Ashborn Empire

The civil office of Canals and Ledgers was buried in the eastern wing of the palace — far from the martial halls, far from the throne room, far from power.

And yet, I found it full of eyes.

Scribes bowed with trembling fingers. Minor officials stammered through their reports. Guards looked away too quickly, and even the rats beneath the floorboards seemed to move with caution, as though they feared waking something worse than poison.

The first three days passed in silence and ink. I reviewed land tax allocations, weighed rice estimates, listened to petitions from engineers about a bridge that collapsed before its second season. But even as I spoke of stone weights and water tables, the thing inside me stirred. Quiet. Watching. Patient. It tasted each breath I took in this new cage and pressed ever so gently against the walls.

I did not sleep. Not truly.

And then came the banquet.

It was held in the Hall of Ten Thousand Bells — an ornate chamber whose every arch seemed to drip gold. Tables ran down its center like the spine of a coiling beast, each piled with roasted meats, lacquered duck, perfumed wine, and sweetened lotus root. Lanterns floated in the rafters, their shadows weaving patterns that made the ministers beneath them look like they wore painted masks.

The court was already seated when I arrived.

Wu Jin sat near the head, his eyes dull with drink, fingers tapping softly against his wine cup. Shen Yue was further down the table, in plain court robes, speaking to no one, her gaze never quite leaving me. Wu Ling occupied a throne-like seat beside the Emperor, who clapped his hands at every course without understanding a single flavor.

And Wu Kang.

Wu Kang sat alone. His place at the table had been set three chairs down from the Emperor — far enough to be visible, but not close enough to matter. His robes were still rich, but the golden phoenix embroidery had been replaced with more muted bronze thread. A silent rebuke. The hall had not forgotten.

When I entered, the room quieted. For a heartbeat too long, no one raised a cup. Then the Lord Protector stood.

"Tonight," he declared, "we honor the peace that still holds. The victory that spared us civil collapse. And the sons and daughters of Liang — flawed though they may be — who still stand at this table."

Polite applause followed. Wine poured. Laughter resumed. But beneath the noise, I felt the tension. It was the hum of blades kept beneath sleeves. Of poisons hidden in perfume.

Near the end of the feast, Wu Kang rose — uninvited.

His smile was too wide. His cup too full.

"Brothers," he said, voice ringing like a challenge, "I raise my glass to our new canal minister. May he build bridges that last longer than his enemies do."

A few ministers chuckled — nervous, hollow sounds. Wu Kang walked slowly down the length of the table, trailing one finger along its edge until he stopped before me.

"Tell me, Wu An," he said. "Do you dream differently now? Since Bu Zheng? Since you stood over fires with eyes not quite your own?"

I met his gaze. Calm. Cold.

His smile widened. "Did you think you were the only one blessed with whispers? The only one worthy of something older than the Empire?"

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a hiss.

"Wu Ling and I have been speaking. And there are monks in her palace who say the stars are shifting. That power... can be shared. Or stolen."

His breath smelled of wine and incense. But there was something else beneath it — a trace of soot and blood. As though whatever now lived in him had just begun to eat.

"You think your shadows are deep?" he whispered. "Wait until you see what I drag out of the dark."

Then he turned and laughed, raising his cup again as if nothing had passed.

But the room had seen.

The Emperor's eyes were wide. The Lord Protector's hand twitched once on his armrest. And Wu Jin… Wu Jin smiled into his wine as if the entire court were a stage, and we were all fools dancing to a drum no one could hear.

After the banquet, I stood alone in the stone courtyard beneath the bell tower. The night air was thin. Quiet.

Shen Yue joined me.

"He means it," she said. "Wu Kang. He's not bluffing."

"I know."

"And Wu Ling…"

"She's already opened the gate," I murmured. "She just hasn't told him what waits inside."

Shen Yue touched my hand briefly — not out of affection, but necessity. We were soldiers again, two ghosts in a city of silk.

"If it comes to it," she said, "and he does what you did…"

"Then I'll show him," I whispered, "what it means to stand in front of something you cannot control. And I'll be the one who closes the gate behind him."

Because the cold thing in me was stirring now — not in hunger, but in amusement.

It was no longer a secret between me and the void.

It had smelled its rival.

And it was ready.