Bǎihé sat beneath the shade of her pavilion, eyes closed in forced meditation. Silence embraced her, yet her mind betrayed her. Thoughts crowded in—loud, restless, consuming—until it felt as if the very air around her pressed down upon her chest. She remembered when she was younger, how being overly aware of every word, every stare, every judgment from those around her nearly tore her apart. That same feeling now returned, but cloaked in dreams—dreams that no longer visited often, yet left her in a state of absence, of drifting between two worlds.
She tried to pull herself back. Her father's return, Haoyu's return. Their near-kiss at the palace gates, witnessed by her sister—branding her selfish in her own eyes. Dù Yí's sudden, violent death. And then... that other kiss. She struggled to recall what had been said, what had driven her to such boldness. It was not the kiss itself that haunted her—perhaps not even the man—but the name that had slipped from her lips. A name that burned with strange familiarity.
Her fingers tightened against her hanfu, bunching the fabric beneath her palm as if she could wring the confusion from her restless thoughts. But nothing eased.
When she opened her eyes, the setting sun had cast the sky in a golden haze. The warmth of summer settled over her like an old memory, both comforting and sorrowful. A tear threatened, tracing a path down her cheek before she wiped it away. Rising carefully, she walked toward her chamber door where Hépíng lingered, quiet as a shadow, her head bowed.
"Good night, Hépíng," Bǎihé whispered, closing the door gently behind her.
Hépíng's shoulders sagged, exhaustion weighing on her. She clenched her fists, muttering under her breath as she walked away.
"I'll kill that arrogant general one day... I swear it."
⸻
Yíchén drank deep from the ceramic jug, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He sat at a small wooden table beneath the dim shade of a roadside tavern. Tao and Liang sat across from him, their expressions clouded.
"We are leaving for Gǔ so soon?" Tao asked, startled.
"And we are to get the defense map tonight?" Liang added, lowering his voice.
"Yes. Any problem with that?" Yíchén replied, pouring himself another cup.
"I feel we shouldn't rush this," Tao said, worry creeping into his tone.
"At the same time," Yíchén countered, his voice sharp as the rim of his blade, "we must strike where they least expect it."
Tao and Liang exchanged uneasy glances. This haste was unlike Yíchén—his decisions were usually precise, calculated. Tonight felt... reckless.
"By nightfall," Yíchén declared, "our spy will retrieve the defense map."
⸻
That night, rain still clung to the air, a faint drizzle falling as if echoing yesterday's storm. Wrapped tightly in her blanket, Bǎihé drifted in and out of uneasy sleep.
Her dream carried her into a familiar garden, the sunlight pale and trembling across the leaves. There, a young woman—slightly older than herself—sat weeping softly. Her sobs shook her shoulders, yet she did not stir as Bǎihé's shadow fell across her.
"Hello? Are you alright?" Bǎihé asked gently, stepping closer.
The woman's head jerked up. Emerald eyes wide, pale face streaked with tears, her short hair fluttered in the breeze. She seized Bǎihé's arm with desperate strength.
"Bǎihé..." Her voice trembled. "They are all dead, mother... everyone. Only you can save the bloodline. Please..."
Panic seized Bǎihé. The last dream had shown her father's near-death. And now this?
"What happened to Mother?" she demanded.
The woman's gaze fell, shadowing. "Not her..."
"What do you mean? You just said—"
"Bǎihé, you don't have much time. The connection grows stronger—I'll find you again. Please... meditate. Guard your thoughts. And beware those closest to you."
Her figure began to dissolve, rippling away like ink in water. Bǎihé reached for her, but only emptiness remained. A chill swept through her as she clung to the fading fragments of the woman's face—so familiar, so regal in her white hanfu, her bearing unmistakably royal, eyes almost identical to hers.
But the harder Bǎihé tried to remember, the faster the memory slipped away, leaving only dread behind.
⸻
Meanwhile, outside the palace...
"How did you know of this rarely guarded passage?" Liang whispered.
Yíchén did not answer. His cloak hood shadowed his face as he watched the servant's route.
"And Jian will meet us here?" Tao pressed, hand on his sword hilt.
The three stood by a small gate leading into the palace gardens. At night, the fluttering lines of fabric hanging to dry resembled shifting silhouettes, deceiving even the sharpest guard. Few eyes bothered to watch this corner.
"Once the gate opens, I'll go in and retrieve the map," Yíchén said flatly.
"I will go," Liang volunteered.
"No. I'll go," Tao insisted, bracing himself like a soldier entering battle.
"Stay back and cover me," Yíchén cut in, his tone final.
The gate creaked open. Yíchén slipped inside, steps silent. His eyes scanned the swaying fabrics.
Then—thud! An arrow struck the ground before him, still quivering.
Yíchén's gaze snapped upward. Lán stood poised one of the building's roof surrounding the wash garden, her bow drawn, six soldiers flanking her, arrows aimed at his chest.
"Fall back!" Yíchén roared, drawing his blade. Steel flashed, cutting through a storm of arrows, his movements sharp, desperate.
