The first hint that peace was about to be tested arrived as a rumor.
A child tugged his mother's sleeve and pointed at a shadow passing across roof tiles: "Mama, look! Two Hei Longs!"
By dusk, the story had grown legs.
By midnight, it had teeth.
And by dawn—when the family returned to the capital through the eastern gate—temple bells were ringing the wrong pattern and market stalls had closed with their awnings still half-raised, as if the hands that tied the knots had suddenly forgotten how.
Hei Long felt it the moment his foot touched the stone. Not killing intent. Not malice.
Disorder.
Like an instrument gone out of tune.
He glanced right; Qingxue was already sweeping her gaze across rooftops, reading wind eddies like text.
To his left, Yan Yiren folded a black cloak around Mingyan Zhu, tucking the girl to her side with a tenderness that made the phoenix mark on Zhu's brow glow warmer.
