Ashborn Empire

The last of the crates had been loaded onto the caravan carts, their contents sealed with lacquer and stamped with the mark of the court. Morning light pierced the gray fog lingering over the palace courtyards, illuminating the silent, watchful faces of servants and soldiers alike. A false calm settled across Ling An — the sort that wrapped around the throat just before the scream.

Within the antechamber of the Fourth Prince's estate, Liao Yun stood before me once again, robes neat, face unreadable.

"There's been movement," he said quietly. "Wu Kang has begun hosting secret audiences — not only with Wu Ling's monks, but with merchants tied to the outer provinces. Foreign coin has changed hands. Discreet shipments entering through the southern border. A scholar from the Sima Clan, long thought exiled, now walks openly within his residence."

My brow twitched. "He's building something."

"Or digging something up," Liao Yun said. "There are whispers — that he seeks the power you wielded in Bù Zhèng. That he no longer fears it. That he believes it can be harnessed… better."

He paused. "The Empress is encouraging it. Her palace remains cloaked in rites. She fasts often. Her handmaidens are not seen during the day."

The chill beneath my ribs, once a foreign presence, now stirred like a second heartbeat.

"Then it begins again," I murmured. "Another fool thinking he can wear the skin of a god and remain unchanged."

I turned to the map spread across my desk. "Liao Yun. Pack your things. You're coming to Nanyang."

His eyes flicked up in surprise, though his face showed little. "You're certain?"

"If Wu Kang makes his move, I want someone I trust to watch the capital — but not in it. The spiders don't bite until they think you've forgotten the web."

There was a rustle of silk as the doors to the chamber opened. Wu Ling stepped through unannounced, draped in white mourning robes — a fashion statement she wore like mockery. Her dark eyes swept the room.

"How warm," she said. "Brother and shadow, plotting by candlelight. Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Concern won't save you," I said.

She smiled. "That's why I've never bothered with it."

Liao Yun bowed and stepped back, melting into shadow as he always did.

Wu Ling stepped closer, folding her hands. "Wu Kang's reaching. You know it. You smell it. But have you considered… what if he succeeds? What if the thing that touched you chooses him instead?"

"It won't."

"You're certain?"

"No." I looked her in the eye. "But I know what it costs. The more you drink from it, the more your skin forgets what warmth feels like. He doesn't understand. He thinks he's still human."

Wu Ling tilted her head. "And what are you?"

"Something worse. But at least I know it."

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us like a sword across a table. Then she turned, her voice light again.

"Enjoy Nanyang. The ruins there are lovely in the moonlight."

She left without a backward glance.

By noon, the convoy was ready. Shen Yue rode beside the lead cart, her armor replaced by civil robes — but the sword at her hip had not changed. Liao Yun stood at the edge of the court gates, his pack slung over one shoulder. The black Tiger banners no longer flew behind me. We were merchants now. Engineers. Courtiers.

Monsters in silk.

Just before I could mount my horse, a quiet voice reached me from behind.

"You'll never rebuild it."

Wu Jin stepped from the shadows of the corridor, his face as pale as fog and twice as unreadable. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Nanyang," he said again, softly. "You'll ride there with ledgers and plans and ideals. But cities built on bones don't grow straight. They twist. They fester."

I said nothing.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"You'll run out of coin before winter. The treasury will delay. Supplies will vanish. Ministers will hold their signatures like daggers. They want you to fail."

He leaned in. "But if you don't want to fail… come to me."

I met his gaze. "And what would your help cost me?"

Wu Jin gave the faintest smile. "Only a favor. One I'll name when the time is right."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the people of Nanyang will starve. And when spring comes, they'll hang your banners from dead trees."

His words did not carry malice — only tired certainty. The tone of a man who had watched too many dreams bleed out beneath bureaucrats' ink.

I studied him. "Why help me?"

"Because you're the only one left whose ruin will mean something," Wu Jin said. "Wu Kang burns too quickly. Wu Ling's already ash inside. But you — you still breathe. And when something breathes, it can scream."

He reached into his sleeve and handed me a sealed parchment.

"Use this if the need comes. It won't be cheap. But it will open doors."

Then he turned and disappeared into the palace mist like a ghost.

By dusk, we departed Ling An.

The road to Nanyang stretched long and cracked beneath our wheels. Each mile behind me was a mile further from the palace — and yet somehow, the weight of it pressed heavier the further I rode.

The being inside me was quiet now. Patient. Listening.

I thought of Wu Kang, reaching for power with hands still soft from court games.

I thought of Wu Ling, dancing her slow, deliberate steps along the edge of sacrilege.

And I thought of Wu Jin, who never raised a sword — but sharpened his silences like knives.

Above us, storm clouds gathered over the southern sky.

But I did not look back.

Not yet.