Lán's eyes narrowed. She loosed a single shot, her arrow sinking into Yíchén's shoulder. With a groan, he dropped to one knee.
Smoke burst through the air—Tao's bomb. Shadows swirled as Tao dragged Yíchén out, slamming the gate shut just as arrows thudded into the wood behind them.
"I brought the horses!" Liang shouted.
Yíchén, bleeding but alive, hauled himself onto a steed with Tao's help. The three rode into the night, hooves striking sparks against stone.
⸻
Earlier that day...
Zhenyuan stood before Lán. "Recent reports, Gōngzhǔ. A messenger bird not registered to the palace has been seen flying in and out. And an unfamiliar male servant has been spotted frequently around the palace library."
Lán's eyes narrowed. "So. A spy lurks among us."
⸻
Jian lingered near the doors of the library, buckets set carefully at his side. His pulse thudded like a drum in his ears. This was it—the moment weeks of disguises and chores had been leading toward. If he failed now, his parents' memory and his sister's future would crumble to dust.
"Hey—you there!"
The sharp call startled him. Turning, he saw Princess Bao standing at the steps, slightly out of breath, her hanfu skirts gathered in her hands.
"Go into the library and fetch the files on the desk. I left them there last night, and Father is waiting for them. Quickly."
Jian bowed low, masking the surge of relief in his chest. Heaven itself had handed him a reason to enter. He set the buckets down and slipped inside.
The library air was thick with dust and the scent of old bamboo scrolls. Lanternlight flickered against rows of bookshelves. Jian's eyes darted to the desk where Bao's files sat—but he moved past them, toward the far corner where the floorboards met the wall beneath a small window. That was where the guard had said it lay. A hollow board, discovered by accident.
His footsteps tested each plank. Thump. Thump. Then—creak. A faint, empty sound. Heart racing, Jian crouched, pressing his ear to the wood. Hollow.
He slid his knife along the edge, prying the board loose. The plank lifted, and beneath it lay a rolled sheet of thick tree bark. His fingers trembled as he unrolled it.
The defense map of Límíng.
Lines inked in dark strokes spread across the bark—palace walls, guard rotations, even hidden tunnels beneath the earth. His breath caught. This was more than a map. It was the dynasty's beating heart.
Still kneeling, he traced the marks with wide eyes, a thrill of triumph rushing through him. For Father... for Mother... for my clan...
Cold steel kissed the side of his throat.
"Don't move," a voice hissed. "If you value your life."
Jian froze, the map still trembling in his grip. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. Standing over him was Zhenyuan, advisor to the commander of the royal guard. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, the blade pressed just hard enough to draw a bead of blood.
"Hand it over. Quietly," Zhenyuan whispered. "We wouldn't want to disturb the princesses, would we?"
The library doors creaked open. Bao entered, her breath quickening when she saw the scene—Jian on his knees, the map half-unfurled, Zhenyuan's blade poised at his neck.
She froze. The boy looked about Huan's age, maybe younger. Terror and defiance mingled in his pale face.
"Jie-jie..." she whispered urgently as her elder sister stepped in behind her.
Lán's presence filled the room like a shadow crossing the sun. Calm, smiling, yet her eyes gleamed with iron intent.
"Father is waiting for the files," Lán said smoothly, glancing toward the desk. "You left them here last night, but I took it to you quarters, it in your drawer."
"Oh... yes thank you ." Bao swallowed hard, backing away.
"Next time, do not leave important work lying about," Lan added, her tone warm but her eyes sharp. "Come. Let's not keep Father waiting."
Bao's gaze lingered on Jian, eyes pleading with her sister to show mercy. The boy's lips pressed tight, his eyes wide with silent panic. But Lán's expression revealed nothing. Reluctantly, Bao lifted her skirts and hurried out, the door closing behind her.
Silence fell.
Lán stepped closer. "Who sent you?"
"No one," Jian spat, clutching the map tighter.
Lan's smile widened. She tossed a small scrap of parchment at his feet. A captured message, marked with his clan's seal.
"Your bird betrayed you. You were expected to deliver this map tonight."
Jian's breath caught. His cover was crumbling.
"Kill me. I won't talk," he said, though his voice wavered.
Zhenyuan pressed the blade harder against his neck, drawing another thin line of blood.
"Oh, you will talk," Lan whispered. "Dead or alive. But first—your accomplices deserve a welcome of their own."
Jian's composure broke. His eyes darted up at her, filled with fear. The map shook in his trembling hands.
The trap had closed.
⸻
Now.
"Shall I pursue them, Gōngzhǔ Yàng?" Zhenyuan asked urgently.
Lán's eyes lingered on the smoke's fading blue dust. Her lips curled into a knowing smile.
"They are of the Gǔ Clan."
"The Gǔ dare breach Límíng itself?" Zhenyuan hissed, drawing his sword.
Lán shook her head. "No pursuit. Not yet. The spy we hold will tell us all we need. Double the guards. Seal every exit from the city to the villages beyond. Send word now."
"Yes, Gōngzhǔ!" the soldiers thundered.
Lán's eyes glimmered in the torchlight. "So the game begins."