Two days ago.
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The chamber is quiet, but not peaceful. It never is. The air carries the faint scent of iron and smoke, the kind that never truly leaves a place where decisions are made that end lives before swords ever touch flesh.
I sit back in the carved wooden chair, one arm resting loosely against the armrest, my gaze lowered to the report held between my fingers. A soldier kneels before me, head bowed, unmoving.
"Your lord," he begins carefully, voice steady but tight, "men belonging to Yan Shuo have been spotted near Anhe Village. They have not moved for two days. Our scouts report… unusual behavior."
My fingers still, the paper crinkling slightly under my grip. "Unusual," I repeat, my voice low, almost absent. "Explain."
The soldier hesitates for the smallest fraction of a second. "They are not raiding. Not gathering supplies. They remain hidden in the forest along the road, watching movement in and out of the village. It does not match their usual patterns."
Silence stretches before I look up. "What do men like Yan Shuo's soldiers do when they wait?" I ask.
The soldier does not answer. He knows the answer.
"They wait for blood." My lips curve slightly, not into a smile, but something colder. "They are not there by accident. If they are watching that village, then something—or someone—is worth watching."
"My lord," the soldier says quickly, lifting his head just enough, "there is no need for you to go personally. I can send a unit to—"
"I said I will go."
The words cut clean, not loud, not raised, but final. He stills immediately, his head lowering again. "...Yes, my lord."
I do not look at him again.
By the next morning, I am already riding. The path to Anhe Village is quiet, too quiet for a place that should carry the sound of daily life.
My horse moves steadily beneath me, breath even, as the forest thickens the further I go.
They are here. I do not need confirmation. I can feel it.
By the time I reach the outer edge of the forest, I dismount without hesitation. The wind has picked up, pulling through the trees in long, restless currents, carrying with it the faint scent of something wrong.
Blood. Not fresh. But recent enough.
I move forward on foot, slow and silent.
It does not take long to find them. Five men, positioned poorly, watching the wrong direction.
Amateurs. Or bait.
The first one dies before he even turns, my blade cutting through his throat cleanly, the sound swallowed by the wind before it can carry.
The second reacts faster, but not fast enough. He raises his weapon, steps forward too wide, and I step in, closing the distance, driving the blade through his chest before he can correct.
The others move. Now it becomes louder, messier, but not difficult.
They fight like men who know they are already dead, desperate and reckless, wasting movement.
One comes at me from behind, blade raised high, and I shift without looking, turning just enough for his strike to miss before cutting him down in the same motion.
Another tries to run. I let him take three steps before throwing, the blade leaving my hand and burying itself deep into his back, dropping him mid-stride.
Only one remains.
I retrieve my weapon and walk toward him. He is breathing hard, eyes wide, but there is something else there too. Not fear.
Acceptance.
I stop in front of him, the tip of my sword resting lightly against his throat. "Why are you here?" I ask.
He smiles, blood staining his teeth. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans forward onto my blade.
The steel slices through his throat as easily as air.
He dies without answering.
I watch him fall, then pull the blade free. "Loyal," I murmur softly. "Or afraid of something worse."
Either way, it tells me enough.
This is not a simple watch. This is preparation.
I move through the bodies, searching clothes, weapons, hidden marks, but find nothing useful. Too clean. Too deliberate.
The wind grows stronger, pulling at my clothes, my hair, turning the sky above darker as clouds gather. The forest shifts with it, branches creaking, leaves rustling in uneven waves.
Then a sound breaks through it.
Small. Out of place.
My head turns instantly.
There.
A figure, gone too quickly to see clearly, slipping behind a tree.
My grip tightens on my blade. Not one of them. Different.
I move fast, before the distance can widen, before the silence can swallow them again. My strike comes clean and direct, aimed to kill—
And it is blocked.
Metal meets metal with a sharp crack as the figure moves with unexpected precision, stepping in close instead of retreating, forcing the space tight between us. A dagger flashes toward my side, controlled and deliberate.
Not random. Not untrained.
Interesting.
I shift, redirect, and catch their wrist mid-strike. The moment my hand closes around it, something changes.
Too small. Too light.
And then the scent reaches me.
Herbs. Faint, but unmistakable.
My eyes narrow.
A woman.
For the briefest second, I still, and that is all it takes. Pain slices across my arm as her blade cuts through fabric and skin, not deep but sharp enough to draw blood. She does not hesitate, does not stay, does not waste the opening.
She pulls back.
