I arrived in Nanyang under a sky the color of wet ash.
The city, once a modest but bustling waypoint between the southern provinces and the capital, now sat like a wounded beast. Ash-blackened timbers jutted from ruined homes, streets cracked with flame-scars, and the stench of old blood still clung to the stone, even after weeks of rain. At my side, Liao Yun dismounted in silence, eyes already scanning the town's dismal defenses. Our banner stirred faintly in the breeze — a symbol more feared than honored here.
They remembered the prefect I executed.
Good. Let them remember.
But memory alone wouldn't rebuild walls. Nanyang was broken, and the empire had sent me not as a conqueror, but as a minister. A ruler. My sword hung heavy on my hip, but it would be useless here. In this place, I would need ink and ledgers, mortar and trust.
At first, the people did not come near us. They watched from the broken windows and shadowed doorways, waiting for the blood to flow again. Only when I walked the city streets without my armor — robes plain, sleeves rolled, helping clear debris with my own hands — did the murmurs begin to change. Slowly, carts returned to market squares. Men offered their labor in exchange for rice. Women brought jugs of water for workers in the sun. A boy offered me a half-charred prayer charm for luck.
Bit by bit, they forgot they feared me.
But the cost of rebuilding was immense. My coffers were paper-thin. Stone and timber were slow to arrive, delayed at checkpoints where Wu Kang's men conveniently "lost" permits or "reassigned" shipments to other provinces. One shipment of rice meant for the laborers turned up rotting with rat droppings — sabotaged. Another day, a civil clerk I had promoted for honesty was found hanged from his own lintel, a note pinned to his chest: "Loyalty is a short leash."
Liao Yun stood beside me that morning with narrowed eyes.
"Wu Kang's hand," he murmured. "Trying to starve your efforts."
I didn't respond. I already knew.
Sabotage crept through our progress like hairline cracks in a temple pillar. But I would not break. I had faced death, demons, and worse. I would not yield to moldy rice and crooked scribes.
Still, I knew I would need more.
And as always, when I needed something, Wu Jin appeared.
He arrived at dusk, wrapped in a silver-gray cloak that shimmered like fog. No guards. No ceremony. Just a quiet knock on the old magistrate's hall door, where I had taken residence.
I met him in the back courtyard, where the light barely touched the mossy stones.
"You took your time," I said.
He smiled faintly. "You took your city."
He looked around — the cracked tiles, the makeshift beams supporting half-fallen walls, the scent of sweat and dust.
"You're doing well," he said. "Better than I expected."
"What do you want?"
His smile thinned. "You already know."
He drew a scroll from his sleeve and handed it to me. I unrolled it, the wax seal already broken. The name was written in Southern script. I read it twice.
"A prisoner?" I asked. "From the Southern Kingdom?"
"A condemned one. At the peace treaty signing in five days. You'll be given a role in the proceedings, a formality to reward your service. Use it."
I stared at him.
"You want me to smuggle him out?"
"I want you to secure his freedom," Wu Jin said calmly. "Quietly. Elegantly. Without giving our enemies reason to scream treason."
I said nothing. My mind was already racing.
"You said I owed you a favor," I murmured.
"And now I'm collecting it," he said. "Or are you regretting that debt?"
"No," I said. "Just measuring the cost."
Wu Jin stepped forward. The lantern light caught the edge of his eye, glinting like steel.
"I will give you what you need," he said. "The timber. The rice. The silver. But only if you agree."
I looked down at the scroll again. The name was unfamiliar — a cipher wrapped in politics I had yet to understand. But if Wu Jin wanted him, then the man was no ordinary prisoner.
"And if I refuse?"
He tilted his head. "Then Nanyang collapses. Your work burns. Wu Kang closes his fist around it while you sit here waiting for shipments that never arrive."
He didn't need to say more.
I rolled the scroll tightly and met his gaze.
"Five days," I said.
Wu Jin nodded. "Think carefully. But not too long. You're not the only one playing this game."
He turned to go, then paused.
"Oh — and one more thing. Wu Kang is moving. Faster than before. His agents are already whispering among the noble families. If you don't accept my help, he will bury you in petitions before winter."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the falling dark.
Liao Yun emerged from the shadows behind me. "He's right."
"I know."
We stood there, quiet.
"What's the man's name?" Liao asked.
I handed him the scroll.
He read it once, and his eyes darkened.
"I've heard rumors," he said. "If this man lives, the Southern Kingdom will tear open its own skin to get him back."
"Then we'll have to make sure they don't."
As we returned to the hall, the cold thing beneath my ribs stirred — curious, half-awake. It didn't yet hunger, but it watched. It always watched.
Rebuilding a city. Defying a prince. Freeing a ghost from another empire.
All threads tangled now in my hand.
And the cost of failure, I suspected, would not be paid in coin alone.