The barn was quiet.
Too quiet.
Wu An moved through the hay-strewn dark, torchlight trailing behind him in flickers. The harvest carts were untouched, but something in the air was wrong—metallic. Cold.
A soldier had reported strange sounds, footsteps, then nothing.
Wu An found no intruder.
Only a note.
Pinned beneath a single black stone on the floor, the parchment bore no seal. No name.
Just a single move inked in calligraphy precise enough to cut:
"Pawn to River's Mouth."
His fingers closed around the paper.
He stared into the dark of the barn, the silence pressing in like fog.
He remembered the code.
A childhood cipher shared between four brothers, long before they became weapons in a civil war.
It had been Wu Jin's favorite move—when baiting a trap.
Dust blanketed the ancient war table like forgotten victories. Once, generals stood here shouting of conquest and sacrifice. Now only silence ruled.
Only one lamp flickered.
Wu Jin stood beside the old xiangqi board, arms folded. The pieces were already arranged.
"I wondered if you'd remember the move," he said.
Wu An stepped forward. "Hard to forget something from when the world still made sense."
They sat.
Each move came slow, deliberate.
"You're bleeding already," Wu Jin said, nudging a cannon forward. "You just haven't seen where yet."
"You left a message in a barn like a common spy," Wu An muttered. "What game is this?"
"No game. Just clarity. I know what's coming for you in Longzhou."
Wu Jin leaned forward. "You'll be accused. Your allies will vanish. The grain will rot. And then someone will die to prove you've lost control."
Wu An narrowed his eyes. "You're behind it."
"No," Wu Jin said simply. "But I could stop it. I know who's pulling the threads. And I'll help you survive."
He moved a piece.
Check.
"In return," he said, "a favor. One day. You'll know when."
Wu An stood. "If I survive, I won't need you."
"Then you won't survive long."
Three nights later, the grain soured.
Sacks opened to reveal sludge and maggots. The storerooms reeked of bile and rot. Crates once inventoried had been swapped with identical containers filled with rice already spoiled.
Wu An stood over the mess, rage simmering beneath his skin.
Zhou Fen arrived, pale. "This wasn't here yesterday. I—"
Before she could finish, a runner sprinted in, blood on his robes.
"Your Highness!" he gasped. "There's something else—you need to see this!"
The city archive chamber was locked when Wu An arrived.
Inside, the guards had uncovered a hidden compartment beneath the ledger desk. Within: five letters.
One addressed to Zhou Fen. Another in her handwriting. The seal of the Southern Kingdom. A sigil of the Crimson Banner. A detailed map of Longzhou's grain routes.
Forgery?
Of course.
But precise enough to convince any court official.
Zhou Fen stared at the evidence in stunned silence. "This isn't mine."
Wu An didn't reply. He was already thinking of Wu Kang—of his reach, his spies, and his need for a quiet city.
The pieces clicked into place like teeth closing over bone.
She was never the target. I was.
That night, just past the third watch, a figure leapt from the granary roof.
Silent.
Masked.
Blade drawn.
Wu An dodged the first strike. The second sliced across his ribs. The third—
Qu An's arrow snapped into the killer's skull.
The man dropped wordlessly.
No insignia. No message.
But carved on his palm: a crescent moon and a grain stalk.
A farmer's death mark.
Not from Longzhou.
From Wu Kang's eastern faction.
The timing was perfect. Too perfect.
The next day
The people of Longzhou gathered in stunned silence.
Zhou Fen knelt before the square, wrists bound in red cord. Her face was calm.
"I was loyal," she said softly. "You know this."
Wu An stared at her.
"I do."
"Then why?"
He turned to the crowd. "Because evidence has been found. Letters. Maps. Correspondence with the enemy."
"I deny it."
"It doesn't matter."
My voice carried across the square like a blade.
"The people are starving. The city is crumbling. And the court watches."
He faced the guards.
"Execute her."
The sword fell. No screams. Just silence.
The people did not cheer. They did not weep. They simply watched.
The new mayor arrived before dusk.
A thin man in fresh silk, with eyes like dried ink. He carried the seal of the Eastern Court and spoke in clipped tones. Efficient. Obedient.
Already familiar with the city's ledgers.
Too familiar.
Wu An said nothing.
He returned to the governor's manor, sat before the blackened xiangqi board in his study, and moved one piece.
The general.
Out of position.
He stared at it.
Then at Qu An, who stood nearby, watching him silently.
"They wanted to break me," Wu An said quietly. "They succeeded."
Qu An's eyes narrowed. "Temporarily."
Wu An gave a hollow smile.
"I've lost the battle."
He turned the general piece on its side.
"But I will win the war."