And runs.
Fast.
I watch her go, not following immediately. Instead, I look down at something glinting faintly against the ground.
A pendant.
I crouch, picking it up between my fingers. It is cheap, poorly made, the kind sold in roadside stalls, its red color dull under the dim light. Nothing about it is special.
Except that she dropped it.
Blood from my arm drips slowly onto the dirt as I straighten, my gaze lifting toward the path she took. The wind howls through the trees.
My fingers tighten around the pendant.
There is no fear in her movement. No hesitation.
Only survival.
My lips curve slightly, something darker than amusement settling in. "You run well," I murmur under my breath.
The forest offers no answer.
I turn, sheathing my blade slowly, the sting in my arm sharp but irrelevant. "There is nowhere you can go," I continue quietly, almost thoughtful now. "Not from me."
The pendant presses into my palm, cold and unimportant.
And yet—
I do not drop it.
My gaze lingers on the empty path ahead, where she vanished with everything she had. "There is no way I will let you live after today," I say softly, the words steady and certain.
The wind rises.
"And no way you will see sunrise tomorrow."
The forest falls behind me as I return to camp before the storm fully breaks.
The wind follows, dragging the scent of rain and blood into the outer grounds, but no one speaks as I pass.
They lower their heads, stepping aside without needing to be told, their silence cleaner than any greeting. By the time I reach my chamber, the first drops have already begun to fall.
I push the doors open.
The room is dim, lit only by low lantern light that flickers against the carved pillars and dark wood walls.
I step inside and take my seat, the weight of it settling beneath me as easily as breath. Only then do I let my arm rest against the side.
Blood drips.
Slow. Steady.
Dark against the polished wood.
A guard stationed within the chamber stiffens at the sight, dropping immediately to one knee. "Your Lord… your arm—"
"It is nothing," I say, my voice even, untouched.
He lowers his head further, but his eyes flick once toward the wound before he forces them down again. "Shall this subordinate call for the physician?"
"No."
The word lands without force, yet leaves no space to question.
Silence returns, but it does not last.
The scent lingers.
Faint. Sharp. Unfamiliar.
Herbs.
It clings to memory more than to the air itself, threading through the moment of contact, through the grip of her wrist, through the precise angle of her strike. My fingers shift slightly against the armrest.
Clean cut. Controlled pressure.
She did not strike wildly.
She knew where to aim.
"A physician," I murmur, almost to myself.
The guard does not respond.
I lift my gaze, cold and direct. "Send word. Search Anhe Village. I want every young female physician brought before me."
The guard freezes for half a breath, then bows deeply. "Yes, Your Lord."
He moves immediately, disappearing through the doors with the others close behind him. Orders spread faster than fire when carried under my name.
The chamber quiets again.
Blood continues to fall.
I glance at it once, expression unchanged, then close my fingers slowly.
The pendant presses into my palm.
Cheap.
Worthless.
And yet it remains.
"There is no way I will let you live," I say quietly.
Time passes.
The storm deepens outside, rain striking against the roof in uneven waves. When the doors open again, it is sharper this time, the men returning with haste.
They kneel as one.
"Your Lord," the lead soldier begins, head lowered, voice steady but strained, "we have searched Anhe Village thoroughly. There are no young female physicians recorded within."
A pause settles into the room.
Then—
"So," I say softly.
I lean back slightly, the movement slow, deliberate. "A physician without record. Without name."
My lips curve, faint and cold.
"Interesting."
The soldiers remain motionless.
"She did not come from within the village," I continue, my voice measured. "She came through the forest. She carried a bag. She was returning from somewhere."
No one interrupts.
They listen.
"Search the outer paths. The settlements beyond the forest. Question every household that sought treatment today. I want answers."
"Yes, Your Lord."
They move again.
Faster this time.
The rain does not stop.
When they return, it is past midday. Their steps are more urgent now, their posture tighter as they kneel before me once more.
"Your Lord," the same man speaks, his voice lower, more certain now, "our men have found something. There is a physician in Anhe Village. Skilled. Known among the villagers."
I do not move.
"He has a daughter," the soldier continues. "She was seen leaving earlier today to treat a woman named Zhou, who resides beyond the forest path. She returned shortly before dusk."
Silence falls.
Complete.
The storm outside fades into something distant.
My fingers tighten.
The pendant presses harder into my skin, the edges biting as if it holds weight now.
That is her.
There is no doubt.
I do not ask for confirmation.
I do not need it.
"Kill her."