Two days later, the capital was trembling with rumors.
The news had not yet been officially announced, but sharp-eyed courtiers and nobles whispered in the marble halls:
The Dragon Marshal lives.
In a private chamber within the safehouse, Sheng Long fastened the last strap of his black ceremonial armor. It gleamed under the lamplight, its design sharp and elegant — the armor of a man who bore the fate of an empire on his shoulders.
Behind him, Yan Shuo stood at attention, a rare flicker of excitement in his usually mischievous gaze.
"So it begins," Yan Shuo said.
Sheng Long grunted softly, adjusting the red-lined cape that now hung from his broad shoulders. "It's time. If we stay hidden, the snakes will just coil deeper into the mud."
He turned, meeting Yan Shuo's gaze with a grim smile.
"We force them into the light."
Yan Shuo nodded, a wicked glint in his eye. "I'll start preparing the soldiers. The moment you step into the palace… no one will dare ignore you."
As Sheng Long finished strapping his sword to his side, the door creaked open.
Xiao Lin entered, his silvery hair loose around his shoulders, a bundle carefully clutched in his arms.
The moment he saw Sheng Long in his full regalia, Xiao Lin froze, his ruby eyes wide.
Majestic.
There was no other word for it. The Marshall wasn't just powerful—he was breathtaking.
"Is… is today the day?" Xiao Lin asked softly.
Sheng Long gave a small nod. "Yes."
Xiao Lin swallowed, his hands tightening around the bundle.
"I… I made something," he stammered. "For you."
He stepped forward, cheeks pink with embarrassment, and held out a small, velvet-wrapped object.
Curious, Sheng Long took it, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he unwrapped it.
Inside lay a pendant — a delicate carving of a dragon, twisting in mid-flight, wings outspread, its eyes tiny rubies that seemed almost alive.
It was rough in some places, clearly handmade, but the care and devotion poured into every stroke of the carving was unmistakable.
Xiao Lin bit his lip nervously.
"I wanted… to return the favor," he mumbled. "You gave me the fox, so… I wanted you to have something too. To protect you."
For a long moment, Sheng Long said nothing.
Then he reached up, unclasping the chain around his neck, and replaced it with the dragon pendant without hesitation.
The cool weight of it against his chest made something stir deep in his heart — something ancient and fierce and aching.
"Thank you, Xiao Lin," he said quietly.
Xiao Lin ducked his head, flustered.
But in that moment, he realized with a jolt:
It's not just admiration anymore.
His heart raced when Sheng Long smiled. His chest hurt when he imagined Sheng Long standing against enemies alone. He wanted to protect this man — not just as a hero or a leader, but as… something much more personal.
He dared not say it out loud yet.
He barely dared admit it to himself.
But it was there.
And it terrified and thrilled him in equal measure.
Later that day, under the soaring banners of the empire, Sheng Long rode through the main avenue of the capital.
Crowds lined the streets, gasping and shouting as they caught sight of the familiar, powerful figure.
"Marshal Sheng Long!"
"It's him! He's alive!"
"Long live the Dragon Marshal!"
The news exploded through the city like wildfire.
Watching from a distance, hidden beneath a silk veil in a private viewing platform, a woman smiled.
Princess An Li.
Third daughter of the royal house, famous across the empire for her beauty and cunning. Dressed in imperial blues and silvers, her long dark hair cascading like a river of ink, she tapped a slender finger against her lips as she watched Sheng Long's procession.
Her golden eyes gleamed with a hunger that had nothing to do with affection.
"So," she murmured to her waiting attendant. "The dragon returns to his cage. Good. I've waited long enough."
The attendant bowed low. "Your Highness, shall I prepare the marriage proposal?"
An Li's smile widened.
"Oh yes. Let the empire see. The Dragon Marshal… will belong to me."
But even as she spoke, a shadow passed over her face — a flicker of something deeper, something dangerous.
After all, my blood is not so pure... and the Marshal must never find out.
Far away from the glittering poison of the court, Xiao Lin sat by the window of their safehouse, fingers lightly brushing the jade fox around his neck.
He whispered a quiet promise to the cool night air.
"I will stand by you, Marshal. Even if the whole world turns against you."
And somewhere in the night, the black dragon within Sheng Long stirred, sensing the bond that was growing — deep, fierce, and inevitable.