black water, so dark it looked bottomless.
"That," he said, "is where we begin."
The water rippled without disturbance, then stilled like glass.
I knelt at the edge.
"What happens this time?" I whispered.
"The first cut awakened the bridge," the figure said. "The second severed your father's tether."
"And the third?"
"It changes your relationship to the bridge."
My jaw tightened. "How?"
"You stop being its vessel."
The hall seemed to tilt.
Shen Yue grabbed my arm.
"What does that mean?" she demanded.
The figure did not turn.
"It means," he said, "that Wu An will no longer hold the bridge."
Shen Yue's eyes widened. "Then who will?"
The answer chilled the air.
"No one," the figure said. "The bridge will hold itself."
I swallowed hard.
"And what does that make… me?"
He lifted his hood slightly.
"A threat," he said softly. "Or a god."
He gestured for me to step forward.
"Come, Wu An. Kneel."
Shen Yue tried to pull me back. "Wait. You don't understand—this—"
I stepped forward anyway.
"I chose this," I said.
Her breath broke.
"You're going to die."
I looked at her.
"No," I said. "If I die, the bridge wins."
The guide stepped behind me.
"Touch the water," he said.
I reached forward.
My fingers grazed the surface—
—and fell through.
Cold swallowed my hand, then my arm, then my shoulder.
I sucked in a breath—
and the world dropped out beneath me.
I fell inward.
Into the water.
Into the darkness.
Into the bridge.
And far, far away—
the tower's first bell rang.
A single, deafening toll that rolled across mountains and swamps, across armies and thrones, across cities and deserts.
The sound made the world pause.
Shen Yue screamed my name.
But I was already gone.