The morning didn't arrive with a bugle or a prayer; it arrived with the sharp, brittle sound of lungs hitching as men moved against the freezing air.
The camp stirred into its usual order. Names were called and answered. Armor was checked. Nothing in the rhythm suggested change, yet Liang Wei felt it all the same. The air carried a tension that had not been there before, thin but persistent, like a string drawn too tight.
The camp stirred into its usual order. Boots struck earth. Names were called and answered. Armor was checked. Nothing in the rhythm suggested change, yet Liang Wei felt it all the same. The air carried a tension that had not been there before, thin but persistent, like a string drawn too tight.
Li was once again nowhere in sight. She noticed but decided not to look for him.
She stood where she had been placed for inspection, a lone figure in the gray light. She did not occupy the space beside where his marker should have been, nor did she stand directly behind it. She held a position just far enough away that the difference could be explained by rank, by convenience, or by nothing worth questioning aloud, except for the obvious silence of his absence.
Zhou Yueliang watched from the raised platform, hands folded behind his back. His expression gave nothing. He did not speak at first. He let the morning unfold as it always did, as if waiting to see whether the world would correct itself.
The ranks didn't so much break as they dissolved, the silence giving way to a low murmur that passed through the camp. Orders shifted into whispers. Two soldiers were absent from their usual posts. A quartermaster lingered at the edge of the field, uncertain whether to begin the distribution of rations or await new commands. Liang Wei noticed all of it. She always did.
A young soldier lowered himself onto the frozen ground beside her with a stiffness that spoke of a long night and little sleep. He carefully aligned his boots with hers, mirroring the precise angle of her shoulders. He held the posture for a breath too long, then wavered.
He did not look at her, but he leaned just far enough into her space that she could feel the nervous heat radiating off his skin. He had the look of someone holding a mouthful of water he wasn't allowed to swallow, his whole body strained with a message that was fighting to get out.
She almost reached out to correct his posture or tell him that tension like that only invited eyes. The words prickled in her throat and died.
Liang Wei watched the heavy, silk-draped carriage from the Central Kingdom as it sat motionless in the gray light. She gestured toward the line of ornate wood and gold, her voice low.
"Is the carriage from the Central Kingdom to be part of the march or is it merely waiting for the sun to warm the silk?" she asked quietly.
The soldier didn't look at her. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the heavy frost coating the wheel of the nearest carriage, his fingers mindlessly picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.
"Commander Li..." He stopped, the name coming out as a dry, raspy whisper. He shifted his weight, his boots grinding into the frozen mud. "He was called to the edge of the camp. The Ashen Vale Commander had refused for the Blood-Bond Census and would be executed. The Jing De Empire officials... they wanted to retrieve the command rosters. They say the Empire doesn't believe in delays when a sentence has been passed."
He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the morning silence. He leaned in, his voice barely audible over the wind. "The execution of the Ashen Vale Commander is set for tomorrow. At the first bell. Before the frost even has a chance to melt."
He finally looked at her, his eyes wide and hollow. "That is why the Commander is where he is, Liang Wei. He refuses to board the carriage for the Capital. He's out there now. He will not watch the end."
Liang Wei's expression didn't break. While the soldier's words about the dawn execution would have leveled another person, she merely adjusted the tilt of her spear by a fraction of an inch. The execution of the Bing Ya Commander wasn't just a rumor anymore; it was a deadline, an iron bell waiting to be struck.
The soldier opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut short by the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots on the frozen mud.
Another soldier, a messenger bearing the black-and-gold sash of the high command, stopped several paces away. He didn't look at the silk carriages or the execution platform in the distance. His eyes were fixed solely on her. "Liang Wei," the messenger barked, his breath blooming in the bitter air. "The Commander is on the high ridge. He has moved to the Command Tent and requires your presence. Immediately."
She gave a short, rigid nod to the soldier beside her. A silent acknowledgment of the death sentence he had just shared. She turned toward the center of the camp.
Inside the command tent, the air was cool and close. Zhou sat behind the central table, a single scroll laid before him. Another presence stood to one side, half in shadow. The same man Zhou had once assigned to follow her. Silent. Capable.
"You're late," Zhou said, without looking up.
"I was summoned recently," Liang Wei replied.
"That is not what I meant."
She said nothing.
Zhou lifted his gaze then, studying her the way one studied terrain before committing troops. "As Li Běichén's suishi, anything you carry reflects upon him. Any document found on you is his responsibility. Do you understand that."
"Yes."
"Good."
He pushed the scroll across the table.
Her eyes dropped to it. She did not reach for it.
