At the bend where the river split into a half-drowned meadow, they found the crossroads shrine — or what was left of it. Four moss-eaten pillars, a cracked stone slab with faded characters too weathered to read. Someone had tied fresh ribbons to a leaning prayer tree beside it — red cloth scraps that fluttered like tongues in the dusk wind.
Yue Lan stopped first, palm resting on the tree's bark. Her spirit threads drifted through the ribbons, tugging at prayers half-whispered, half-forgotten.
"Still think they're listening?" Li Shen asked.
She didn't look at him. "Not the Heavens." She traced one ribbon's frayed edge, then let it go. "People. Sometimes that's enough."
---
They made camp near the shrine. Rice paddies spread away in all directions — slick with dusk rain, frogs croaking like old monks grumbling in the dark.
Li Shen cooked the last of their fish over a small twig fire. Yue Lan sat close, knees drawn up, damp hair clinging to her throat. She'd unspooled her threads in thin arcs around them — traps more scent than snare, but enough to tangle footsteps if someone came too close.
She watched him while he picked fish bones from the char.
"You've heard them, haven't you?" she said.
He flicked a bone into the weeds. "What?"
"The ones who trail us. Footsteps in the paddies. Whispers when we pass. They're waiting to see if the crown slips."
Li Shen grinned. "I don't wear one."
Yue Lan met his eyes — a flicker of worry under the half-smile. "That's why it scares them."
---
They didn't have to wait long for the footsteps to stop trailing.
Near midnight, the threads closest to the shrine tree twitched — not frogs, not drifting reeds. Heavy boots, careless steps. Li Shen's eyes snapped open the moment Yue Lan's palm brushed his shoulder.
Three shapes emerged from the dark — men wrapped in rough traveling cloaks, faces hidden under straw hats dripping rain. No sect banners, no talisman brands — but the glint of steel at their hips said enough.
The tallest stepped forward. He flicked his hat back, revealing a scar splitting his brow like a cracked river stone.
"You the Hollow Sky dog?" he rasped. "Chain-breaker?"
Li Shen didn't rise. He poked the fire with a stick.
"If I am?"
The man's grin was broken teeth and old wine breath. "Then you're worth silver north and south of the ridge. I've got three mouths to feed."
Yue Lan's threads shimmered — faint arcs in the firelight. The second man shifted sideways, stepping right into her net. He didn't notice until the silk caught his ankle — and by then, Li Shen was moving.
---
He rose in a single breath — blade flashing up from the ground like dawn splitting fog. The tall man's grin turned to a curse as Li Shen's steel met his drawn knife mid-swing — steel striking steel, sparks snapping off wet air.
Yue Lan's threads yanked the second man down — a low grunt as his chin slammed mud. The third lunged behind Li Shen — short blade aimed at his ribs. Li Shen twisted, caught the man's wrist with his free hand, slammed an elbow back into the soft place below the ribs.
Three moves. Three shapes crumpled in the mud.
The tall man gasped — knife lost somewhere in the weeds. He clutched his bleeding forearm.
"You're just— a boy—"
Li Shen's blade hovered at his throat. His breath steamed in the cold drizzle.
"Say it again."
The man shuddered. His eyes flicked to Yue Lan, her threads dancing like ghost moths around her hands.
"Chain— chain-breaker—"
Li Shen's grin was soft. Almost gentle.
"Good."
---
They left the men alive — barely. Silver fell from their pockets when Yue Lan cut the last rope snare free.
She didn't keep it. She tucked the coins into a cracked offering bowl under the shrine tree, pressing them among the old ribbons.
Li Shen raised an eyebrow.
"For ghosts?" he asked.
She shook her head. Her threads coiled around her wrist — tight now, no shimmer.
"For people," she said. "Who pray to something that doesn't wear crowns."
---
By dawn, rumor spread again — three bruised thieves crawled back to the rice village, babbling about the boy who wouldn't kneel and the witch whose threads cut like frost.
Another crown offered. Another crown refused.
Thorns bloom best in blood.
---
⚡ End of Chapter Three — Thorns for a Crown
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