The prison barracks of Jiangdu were dim and cold, their stone walls slick with moisture. Soldiers kept their distance from the man chained in the corner, muttering superstitiously under their breath. He had been bound for two days, yet not once had he begged for food or water. Instead, he sat cross-legged, his eyes closed, as if the world beyond his thoughts did not exist.
Wei Chen. That was his true name, though none here knew it. To the soldiers, he was a nameless prisoner, a possible spy. To himself, he was a blade honed only by grief and vengeance. The sects had taken everything from him—his clan, his home, his youth. All that remained was his sword, his will, and the long path of blood before him.
Tonight, the barracks were unusually quiet. A single lantern flickered, its light painting shadows across the prisoner's sharp features. He opened his eyes suddenly. The faintest rustle had reached his ears—someone approaching with steps too soft, too measured, to be a soldier.
The wooden door creaked open. A figure slipped inside, veiled and cloaked. She carried a small lamp, its glow illuminating her delicate features.
Liang Yue.
Wei Chen's lips curved faintly. "The girl from the marketplace," he said, his voice low, rough from disuse. "So, fate brings you to a prison. Curious."
Yue stiffened, surprised that he remembered. She raised the lamp higher. "You are no common prisoner. Who are you, truly?"
He chuckled softly, the sound like steel scraping stone. "Names mean little, didn't I say so before? But since you ask… I am a wanderer. A swordsman with no master, no country, and no chains—save these." He lifted his bound wrists, the iron rattling.
Yue frowned. "The soldiers call you a spy. Were you with the northern armies?"
"Do I look like a man who serves anyone?" Wei Chen's dark eyes locked with hers, and for an instant, Yue felt the weight of his loneliness, his fury. "No. My enemy is not a kingdom, but those who destroy without reason. Those who cloak their greed in banners of righteousness."
Yue's heart quickened. His words struck something inside her—something she had never dared voice aloud. She lowered her lamp slightly, studying him. His face was tired, scarred by travel and battle, but his bearing was unbroken. Chains could not make him bow.
"You speak like a man who has lost much," she said quietly.
Wei Chen's gaze flickered, a shadow crossing his features. "Loss is the first lesson the world teaches. If you have not learned it, then you are still a child."
Yue bristled at the sting in his words. "And yet even a child may learn to wield a blade," she answered, her voice sharper than she intended.
At that, Wei Chen's expression changed. He leaned forward slightly, his chains groaning. "Ah. So that is what I sensed in you. Not fear, but defiance. Tell me, noble girl—do you carry steel in your heart, or is it only in your words?"
The question struck her deeper than she expected. She thought of the silk scroll, of Old He's patient lessons, of her father's stern warnings. Slowly, she raised her chin. "Steel enough."
For the first time, Wei Chen's smirk softened into something almost resembling respect. "Then perhaps you are worth remembering."
Before Yue could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed outside. She quickly lowered the lamp. "I should not be here," she whispered. "If they find me—"
Wei Chen's voice cut through the dimness. "Then go. But remember this, girl: the world will not wait for you to grow strong. If you wish to protect what you love, you must draw your sword before the enemy draws his."
The door creaked again. Yue slipped out just as a pair of soldiers entered, carrying bowls of stale rice and water. Wei Chen leaned back against the wall, chains clinking, his expression unreadable.
Yet in the silence of his thoughts, a single blossom drifted through his memory—her face, her voice, her defiance. He closed his eyes again.
"She is different," he murmured. "Perhaps… destiny has found me after all."
Meanwhile, back at the manor, Yue pressed her hand against her chest, her heart still racing. She had seen many soldiers in her life, men hardened by war, but none like him. He was a prisoner, a stranger, perhaps even dangerous—yet his words burned in her mind.
Steel in the heart.
The blossoms of fate had opened their first petals, crimson beneath the moonlight.