The sun never seemed to rise in Lanmen.
It was there, yes—spilling across rooftops, catching the edges of pottery and faded banners—but it felt like a memory. Something the town merely tolerated.
Ji Haneul descended from the rooftop just before dawn.
The streets were empty. The well stood silent. The boy from the night before was gone.
So was the merchant.
Haneul didn't panic.
He waited.
He walked the market three times. Bought dried chestnuts from a blind woman. Paid a passing courier to deliver a forged message to no one—just to be seen.
By the time the sun neared its peak, the merchant returned.
He didn't smile this time.
"I warned you to leave."
"You gave me a puzzle," Haneul said.
The merchant's eyes darted to the sides. "Not here."
He led Haneul to the edge of town, where a broken rice mill slouched in disrepair. Inside, it smelled of wet straw and disuse.
Only once they were behind the sagging door did the man speak again.
"You saw them?"
"Yes."
"Did they speak to you?"
"No."
"Good. Don't ever let them. Their words aren't… right."
Haneul crossed his arms. "You know what they are."
"I know what they do. That's enough."
"Then tell me."
The merchant hesitated. His fingers grazed the black-threaded lantern at his belt.
"They don't call themselves anything. Not openly. But the way they move—the way they appear in places right before families vanish, sects collapse, elders turn up dead—it's not coincidence."
"Then what is it?"
"Shaping."
"…Shaping what?"
"The map of the martial world. Quietly. Patiently. Like trimming a bonsai tree, one branch at a time."
Haneul's voice lowered. "And who do they answer to?"
The merchant looked at him long and hard.
Then, softly: "The Order."
The name hit like a drop of ink on white silk.
"Of the Shattered Soul?"
The merchant nodded.
Haneul took a breath.
The same cult from the scroll.
The same cult whispered of in dying letters and abandoned caves.
The ones who sparked the Purge from behind masks and puppet strings.
And they were here.
Now.
"Where do I find them?" Haneul asked.
"You don't," the merchant said. "Not directly. You'll die."
"I'm not looking for permission."
The man sighed and reached into his coat. He pulled out a thin strip of lacquered bamboo, etched with the emblem of a red phoenix tail.
"Take this to the Hao Sect outpost in Jingzhou. They'll know you came from me. Ask for someone named Suon."
"I thought the Hao Sect was scattered."
"They are. But not dead."
Haneul took the token.
"You know," the merchant added, "I don't give that out to strangers."
"You're not the only one watching," Haneul replied.
He turned to leave.
But paused at the door.
"The boy from last night," he said. "Do you know where he went?"
The merchant looked away.
"Dead?" Haneul asked.
"…Worse."
No answer came after that.
Only the sound of Haneul's boots crunching frost as he left the broken mill behind.
And the faint, metallic rattle of a lantern swaying from a hidden belt.