The ringing bells were jarring in the quiet night. In moments, the city walls swarmed with soldiers.
Fortunately, clad in black, they were hidden in the shadows.
He heard the footsteps fade and let out a breath, releasing Ling Yan from his embrace. In the dark, he couldn't see her expression, but he could imagine her flushed face.
"Thanks to you for spotting the Nine-Turn Chain Bells," he whispered.
She smiled faintly, her head bowed.
The Nine-Turn Chain Bells were a web of poison-laced silk, impossibly tough. Touch one, and a cascade of chimes would turn the night into a cacophony. Even a touch meant instant death.
"Remember how to break them?" he whispered, his head close to her ear.
She nodded. Of course. She never forgot anything he taught her.
"A pity this Prefect only knows the bells are a palace defense, not that they were a gift from the Prince of Heluo." She curled her lips in a mocking smile, drawing a nine-inch dagger that gleamed in the moonlight.
"You take the three on the left. The rest are mine." He rose, drawing a soft sword from his waist that snaked like a silver serpent.
Soft swords were rare. A master smith had forged only three in his lifetime. Two were given to the Emperor—one of which was now Murong Jin's. The third was lost to history.
"My lord, please reconsider."
"It's fine." He smiled. "Ready?"
Seeing he couldn't be dissuaded, she concentrated. "Ready."
As her voice faded, two black figures leaped. Their feet barely touched the lower wall before they soared upwards. Two cold streaks of light cut through the moonlight. No figures were visible, only flashes of silver as quick as lightning.
The wind died. The cold light vanished.
Two figures landed lightly on the eaves of the tower, every bell behind them split in two. The blades had been so fast, they hadn't made a sound.
"Good. Your skill is sharper," he praised, sheathing his sword.
She smiled faintly, leaping down to the moat's edge. She looked back. The soldier who had been about to cry out was already dead, a neat cut across his throat. Her specialty.
"Tomorrow, the Prefect will be very surprised," he said as they walked.
Ling Yan frowned. "A shame, my lord. A good item, in such hands."
He paused, looking at her. The moonlight blurred her face, bathing her in a soft glow.
"This subordinate spoke out of turn." She quickly bowed her head.
"You're right. I only had two made: one for you, and one for the Emperor. For one to appear here… someone is colluding with the palace." He walked ahead. She followed silently.
After a moment, he said, "Who do you think it is?"
"Guo Shangzhong," she mused.
"Oh?"
"The Emperor trusts him, and he manages the palace's internal affairs. To steal something so precious from under his nose would be difficult."
He tapped her forehead lightly. "You think it's precious. To those in the palace, it's merely for show."
"How can that be? Contact means certain death."
He turned to hide his smile. "Never mind. All will be revealed when we return to Jindu. How far is Yan Town?"
"If we travel through the night, we can arrive by tomorrow evening."
"Evening." Without horses, it was the limit. "Can you keep up?"
She understood at once.
"My lord, please." She gestured respectfully. He had been her first teacher. She could keep up.
In a few leaps, two black figures vanished into the treetops, leaving only silent leaves to fall onto the moonlit road.
Yan Town was once prosperous. Now, it was a graveyard. The air was thick with the sour stench of mud and rot. Even the crows had gone silent.
Xue Feiyan and Ling Yan walked slowly through the streets. All along the way were the remnants of the flood, leaning houses where shivering people huddled, their clothes too thin for warmth.
"Mama, wake up, Mama!"
A child's wail pierced the deathly silence. Ling Yan looked over. A child, no older than four or five, lay draped over a woman whose face was ashen. She had frozen to death before dawn.
Ling Yan walked over and knelt. "Your mother is dead."
"Mama, I want Mama!" Fear and grief made the child struggle, his cries growing louder.
"She's dead!" Ling Yan snapped. "Can't you see her clothes are on you? In this weather, she's wearing only a single layer, can't you see?"
The child was reduced to sobs.
Xue Feiyan quickly walked over, pulling Ling Yan to his side. He looked at the child, about to speak, but swallowed his words.
Ling Yan took off her outer robe and placed it over the child. "Live well. Don't let your mother's sacrifice be in vain."
Xue Feiyan's hand clenched, his eyes burning with fury. The flood had been reported. The court had allocated funds. Memorials had claimed all refugees were settled.
And yet, this was the reality.
"We're going to the county office," he said, pulling her up.
She didn't move. "You go. I'll stay here."
It was the first time she had defied him. He froze, then saw the killing intent in her eyes.
"You're afraid you'll kill the county official?"
"An official who cares so little for his people… I don't want to cause you trouble."
"It's fine," he said with a cold laugh. "Even if you don't, I will."
She looked at him, startled.
"He abused the people first, then deceived the Emperor. He is beyond redemption." His voice grew colder. This was not his usual gentle demeanor.
His sword was at the county official's throat. The prince's seal lay on the desk. All that mattered now was begging for his life.
Ling Yan stood before the granary gates, watching the guards distribute grain. The scene blurred with memories. Back then, they hadn't been so lucky. Of an entire town, only she, sold for food, had escaped the plague that followed the flood.
"Are you getting emotional?" Xue Feiyan's voice came from behind her.
She quickly wiped away a tear. "This subordinate was improper."
"I heard your hometown also suffered a flood," he said, his voice careful.
A flash of sadness crossed her brow, then she composed herself. "My father sold me. My mother, trying to grab half a steamed bun the official had thrown, was trampled to death at the county office gates."
"Half a steamed bun?" He stared, shocked.
"Yes." She gave a desolate laugh. "When disaster strikes, human lives cease to be human lives."
He said nothing. But in his silence, the empire trembled.