Dawn crept over the horizon with pale, uncertain light, revealing the aftermath of battle—charred earth, scattered shields, and soldiers moving like ghosts through drifting smoke. The air was thick with silence, the kind that followed both victory and dread.
Jeng Minh stood at the edge of the camp, staring toward the distant east where the capital lay hidden behind mountains and politics. In Zhou Chen's memories—blurred, fragmented—there were faint glimpses of the imperial city: towering crimson walls, gold-tiled roofs, and a throne carved like a coiled dragon ready to strike.
Feng Yao approached, gaze stern but cautious."My lord, you've not slept."
Jeng Minh didn't turn. "Sleep might be a luxury I can't afford."
Feng gave a humorless snort. "In the capital, you may find sleep impossible regardless."
That struck harder than expected.
Because Zhou Chen—the real Zhou Chen—had feared the capital more than any battlefield. Behind court walls were smiling knives, factions in silk robes, and scholars whose words could kill faster than swords.
And now, Jeng Minh had been summoned there under suspicion of treason.
He exhaled slowly. "What exactly do the accusations say?"
Feng held out the scroll again. His voice dropped low.
"There are claims that you withheld taxes due to the imperial coffers… that you conscripted more men than your allotment… that you secretly negotiated with border tribes."
Jeng Minh blinked. "I did what?"
Feng grimaced. "None of it is true. But truth matters less than timing. A faction in the court wants you out of the way."
Of course they did.
Zhou Chen's growing power had always been a threat. And now, freshly weakened from an ambush, accused of treason, and forced to appear before the Emperor… he was vulnerable. Perfect prey.
Jeng Minh sighed. "If I don't go, I'm guilty. If I do go, I walk into a trap."
Feng nodded. "The path ahead is lined with blades either way."
They were quiet for a moment.
Finally, Jeng Minh said, "Prepare the army for march. Only my personal guard will follow me to the capital. The rest stay here and fortify the borders."
Feng bristled. "Go into the dragon's mouth with barely a few hundred men? Absolutely not."
"That's an order, General."
Feng held his stare for a long tense moment… then bowed deeply.
"As you command."
Later — In Zhou Chen's Command Tent
The tent was quieter than usual, lit with a single oil lamp whose flame flickered with every draft. Maps lay open, marked with troop placements and hastily drawn notes about last night's attackers. Jeng Minh sat alone at the campaign table, rubbing his temples.
He needed a plan.
He needed allies.
He needed to understand what he truly was: a vessel, a revived soul, a target for masked factions that claimed to know his fate.
But instead of answers, he felt only the weight of a warlord's life pressing down on him.
Then—
A subtle shift in the air.
A whisper of cold.
Jeng Minh froze.
From the shadowed corner of the tent, a faint outline took shape—dark robes melting into existence like ink spilled in water.
"Do not be alarmed," the figure murmured.
The voice was soft. Feminine. Familiar.
Jeng Minh's pulse hammered. "Who are you?"
The woman stepped forward into the lamplight. She wore a half-mask—simple lacquer, no sigils—but her eyes glowed faintly with an inner blue light.
"I am called Lianyin," she said. "A watcher of threads."
Watcher… of threads?
Jeng Minh rose slowly. "Are you with Bai Ye?"
Her lips curved faintly. "He believes he commands us. He does not."
Not an answer. Not truly.
"Then what do you want?"
Lianyin studied him—no, examined him—like he was both marvel and mistake.
"You were not meant to awaken so soon," she whispered. "The vessel was supposed to lie dormant until the third cycle. Something interfered."
"The man with the horned mask," Jeng Minh said. "He wanted me dead."
Lianyin's expression hardened. "He wanted balance. Imperfectly. He serves the old chain."
"And Bai Ye?" Jeng Minh pressed. "Whose side is he on?"
She stepped closer, voice dropping to a chilling softness.
"There are no sides, Vessel. Only consequences."
Jeng Minh swallowed. "Then tell me the truth. What am I? What have I inherited?"
Lianyin reached out—not touching him, but hovering a hand over his chest.
"You carry a spirit that is not of this world. And Zhou Chen's body was chosen—crafted—to contain it."
His stomach twisted. "…Crafted?"
"Yes." She withdrew her hand. "But whoever revived you did so prematurely. You are unstable. Unaligned."
"Unaligned with what?"
Her glowing eyes narrowed."With the chain that binds fate. And with the blade meant to sever it."
Before he could ask more, she stepped backward and began dissolving into shadow again.
"Wait!" he shouted.
She paused halfway gone.
"Go to the capital, Vessel," Lianyin murmured. "But tread carefully. For once you stand before the Emperor… the chain will tighten. And the one who seeks your soul will move openly."
Then she vanished completely—leaving only the flickering lamp, the cold in the air, and a single echoing sentence:
"The blade meant to sever fate is already near you."
Jeng Minh stood alone for a long, trembling moment.
Then Feng Yao burst into the tent.
"My lord! Scouts report a rider approaching from the southern trail—alone, at full speed!"
Jeng Minh turned sharply. "A messenger?"
Feng shook his head."No. A woman. And she carries an imperial token."
The blade meant to sever fate.
Already near him.
He exhaled shakily.
"Bring her in," he said.