At the center of the military grounds—
Stood Lin Yechen.
He was dressed not in ceremonial robes—
But in dark battle attire.
Layered black fabric fitted close to his form, reinforced with subtle armor along the shoulders and forearms, each edge traced faintly with gold.
A wide belt secured at his waist, bearing the emblem of the golden dragon—
Not for display,
But for declaration.
His sleeves were slightly rolled, revealing steady hands that held a sword with effortless control.
No ornaments.
No unnecessary movements.
Where the phoenix was refined—
He was precise.
Where the phoenix observed—
He acted.
The torchlight flickered across his figure, catching briefly on the gold details of his attire—
Like a blade reflecting fire.
Above him—
The same moon remained.
Cold.
Distant.
Yechen's gaze lifted toward it for a brief moment.
"…Yu Empire."
His voice was low.
Measured.
A faint pause.
"…Yu Shayue."
His grip on the sword tightened slightly—
Not in hesitation,
But in thought.
"No delay."
A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips.
"…So you chose to step forward first."
The wind moved again—
Sharper now, heavier.
Far away—
Beneath the same moon—
Shayue stood in silence.
And here—
The dragon had begun to move.
The training grounds lay silence, emptied of soldiers and command, as though the night itself had claimed dominion over the field. Torches burned low along the perimeter, their wavering light casting long shadows across the worn earth, where countless battles had been rehearsed and decided before ever reaching the battlefield.
At the center stood Lin Yechen.
He did not move at first. His figure remained still, composed beneath the pale glow of the moon, as though he were merely another shadow among many. Then—without warning—the blade in his hand cut through the air.
The strike was swift, precise, unhesitating, fast, merciless.
Steel met nothing, yet the force behind it seemed to split the silence itself. Her advanced, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next—turn, strike, withdraw—his form disciplined to the point of inevitability. There was no excess in his technique, no display for admiration. Every motion carried purpose, honed not for spectacle, but for victory.
The wind shifted as his sword moved again, sharper this time, faster, as though the air itself could not keep pace. His sleeve brushed against the hilt with controlled ease, his footing unwavering, grounded with the certainty of one who had never learned defeat.
He paused only briefly, the blade held steady at his side. His breathing remained even, unchanged, as though the exertion had not reached him at all.
Above him, the moon remained distant and unmoved.
For a fleeting moment, his gaze lifted toward it—calm, unreadable—before the sword rose once more.
He did not slow.
Did not tire.
At a distance, Wang Lin watched with wide eyes.
"…Is our master strengthening his power for his wedding?" he whispered, clearly impressed.
A pause.
"…Should we also start training like this before we get married?"
Behind him, Hao Lin closed his eyes briefly.
"…You should first find someone willing to marry you."
Wang Lin blinked.
"…That was unnecessary."
Hao Lin glanced back toward Yechen, his expression turning serious.
"…This has nothing to do with marriage."
A faint pause.
"…He's unsettled."
Before Wang Lin could ask more—
A figure approached, a folding fan swaying lazily in one hand.
Huang Lixian.
Both straightened immediately.
"Greeting Duke Huang."
Lixian's gaze swept over the training ground, then settled on Yechen, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"…What exactly is going on here?" he asked lightly.
But he did not wait for an answer.
Closing his fan with a soft snap—
He walked straight towards Yechen.
Then—
A soft sound broke the pattern.
The crisp snap of a folding fan.
"Practicing alone, at such an hour?"
The voice carried amusement, light yet deliberate.
Closing his fan with a gentle motion, Huang Lixian stepped forward, unhurried, as though he had not just intruded upon a moment meant for solitude. His robes swayed lightly with each step, elegance untouched by the dust beneath his feet.
"You have a wedding approaching," Lixian continued, his lips curving faintly," yet here you are—perfecting your swordsmanship as though you intend to greet your bride with steel instead of ceremony."
Yechen did not stop.
The blade cut through the air once more, swift and unyielding.
"If that is the case," Lixian added, tilting his head with feigned curiosity, "should I be concerned for the Crown Princess… or for you?"
A breath passed.
Then—
Yechen moved.
In a single motion, the sword turned—its cold edge halting just short of Lixian's throat.
The air stilled.
For the briefest moment, even the night seemed to hold its breath.
Lixian froze.
Then slowly—very slowly—he lowered his gaze toward the blade, his expression shifting into something almost… wounded.
"…Is this how Your Highness now greets his closest companion?" he said softly, his tone carrying exaggerated sorrow.
A faint sigh followed.
"To think that after years of loyalty, I would be met with a drawn blade… it is truly a tragic fate."
Yet even as he spoke, his hand lifted calmly.
Two fingers reached forward—
And with effortless ease, he pushed the blade aside.
The steel yielded.
Lixian straightened, his expression returning to its usual ease, though a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes.
"Are you truly going to point your sword at your own friend over a simple remark?" he continued, the earlier tone of grievance already dissolving into quiet humor.
Yechen finally stilled.
Then—
A faint smirk appeared.
"Choose your remarks more carefully."
The reply was calm, unhurried, yet edged just enough to carry meaning.
Lixian laughed softly, unfolding his fan once more as though the moment had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
"Ah… so it is true, then," he said lightly, his gaze sharpening with interest. "This marriage has already begun to affect you."
Yechen said nothing.
But the smirk did not fade.
And that—
Was answer enough.
Marriage…
For a fleeting instant, something unreadable passed through his gaze.
Then it was gone.
To be continued...