"This is the proposal you overheard discussed," Zhou continued. "It is to be delivered to Commander Wei Deng of Ashen Vale before his execution. You will not enter the palace. You will not speak to the Prince. You will give the scroll to the commander. Nothing more."
She felt it then. The shape of the trap. Not for her.
For Li.
"You asked Commander Li to carry this," she said.
"And he refused."
She looked up. "So you give it to me."
Zhou's mouth curved slightly. Not a smile. "I give it to someone who does not fear the shadow of a throne."
She understood him perfectly.
If she failed, Li would be implicated.If she succeeded, Li would be forced to follow.If she was caught, Li would have no choice but to move.
Zhou had never intended for the weight of the scroll to be in Li's hands. No, he had intended him to chase it.
"You leave immediately," Zhou said. "Prepare only what you need."
She did not hesitate. "Understood."
That, more than anything, surprised him. "You do not ask why," Zhou noted.
She met his gaze. "You are not desperate. You are positioning."
A pause followed. It was brief and genuine.
"Yes," Zhou said at last. His voice was low, almost a confirmation to himself.
She accepted the scroll then, the dry parchment rasping against her palm like a shared secret. As she tucked it deep into her sleeve. It felt heavier than paper.
Outside the tent, the camp moved as if nothing had changed.
Li Běichén moved through the camp with a stride so measured it seemed to ignore the uneven, frozen earth. He had spent the last hour at the edge of the camp. His hands were clasped behind his back, fingers locked, his mind already drowning out the jarring noise of the camp by focusing on the steady rhythm of his own pulse.
He reached his station near the imperial carriages and stopped. His eyes swept the precise coordinates where Liang Wei was meant to be standing.
Empty.
He didn't call out. He didn't ask the nearby soldiers. He simply pivoted and walked to the central dispatch board. A group of quartermasters stepped aside, their gazes dropping as he approached. Li didn't notice their deference; his eyes were fixed on the duty roster.
His finger traced the ink, searching for the familiar notation of his household staff. He found it near the bottom, but the characters had been struck through with a single, aggressive line of dark ink.
Liang Wei: Reassigned. Special Dispatch. Authority: Commander Zhou.
For a long moment, he did nothing. The sounds of the camp washed around him, the low scrape of boots, the clink of metal, the distant snort of horses steaming in the cold. None of it reached him fully. His attention narrowed to the deliberate weight of the ink. Zhou had not needed Li's consent. He had not even bothered to ask.
Li turned away from the board.
He did not go to the stables. He did not go to the outer gate. He went straight for the command tent.
The guards stiffened when they saw him approach, hands tightening on spear shafts, but no one stepped into his path. The flap of the tent was pulled aside before he could reach for it.
Zhou Yueliang stood near the table, the same scroll case already gone. He did not look surprised.
"So," Zhou said mildly, "you noticed."
Li stopped three paces inside the tent. "You reassigned a student without informing the master."
Zhou regarded him with a level gaze. "I reassigned a soldier under my command."
"He is my responsibility."
"That is precisely why he was chosen."
Li's jaw tightened. "You are sending her to Ashen Vale."
"Yes."
"You knew I would refuse."
Zhou's expression did not change. "I am using the structure you chose to accept."
For a heartbeat, Li looked as though he might speak again. Instead, he inhaled slowly, the breath measured and deliberate.
"If she is caught," Li said, "the Prince will not care who authorized the scroll. He will see only the seal of Bing Ya."
"And you will act," Zhou replied. "Before that happens."
Li turned without another word.
By the time he reached the outer edge of the camp, the wind had picked up, carrying with it the distant creak of wagon axles and the soft, rhythmic stamp of hooves. He spotted them just beyond the supply grounds, where broken crates lay scattered like old bones.
Liang Wei stood beside a saddled horse, her posture relaxed but alert. The other man waited several steps behind her, his presence unobtrusive, his eyes always moving.
She did not turn when Li approached. She had already felt him.
"Where is your spear," he asked.
"I left it."
"You accepted," Li said.
"Yes."
He exhaled slowly, then nodded once. "Then we leave."
The other man shifted, surprised. "Commander, my orders were to escort her."
"You will," Li said evenly. "With me."
No one argued.
They passed through the outer gate without ceremony. The guards saluted out of habit more than recognition. Beyond the markers, the ground changed, the packed earth giving way to open road and brittle grass rimed with frost.
As Liang Wei crossed the boundary, her sword stirred.
Not sharply. Not violently.
A slow warmth seeped into her palm, familiar and patient, as though it had been waiting for this moment longer than she had.
She did not look back.
Neither did Li.
Behind them, Bing Ya continued its morning drills, unaware that something essential had already stepped beyond its reach.