The Red Pavilion garden was chaos dressed as elegance.
Lanterns lay shattered across the stone paths, their flames licking at fallen petals. Guards circled the courtyard in fractured formations, weapons drawn but uncertain, eyes darting between shadows.
At the center of it all stood Song Lingfang.
His sword was bare, its edge darkened with blood that wasn't his. His breathing was steady, but his stance told a different story. He was braced against something he could not see clearly, something that moved like smoke and intent.
Opposite him, a figure emerged from the shadows.
Tall. Lean. Wrapped in layered black robes that drank the lantern light whole. A half-mask covered the lower half of his face, etched with a faint crimson line that curved like a smile.
Shenzha Jao.
"You're quicker than before," Shenzha said mildly, his voice carrying an echo, as if the night itself repeated it. "I almost didn't recognize you."
Lingfang didn't lower his blade. "You shouldn't have come back."
A soft chuckle. "And miss this?" Shenzha tilted his head, eyes sliding past Lingfang toward the pavilion doors. "She's grown into herself. You've done well keeping her… alive."
Lingfang stepped forward, steel glinting. "Say her name again, and you won't leave this courtyard."
Shenzha sighed. "Such loyalty. It's admirable. Futile, but admirable."
A rush of movement cut through the garden.
Jiao Shui burst through the archway, breath ragged, eyes wide. "Lingfang!"
His head snapped toward her. "Jiao, stay back!"
Too late.
Shenzha's gaze locked onto her with chilling familiarity.
"There you are," he murmured. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come running."
Her hands clenched. The air felt heavier, like the past pressing its palm against her chest.
"You should have stayed dead," she said.
His eyes flickered with something like amusement. "You tried to kill me once. It was… touching."
Lingfang lunged.
Steel flashed. Sparks bit the stone.
Shenzha parried with a thin, curved blade that seemed to appear from nowhere, moving with a fluid grace that felt wrong, unnatural. The clash rang sharp and bright, echoing through the garden.
They circled each other, steps precise, lethal.
Jiao stood frozen, watching two paths collide: the man who guarded her present and the shadow that haunted her past.
Shenzha spoke without looking away from Lingfang. "You told me you'd return. Did you think I'd forget?"
"I returned," Jiao said, voice shaking but clear. "I just didn't come back to you."
That made him pause.
For half a heartbeat, the mask cracked.
Then he smiled again.
"That," he said softly, "is where you're wrong."
A whistle cut the air.
An arrow slammed into the stone beside Jiao's foot.
Guards surged forward, shouting.
Shenzha leapt back, cloak flaring, retreating toward the garden wall with impossible speed.
"This isn't over," he called, voice drifting like smoke. "Not until you remember everything."
With a final glance at Jiao — lingering, possessive — he vanished into the darkness beyond the wall.
Silence slammed down.
Lingfang lowered his sword slowly, chest heaving. He turned to her, eyes frantic. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, legs trembling. "No."
Footsteps thundered into the garden as the Emperor arrived, flanked by guards. His gaze swept the destruction, then landed on Jiao.
"Confirm it," he said sharply.
Lingfang answered instead. "Shenzha Jao has returned."
The Emperor's jaw tightened. "Then the game has changed."
He looked at Jiao, something fierce and protective burning beneath his calm.
"You will not leave my sight again," he said.
Jiao swallowed.
Because for the first time, she wasn't sure which was more dangerous.
The man who wanted to claim her future.
Or the ghost who refused to release her past.