The road south stretched like a vein through the hills, slick with early summer rain. Clouds hung low, and the trees rustled with warnings too soft for words.
Ziyan rode quietly, her eyes never drifting from the mist ahead. Beside her, Feiyan kept her hand close to the hilt of her blade. Li Qiang walked slightly ahead of the horse, silent as ever, his movements sharp with wariness.
Something had changed after the ambush.
They all felt it.
The enemy was no longer hiding behind courts and whispers. He was striking in the open now, and every hoofbeat southward felt like stepping deeper into a trap.
Ziyan broke the silence. "There's too much distance between us and Nan Shu. If they try again, it won't be a small group."
Li Qiang nodded. "He'll send better men next time."
Feiyan exhaled. "Then we kill them quicker."
Ziyan didn't respond. Her fingers brushed against the phoenix emblem beneath her sleeve. It no longer burned. It hummed—steady, watching.
They continued through the narrowing pass, trees leaning overhead like sentinels. Rain began to fall again.
And somewhere behind them, in the Eastern Capital, another battle was beginning.
The teahouse lanterns flickered as dusk descended, and Lianhua moved through the halls with careful precision, checking locks, collecting stray coins, balancing ledgers.
Shuye sat by the window, a book of herbs open before him, but his fingers hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.
"They're late," he said quietly.
"They're being cautious," Lianhua replied without looking up.
He watched the empty street. "I don't like it."
Neither did she.
Earlier that day, a merchant courier had left a folded letter under the door. It bore no name—just a wax seal of two coins stacked over a broken balance scale.
Lianhua had burned it before reading.
She knew the symbol well enough.
The Merchant Guild.
They had tolerated her presence when she worked quietly. But now she had backed Duan Rulan. Now she had embarrassed powerful men. That made her dangerous.
She had only just stood to bolt the gate when the shadows in the alley moved.
Three men stepped into the courtyard, cloaked in dark robes, their expressions blank.
One carried a cudgel. Another a weighted chain. The third? His bare hands were scarred and broken in ways that only came from years of using them as weapons.
Shuye was already on his feet, a blade in hand, though he had never used it in battle.
"Out of respect," the lead man said, "we'll make it quick. Just hand over the ledgers you copied for that traitor."
Lianhua stepped between them. "You'll leave. Or you'll find out what happens when you threaten something built by blood and sweat."
The chain lashed out—fast, brutal.
But it never struck her.
A figure landed between them like falling shadow.
Wei.
The air cracked as his palm struck the chain mid-flight, twisting it around the attacker's own wrist. With a flick, he disarmed him and turned, sweeping the cudgel-wielder's legs out from under him.
The third man tried to strike from behind.
Wei barely moved.
His elbow snapped back, colliding with the man's nose—bone crunched, and he crumpled to the stones.
Silence.
Wei turned toward Lianhua, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. "You've made powerful enemies."
"We've made powerful choices," she replied.
He smiled faintly. "Then you'll need to learn how to survive them."
Later, as they sat among the broken lanterns and spilled tea, Lianhua dabbed Shuye's bruised knuckles with herbal paste. He winced.
"You need to move faster," she muttered.
"I didn't see the chain coming."
"You weren't watching his footwork. Look where the strike begins, not where it ends."
Wei leaned against the doorframe. "She's right."
Shuye looked up, eyes narrowed. "Are you going to keep showing up just in time? Or are you planning to train us?"
Wei nodded. "Both. I've seen what Ziyan is walking into. She'll need allies that can stand without her."
Lianhua's gaze didn't waver. "We're not warriors."
"Not yet. But strength isn't always about the sword. It's about seeing, adapting, striking when it matters."
She hesitated, then asked, "And you'll teach us that?"
"I'll teach you enough to hold your ground."
He paused.
"And you," he added, looking at Lianhua, "will need to keep the teahouse alive—not just as a business, but as a voice. Something people trust, even when officials lie."
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Then we grow it. Bigger. Smarter. And without Ziyan having to return every time we're threatened."
Shuye looked at her. "You really want to do this?"
"I want them to know," she said, "that this place won't fall just because the phoenix flew south."
Meanwhile, beneath a dark sky on the southern road, Ziyan stirred beside the campfire.
Rain dripped softly from the leaves above, and the only sound was Feiyan sharpening her blade and Li Qiang moving through their perimeter with animal stillness.
"Wei will protect them," Ziyan murmured.
Feiyan looked up. "You trust him now?"
"I trust his choices," Ziyan replied. "Not his past."
Li Qiang returned and sat by the fire, eyes scanning the tree line.
"The road won't be quiet forever," he said. "And Zhao will try again."
Ziyan looked into the flames.
"Let him."