Ashes in the Snowfall

Kael closed the door behind him with a quiet click, slumping down against the carved wood panels. His gaze drifted toward the black cat, equal parts scolding and helpless.

The cat blinked innocently and swiped a paw through the air, its pupils glowing faintly in the shadows.

Moonlight shimmered across the gold-threaded clouds embroidered on the canopy above his bed. Kael threw himself into the brocade covers. The black cat arched and leapt lightly onto the pillows, its soft tail brushing across his lashes.

Burying his face into the cat's warm fur, Kael's thoughts wandered back to childhood.

After the fire, his brother had grown quiet, closed off. No one ever truly knew what he was thinking.

Aside from Lady Yinqiu, it seemed no one else could ever reach Cyrien's heart again—not even Kael.

He thought of those days when they studied alongside the other princes in the imperial palace. Back then, too, his brother had kept everything locked away.

It was as if something invisible weighed down Cyrien's shoulders, and Kael feared that burden would one day crush him.

Somewhere beyond the walls, a watch bell tolled.

As Kael drifted toward sleep, his fingers stretched as if grasping for something just out of reach—Yinqiu's shadow on the wall, the silhouette of his brother alone at his desk.

"What can I do for you...?" he whispered into the darkness.

The bronze wind chime swayed beneath the eaves. His last thread of consciousness snapped.

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The morning mist had not yet lifted. Frost glittered along the base of the grey-brick walls.

Kael crouched behind a Taihu stone, watching the glow of a patrol lantern vanish through the moon gate. Then he placed his hands on the large rock and gave it a shove.

It moved.

A narrow gap appeared—just wide enough for one person to crawl through.

On the other side lay a patch of grass, which opened onto a quiet street where the old fortune-teller usually set up his stall.

But at this hour, the city was still cloaked in indigo haze.

Kael's boots splashed through puddles as he walked.

Gradually, the sun began to rise. People emerged. Steam unfurled from early food stalls, catching the light like spun gold.

A bamboo steamer lid lifted. The smell of glutinous rice and woodsmoke filled the air.

His stomach growled.

"No journey on an empty stomach."

"One plum blossom cake, please," Kael said, placing coins on the counter.

"You got it!" the stooped old vendor replied, lifting the bamboo lid to reveal petal-shaped pastries.

Just then, a rough voice barked from beside him.

"Five plum cakes—and a scallion pancake!"

Kael glanced sideways.

A burly man in a fur-lined coat stood next to him, hat pulled low over his face. When he reached for the pancake, his sleeve slipped back slightly.

Kael's eyes narrowed.

From thumb to wrist, calluses shone like polished wax.

Not ordinary laborer's hands.

These were marks left by years of archery—draw lines. You'd only see them on soldiers or rural hunters.

Unless…

Kael bit into his cake. Red sugar flooded his tongue, but his gaze never left the man.

The man took the food and turned to leave.

Without hesitation, Kael followed.

"Hey! You haven't paid!" the old vendor shouted behind him, but Kael didn't hear a word.

He was already lost in pursuit.

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The man moved fast.

Kael shadowed him through three winding streets until he turned into a narrow, hidden alley.

Kael followed.

But the sight that met him made his blood run cold.

The man was crouched beside a well, extracting half a broken arrow from his satchel—and slotting it back into its head.

Click.

A shortbow rose.

The arrow aimed squarely between Kael's eyes.

"I meant only to scare you," the man said coldly. "Make you back off. But you just had to follow me."

The bowstring creaked, slicing through the mist. The arrow's blue-steel tip reflected Kael's shrinking pupils.

He stepped back—heel landing on slick moss at the edge of the well.

"Meow!"

A streak of black shot from the rooftops. The cat's silver collar flashed past the man's face.

Twang!

The arrow missed, striking the wall beside Kael's ear.

"Filthy beast!"

Blood welled between the man's fingers as he clutched his cheek.

The cat crouched, fur bristling, growling low.

Kael didn't hesitate. He rolled for the alley mouth.

"Go!" he shouted—at the cat, or himself, he wasn't sure.

The sound of boots hammering stone echoed behind him.

He vaulted a low roof using a pickle jar as a springboard. Tiles shattered beneath the attacker's pursuit.

The cat darted ahead, its collar slicing moonlight.

At a fork, the cat turned left. So did Kael.

His shoulder scraped wet moss.

A fishing net blocked the path—he grabbed the rope and swung across a gutter. The moment his attacker slashed the net, Kael had already tumbled into a dead-end filled with bamboo baskets.

Rotting tofu stung his nose.

Grabbing a shard of bamboo, he hurled it toward the closing figure and wriggled through a dog-sized hole in the wall.

Stone scraped his arm, but he didn't stop.

Three more paths.

He paused—but overhead came the whistle of steel.

The fur-clad man dropped from the roof, blade splitting the flagstone where Kael had stood.

He rolled. His hair tie snapped.

The cat raised its paw toward the right alley.

Kael dashed that way, severing a string of drying meats as he ran.

Thud.

Heavy pork slabs crashed behind him.

The man stumbled.

The cat sprang onto a pile of wine jars. Kael got the message—vaulted up and over the wall.

The other side was a rooftop sea.

Kael sprinted across the tiles. Footsteps chased three strides behind.

Ahead, a bell cord swung.

He leapt, grabbed it, and swung across to a teahouse roof.

"Meow!"

The cat struck again—its claws raking the man's eyes mid-air.

Kael crashed through a window and landed amid startled tea drinkers.

He grabbed a straw hat from a stand and slipped out the back door.

A narrow corridor opened into the city's busiest avenue.

As the fur-clad man crashed in behind him, Kael had already vanished into the crowd.

Beneath the straw hat, he peered back through the sea of heads.

He had reached the East Market.

Three paces behind, the assassin shoved past a fishmonger—growing fainter with every step.