The merchant raised an eyebrow but did not argue. At a table farther back, a young noble was already calling for the musicians to repeat the final two lines, claiming that a song like that deserved to be accompanied by wine until the first light of morning. Rong Tian did not look toward the stage immediately. He watched the room first, reading how the atmosphere changed around the performance rather than allowing the music itself to draw his attention. The laughter that had been wild only moments earlier softened. Cups that had repeatedly risen toward mouths now paused near lips, and even a stout official who had spent most of the evening tearing at smoked meat finally put down his chopsticks and turned his head, whether because of the music or because he was waiting for something that would never arrive through the main hall. Only then did Rong Tian raise his gaze toward the stage. Yue Lin sat beneath the lantern light

Yue Lin did not blink after seeing the chip fall from her dagger. Her expression remained controlled, but the tension in her left hand lasted for a fraction of a breath, enough for Rong Tian to recognize the reaction of someone who knew every flaw in her weapons and took damage to them personally. He used the hesitation immediately. Grabbing the curtain Lin Zhao’s qi had cut, Rong Tian pulled the heavy fabric across the corridor, breaking the line of sight between himself, Yue Lin, Lin Zhao, and Liu Xuan. A servant carrying a tray of tea appeared around the corner at exactly the wrong moment. His eyes widened at the sight of steel and spilled oil, but Rong Tian struck his sleeping point without stopping. The servant collapsed onto the carpet. His tray tipped, porcelain cups shattered, and monk-fruit tea spread across the wooden floor. Yue Lin pursued without wasting time on shouting. Her steps

The Hadarac Desert had not released the day’s heat even though the sun was already leaning toward the western horizon. Sand along the ridges reflected a dull light like sheets of metal left too long inside a furnace. The route was unsuitable for ordinary travelers. Only people carrying money, the emblem of a state, or a purpose large enough to justify the risk would force carriage wheels across terrain this harsh before night settled over the desert. A small convoy moved between the dunes in disciplined formation. Four riders opened the road at the front, a dark red enclosed carriage traveled in the center, and eight more guards protected the rear with short spears and bows positioned for immediate use. Their armor was light, strong enough to turn a slash but thin enough not to burden the horses in deep sand. Sun emblems were fixed across their chests and shoulders, symbols that usually made border travelers think

The bandits emerged from behind the ridges like black ants that had caught the scent of carrion. There were far too many of them to be ordinary scouts, and the semicircle they formed around the road showed that they had studied this route long before the wheels of the red carriage touched the sand. They wore no common uniform. Some carried spears, others broad sabers, several had iron chains hanging from their saddles, and more than one rider already held a bow half raised as his horse came to a stop. Their leader rode at the front. He was broad through the shoulders, with a rough beard and a face marked by old acne scars and short cuts that made his smile look more filthy than amusing. “Good,” he said while studying the red carriage in the middle of the convoy. “I was beginning to think the desert would give us nothing but dust today.” Several bandits behind him laughed. The

The horses grew increasingly wild as the smell of blood thickened around them. Saddle leather, hot sand, sweat, and the opened bodies of dead men mixed in the evening air until the entire road seemed to carry the taste of iron. The youngest Golden Sun guard tightened his grip on his spear until his fingers turned white. “Commander, we should help her.” “Stay where you are,” the commander snapped without looking away from Hanim. “If you enter now, you will only add another corpse in front of her.” He did not move either. His jaw remained hard, but his eyes followed Hanim’s every step with an emotion that was no longer simple respect. Hanim was not fighting wildly, and that made the slaughter worse. She did not leap without reason or spin simply to look impressive. Every step had purpose. She entered the spaces between