The eastern archive of the Tianyu Palace was a realm of whispers, its bamboo shelves groaning under the weight of forgotten lore. Moonlight spilled through cracked shutters, casting silver threads across the dusty floor, where Lin Feng knelt, his oil lamp a fragile sentinel against the dark. The air was thick with the scent of aged ink and sandalwood, a testament to centuries untouched by time. His heart still raced from Elder Mo's cryptic warning, the old general's words—"The palace has eyes"—echoing alongside Su Mei's earlier caution. Yet, the archive's secrets called louder, promising answers to a disgraced prince scorned by a court that saw only his crippled meridians.
Lin Feng's fingers traced the edges of a scroll, its characters curling like the mists of the Jade Dragon Mountain. It spoke of qi springs beneath the western provinces, their spiritual energy once harnessed to feed rivers now lost to war and neglect. His engineer's mind, forged in a world of circuits and steel, spun with possibilities—sluices to redirect water, a waterwheel driven by qi arrays to irrigate parched fields. The sketches on his silk scrap grew more intricate, lines of ink weaving a vision of hope for a starving land. Yet, the archive's vastness mocked him; the knowledge he needed lay deeper, behind a locked gate he had glimpsed at the chamber's heart.
The gate was a relic of black jade, its surface carved with dragons entwined around a star, their eyes glinting with inlaid pearls. Runes pulsed faintly, a ward of spiritual energy that even a cultivator would hesitate to breach. Lin Feng, with no qi to call his own, felt its power as a dull ache in his bones. The Jade Pendant at his chest grew warmer, its cracked surface humming as if in answer to the gate's runes. He pressed his hand to it, recalling his mother's dying words: "It will guide you when all else fails." The pendant's heat flared, a pulse like a heartbeat, but no visions came, no voice to unlock its secrets. Not yet, he thought, frustration gnawing at him. But I'll find a way.
He turned back to the scrolls, seeking clues to the gate's wards. Hours bled into the night, his lamp burning low as he deciphered fragments of ancient texts. One scroll, brittle and faded, spoke of the First Emperor's artificers, who blended qi with mechanisms to craft wonders—gates that opened only to those deemed worthy. Could the pendant be a key? Lin Feng's mind raced, blending his engineer's logic with the archive's mysticism. A mechanism, perhaps, hidden in the gate's carvings, triggered by a precise alignment of qi or touch. But without cultivation, he was blind to such forces.
A soft clink broke his reverie, like a pebble against stone. Lin Feng doused the lamp, plunging the archive into shadow. His breath caught as footsteps approached—not the heavy tread of guards, but light, deliberate, like a cat stalking prey. He crouched behind a shelf, the pendant's warmth a silent pulse against his chest. A figure emerged, cloaked in darkness, their silhouette framed by a sliver of moonlight. Not Su Mei's icy grace, nor Elder Mo's weathered bulk, but a stranger, their face hidden beneath a hood. A faint scent of jasmine lingered, sharp and out of place in the archive's musty air.
"Who's there?" Lin Feng called, his voice low but firm, his engineer's instincts urging caution. The figure paused, then spoke, their voice a silken whisper, feminine yet edged with steel. "A curious prince in a forbidden hall. What secrets do you seek, Fifth Prince?"
Lin Feng's grip tightened on his sketches. Exposure here could mean ruin, but the stranger's tone held no threat, only intrigue. He stepped into the moonlight, meeting the shadowed gaze. "I seek to serve the kingdom, not steal its secrets. The west starves while the court laughs. I would change that."
The figure tilted their head, a glint of amusement in their hidden eyes. "Bold words for a cripple. But the palace is a nest of serpents, and knowledge is their venom. Tread lightly, or you'll find a blade in the dark." They stepped back, melting into the shadows before Lin Feng could respond, leaving only the echo of jasmine and a warning.
His heart pounded, but the encounter sharpened his resolve. The archive was no longer a sanctuary; it was a battlefield, watched by unseen eyes. He turned to the black jade gate, its runes now glowing faintly, as if mocking his lack of qi. The pendant pulsed in rhythm, a silent promise of secrets yet to unfold. Lin Feng's fingers traced the dragon carvings, searching for a mechanism—a lever, a hidden catch—but found only cold stone. There's a way through, he vowed, his engineer's mind refusing to yield. I'll find it, gate or no gate.
As dawn's first light crept through the shutters, painting the archive in hues of amber and gold, Lin Feng gathered his scrolls and sketches. The palace stirred beyond, its lanterns flickering to life, but the weight of his mother's pendant anchored him. The stranger's words, like Su Mei's and Elder Mo's, wove a thread of caution through his defiance. The court's scorn was a storm he could weather, but these unseen watchers—Su Mei's frost, Mo's scars, the jasmine-scented shadow—hinted at deeper games.
He slipped from the archive, the morning mist curling through the chrysanthemum gardens like a dragon's breath. The distant west, where fields lay barren, called to him, a challenge his brothers ignored. But in the palace's heart, another figure watched—a woman in merchant's silks, her jade hairpin glinting as she turned away. Li Xiyue, of the Cloudveil Trading House, had seen the prince's shadow flit from the eastern wing. Her lips curved, a merchant's calculation in her eyes. A spark in the dark, she mused. Perhaps worth fanning.
The threads of fate tightened, and Lin Feng, though scorned, was a name the heavens would soon know.