THE LAST LORD OF THE WASTELAND

BLOOD ON THE MARKETPLACE

The first merchant hanged himself at noon, and by sunset, the city was burning.

Shen Rui stood at the edge of the marketplace, watching the smoke rise from the silk merchant's district. His hands were still stained with dried blood, and no matter how many times he wiped them on his tunic, the color wouldn't fade.

"It's spreading faster than we can control," Guan Hao said, appearing at his side. His face was grim, his one eye fixed on the flames. "The crowd stormed the salt merchant's compound an hour ago. They found two hundred sacks of rice hidden in the cellar."

"Where is the salt merchant now?"

"Dead. The mob tore him apart before my soldiers could reach him." Guan Hao's jaw tightened. "They strung his body up from the gate tower. Right next to where your cousin's corpse was hanging."

Shen Rui felt his stomach turn. He had wanted justice. He had wanted to feed the starving. But this was not justice. This was butchery wearing the mask of revenge.

"How many soldiers do we have in the district?" he asked.

"Fifty. Maybe sixty. The rest are guarding the granary and the main gates." Guan Hao shook his head. "It's not enough. The crowd is thousands. And they're not listening to reason anymore. They want blood."

"Then we give them something else to want."

Shen Rui pushed past Guan Hao and strode into the market square. The scene was chaos. Stalls had been overturned. Merchandise lay scattered in the mud. A group of men had cornered a wealthy trader against a wall, their fists raised. The trader was screaming something about imperial protection, but no one was listening.

"Stop!" Shen Rui shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

The crowd turned toward him. For a moment, the violence paused. Faces stared at him, some filled with hope, others with fury.

"Look at what you're doing!" he yelled. "You're burning your own city! You're killing people who could help rebuild what the merchants destroyed!"

A man stepped forward. His tunic was torn, his face smeared with ash. "The merchants are all the same! They stole from us! They deserve to die!"

"Maybe some of them do." Shen Rui's voice was steady, but inside he was shaking. "But not all of them. Some of them were forced to follow the merchants' orders. Some of them were cheated too. And some of them have food hidden that you'll never find if you kill them first!"

The crowd murmured. The man hesitated.

Shen Rui pressed forward. "The grain we distributed this morning is not enough. You know that. Winter is coming. The city needs every scrap of food it can find. But if you kill the merchants, if you burn the warehouses, you're destroying the very thing you need!"

"Then what do you suggest?" a woman screamed from the back. "That we just let them go? Let them keep their stolen food while our children starve?"

Shen Rui turned to face her. It was the same woman from the market. The one who had accused him of being no different from the Shen family. Her eyes were wild with grief and hunger.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm not asking you to let them go. I'm asking you to let me deal with them. To let the law deal with them. If you become killers, you become no better than the men who starved you."

The woman's face twisted. "Easy words from a noble. You don't know what it's like to watch your child die."

"I know what it's like to watch people die because of my family's failures." Shen Rui's voice cracked. "And I know that killing more people won't bring back the ones we've lost."

The silence that followed was heavy. The crowd stood frozen, their anger still burning but now directionless.

Then, from the edge of the square, a man's voice rang out. "He's lying! He's just trying to protect the merchants! He's one of them!"

The crowd's fury reignited. They surged toward Shen Rui, their faces twisted with rage. Guan Hao and his soldiers formed a wall in front of him, their spears lowered.

"Get him out of here!" Guan Hao shouted. "Now!"

But Shen Rui didn't move. He pushed through the line of soldiers and stood facing the mob, his arms spread wide.

"If you want to kill someone, kill me!" he shouted. "I'm the one who let this happen! I'm the one who didn't see the corruption sooner! I'm the one who hid while you starved! So if you need blood, take mine!"

The crowd stopped. A few feet away, a young man held a knife, his hand trembling. His eyes were full of tears.

"My brother died last week," the young man said. "He was eleven years old. He starved to death in my arms while the merchants ate rice and fish." His voice broke. "Why should I trust you?"

Shen Rui met his gaze. "Because I'm the only one standing in front of you without a weapon. Because I'm the only one who didn't run. And because I'm the only one who's trying to make this right."

The young man stared at him. The knife shook in his hand. Then he lowered it, his shoulders slumping.

"I don't trust you," he whispered. "But I don't have the strength to kill you either."

He turned and walked away into the crowd.

The mob began to disperse, their anger spent. Guan Hao's soldiers moved through the square, pushing people back toward their homes, their voices firm but not cruel. The fires were brought under control. The looting slowed.

Shen Rui stood alone in the center of the square, his chest heaving. He had never felt so tired in his life.

Guan Hao appeared beside him. "That was reckless. They could have killed you."

"They didn't."

"They could have." Guan Hao's voice was sharp. "And next time, they might. You can't keep throwing yourself at mobs and hoping they'll spare you."

"What choice do I have?"

Guan Hao was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. "You could start by trusting your soldiers. Let us protect you."

Shen Rui shook his head. "If I hide behind soldiers, I'm no better than the old lords. The people need to see me standing with them. Not above them."

"Then you'll die young."

"Maybe." Shen Rui looked at the smoke rising from the burning district. "But at least I'll die trying to do something right."

He turned to leave. The crowd was still milling around the edges of the square, watching him with expressions he couldn't read. Some looked grateful. Others looked like they were waiting for him to fail.

He didn't blame them. He had done nothing yet. Not really. He had stopped one riot, but the city was still starving. The merchants were still fleeing. The imperial court was still coming for him.

He started walking toward the gate tower, his legs heavy. Guan Hao followed a few paces behind.

And then he heard it.

A soft whistle. A whisper of air.

"Down!" Guan Hao shouted.

Shen Rui threw himself to the ground as a knife flew past his ear and embedded itself in the wooden post beside him. The blade was long and thin, designed for throwing. It quivered there, inches from his head.

The crowd screamed. Guan Hao's soldiers drew their swords. Shen Rui scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding.

In the chaos, a figure broke from the shadows near the silk merchant's stall. A man in a gray cloak, his face hidden by a hood. He was running toward the eastern alley.

"After him!" Guan Hao shouted.

But Shen Rui was already staring at the knife. There was something tied to the hilt. A small piece of cloth. Black, with a single white character stitched into the fabric.

Wolf.

He pulled the knife from the post and read the character again. Then he looked up at the alley where the assassin had disappeared.

"This wasn't a random attack," he said quietly.

Guan Hao looked at the cloth. His face went pale.

"The Black Wolf," he whispered. "Lord Shen, we need to get you inside. Now."

Shen Rui didn't move. He watched the alley's dark mouth, his fingers tight around the knife.

"Who is the Black Wolf?" he asked.

But Guan Hao didn't answer. He grabbed Shen Rui's arm and pulled him toward the safety of the gate tower, his soldiers forming a protective ring around them.

And somewhere in the shadows, the assassin watched. He had missed. That was unfortunate.

But he would not miss again.