Wen Zhi and Zhen felt an urgent need to hurry more than ever before. They knew the Archivist was watching them, but now they had worse news.
General Klen met them in a quiet part of the garden. He looked very worried.
"The healers say Jian is getting weaker," Kaelen said in a low voice.
"The poison from the dart is not going away. He might not get better."
Wen Zhi and Zhen felt very afraid. Jian had helped them and trusted them, but now he was dying. They felt a heavy weight on their shoulders.
Zhen felt very sad for him. Because of her special amber sight, she could feel what Jian was feeling. Even though he was far away, she could feel his pain and how tired he was. It felt like a star losing its light. She could also feel that he still hoped they would find the truth. This made her want to work even harder so his hurt would not be for nothing.
Wen Zhi used his silver power to see the future. Usually, he saw danger, but now he saw a vision of Jian's life fading away. It was a clear sign that they were running out of time. It felt like a clock ticking down, making them feel even more stressed and rushed.
"He is slipping away," Wen Zhi confirmed, his voice quiet, his gaze distant as he processed the chilling vision.
"We need to act decisively, General. And we need to act soon. We cannot afford to wait."
General Klen nodded. He knew Jian's sickness meant they had to move faster. The Archivist's evil plan would be harder to stop if Jian died, because Jian was the one who first warned them.
Later that day, Klen helped Zhen visit Jian's room. The healers said she could only stay for a short time because they needed sleep. The room smelled like medicine, and it was very quiet except for Jian's slow, heavy breathing. He looked very pale and tired.
Zhen walked to his bed, feeling very sad. She gently held his hand. His skin was cool, and his heart was beating slowly. After a moment, Jian opened his eyes. Even though he was weak, he still looked smart and knew who Zhen was.
He tried to talk, but his voice was dry and scratchy. He looked frustrated. Zhen leaned in close and used her special amber power to feel what he was thinking. She could feel his bad pain and how tired he was. But most of all, she felt that he was in a great hurry to tell her something.
Jian reached for the table by his bed, but his hand was shaking. He knocked over a small bottle of ink, and the dark liquid spilled onto the wood. He made a sad sound. Zhen quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and put them in his weak hand.
"It is okay," she whispered quietly. "Just try to write what you can."
Jian tried very hard to hold the pen. His hand shook a lot, but he managed to write a few words. The letters were messy and hard to read. However, Zhen used her power to understand them by feeling the meaning behind his shaky writing.
The first word was a name. A name that sent a jolt of cold recognition through Zhen. It was a name she had heard whispered in hushed tones among the elder scholars, a name associated with a powerful, reclusive family that had long been absent from courtly life but whose influence was said to linger in shadowy alliances.
Then, another clue. A location. A place known for its ancient vaults, deep beneath the oldest part of the palace, a place rumored to hold artifacts from the kingdom's very beginnings. Jian seemed to be pointing them towards something hidden, something tangible that might be connected to the Archivist.
Finally, a single word, scrawled with immense effort, that resonated with Jian's own desperate plea and the echoes of the altered history.
"Balance."
Zhen looked at the words, her mind racing to connect them with what she and Wen Zhi had already discovered. The name, the location, and the emphasis on "balance." It all felt significant. Jian was giving them more pieces of the puzzle, crucial clues that might help them identify the archivist, or at least find more concrete evidence.
She looked at Jian, whose eyes were now closing again, his strength depleted by the effort. "Thank you, Prime Minister," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She felt his fading hope, but also a sense of relief that he had managed to pass on this vital information.
When Zhen rejoined Wen Zhi and General Klen, her face was pale, but her eyes held a new determination. She shared Jian's message, showing them the scrawled note.
Wen Zhi examined the name and the location, his mind already working to connect them with his own foresight. The name resonated with a shadowy presence he had glimpsed in his visions, a figure of influence operating just outside the normal channels of power. The location of the ancient vaults felt significant. "The vaults," Wen Zhi thought.
"My foresight has shown me glimpses of those depths. They are old and poorly guarded but said to contain records predating even the current archives. If the archivist is tampering with history, they might be storing their altered documents, or maybe even the source material, there."
General Klen listened with a serious face.
"The vaults are usually locked," he said.
"I can get us in quietly. But if Jian is dying and the archivist is this dangerous, we have to hurry. Every minute matters."
Wen Zhi and Zhen felt a lot of pressure. Seeing Jian so weak reminded them that they did not have much time. Between the Archivist's spies and Jian's fading strength, everything felt urgent. They weren't just fighting lies anymore. They were racing to save a good man who had risked his life for the truth.
"We must go to the vaults," Zhen said firmly. She remembered Jian's last word, "Balance." She could feel him getting weaker, and it made her want to win even more.
"We need real proof that the Archivist changed the papers and attacked Jian."
Wen Zhi nodded. His silver power showed him a path to the vaults. It was the best way to go, but it was still dangerous.
"General, get us ready," he said. "Zhen and I will go tonight. We have to be ready for anything. Jian's life and our history depend on us."
Jian's struggle gave them strength. Their mission was now about more than just a secret plan. It was about saving their friend's work. The clock was ticking, and the sound of that clock was Jian's slow, difficult breathing.