The skiff cut through the river's black waters, its oars creaking under the clansman's steady pulls. Lin Han sat at the prow, the jade seal hidden beneath his tunic, its weight a constant reminder of Xun's warning: a life for each decree. Mei-Ling crouched beside him, her bow gripped tightly, her eyes scanning the misty banks for Zhao's riders. Chen and the peasant brothers, Jian and Wei, huddled in the stern, their wounds from the slum ambush wrapped in torn cloth. The air was thick with the scent of reeds and the distant tang of smoke, a village burned by Zhao's men, no doubt.
The river clans' camp emerged from the fog, a sprawl of hide tents and wooden rafts along the Wei River's bend. Torches flickered, casting shadows on warriors with braided beards and spears tipped with bone. Their leader, a wiry woman named Yara, stood at the water's edge, her face scarred from battles older than Lin Han's years. She eyed the skiff, her hand on a curved blade. "You bring trouble," she said, her voice like gravel. "Zhao's horns were heard at dawn."
Lin Han stepped ashore, meeting her gaze. "I bring hope," he said, pulling the jade seal from his tunic. Its dragon carvings gleamed in the torchlight, and a murmur rippled through the clansmen. "This is the First Emperor's seal. Join me, and we'll break Zhao's grip on the empire."
Yara's eyes narrowed. "Seals don't feed my people. Zhao's grain hoards do. Why trust a slave with no name?"
Mei-Ling spoke before Lin Han could. "Because he's outwitted Zhao twice. He took his grain, his seal. He'll take more." Her words carried weight, but Lin Han caught the strain in her voice, her brother's tie to Zhao a chain she couldn't break.
Yara laughed, sharp and bitter. "Bold words, noble girl. But words don't win wars." She gestured to a circle of stones, where clan elders sat, their faces weathered by years of Qin taxes and raids. "Prove the seal's worth, boy, or we'll toss you to the river."
Lin Han knelt before the elders, his mind racing. He spoke of Zhao's corruption, the stolen grain, the starving villages. He held up the seal, its jade catching the firelight, and wove a vision of an empire reborn, not under lords but under those who bled for it. The elders listened, their silence heavy, but a young warrior, barely older than Jian, spat. "You're no emperor. You're a slave playing at power."
Before Lin Han could retort, Xun appeared at the circle's edge, his cloak damp from the river. "The seal chose him," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "But its curse chooses too. It demands blood, and not just your enemies'." He pointed at Lin Han's chest, where the seal rested. "You felt its heat. It knows you."
The elders stirred, their eyes on Lin Han. Yara stepped forward. "Prove it now. Swear an oath on the seal, and we'll fight. Break it, and you die."
Lin Han's pulse quickened. He hadn't felt the seal's heat, not yet, but Xun's words chilled him. He raised the seal, its weight heavier than stone, and swore to free the clans from Zhao's yoke. The elders nodded, but Mei-Ling's gaze burned into him, her hand twitching as if she knew something he didn't.
As the clans began to chant, a scout burst into the camp, breathless. "Zhao's army, two hundred strong, marching from Xianyang. They'll be here by dawn."
Lin Han's grip tightened on the seal. The clans were his now, but Zhao's forces were too close, and Mei-Ling's silence screamed of secrets. Worse, Xun's eyes lingered on the seal, and for the first time, Lin Han wondered if the old man served the rebellion or something far darker.