By dawn, the river bend lay behind them — black stones slick with old blood, new secrets drifting downstream. Li Shen and Yue Lan took the ridge trail north, skirting the broken ferry roads. Each step carved new rumor into the mud.
No crown. No leash. No mercy.
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They reached the old charcoal pit by dusk — a forgotten clearing in the foothills where villagers once burned pine and oak into smoky coin. Now only ash heaps and broken kilns remained, half-buried under moss and bramble.
Li Shen ran a boot through one mound, scattering cinders into the wind. Yue Lan crouched by a collapsed kiln wall, pressing her palm to the cold soot. Her spirit threads brushed the ruin, testing for stray warmth.
"Long dead," she murmured. "No traps. Just ghosts."
Li Shen's grin was all teeth. "Ghosts bite softer than crowns."
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They camped under the collapsed kiln roof — a crude shelter, but dry enough to keep dusk's drizzle from soaking their shoulders. Yue Lan sat cross-legged, threads drifting through the smoke-hole like pale ribbons. Li Shen leaned against the charred bricks, blade balanced across his knees.
He spoke first — voice low, as if the kiln walls might carry rumor farther than crows ever could.
"They're tightening the noose."
Yue Lan didn't look at him. Her threads flickered like tiny sparks.
"They're afraid you'll roar again."
Li Shen's laugh was rough, half-buried in old ash.
"Maybe I will."
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The rain crept in by midnight — thin drops dripping through cracks in the kiln roof. Yue Lan shifted closer, her threads brushing Li Shen's shoulder, faint warmth beneath the cold.
"You don't have to keep cutting," she said. Her voice was softer than the wind. "Let the river drown your name. Let the ghosts carry it."
Li Shen didn't answer at first. His eyes flicked to the kiln mouth, where darkness pooled like an open throat.
"When I was ten," he said, "I stole pine from a pit like this. Sold it for half a bowl of rice. The overseer caught me. Broke my fingers so I'd never grip a blade."
He flexed his hand — the same knuckles now calloused, scarred where frost once bit through bone.
"They broke. I didn't."
He turned to her — eyes sharp under the kiln's rotten arch.
"Let them break this too."
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Before dawn, the rain stopped. The kiln mouth glowed faint with coals Yue Lan coaxed from old embers and half-wet twigs. She packed up her threads in neat coils, binding them tight at her wrist.
Li Shen cleaned the blade edge with a strip of old cloth — careful, deliberate. A ritual sharper than any prayer scroll.
When they stepped from the kiln ruins, the ash drifted on the wind behind them — black snow for ghosts that never begged for crowns.
Chains crack when they burn.
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⚡ End of Chapter Ten — Ashes and Chains
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