The morning fog was thick, curling through the ancient trees of Wuyuan like ghostly fingers. Birds had stopped singing. The forest, usually alive with the rustle of deer and songbirds, felt unnaturally quiet. Song Lian knew why.
From the eastern ridge, Liang Cheng's emergency flare had gone up, a single burst of red smoke visible even through the mist. She stood atop the signal tower they'd built just last week, staring eastward, eyes sharp as steel.
"He's coming," she murmured.
Yun Zhen stood beside her, dressed in light leather armor he'd forged with Wu Shun.
"Then we prepare to meet the Hound."
The Empire's Enforcer Commander Meng Qingshan was no stranger to terror.
He earned his title during the Northern Border Purge, where he led the execution of six entire villages deemed sympathetic to the Southern Scholars' Rebellion. His sword had cut through nobles, peasants, and priests with equal measure.
They said his eyes held no mercy, only obedience to the Empire's will.
Now, he rode at the head of twenty elite cavalry through the edge of Wuyuan Forest.
At his side was Lieutenant Han Xiu, younger, sharper-tongued, and hungry for glory.
"They say this forest harbors ghosts and rebel princes," Han Xiu said with a sneer.
"Shall we smoke them out like vermin?"
Meng said nothing. His hawk-like eyes scanned the mossy ground. Broken branches. Faint boot prints. Crushed leaf veins. Someone had passed here recently and not long ago.
"There are no ghosts," Meng Qingshan replied. "Only fools who think trees will protect them."
In the heart of Xingzhao, Song Lian addressed the gathered townspeople.
All forty-seven of them now men, women, children. Some still bore the burn scars of their flight. Others wore Song Lian's repurposed clothing, oversized and mismatched, but clean and whole. Jia Mei clutched a ledger. Liang Cheng stood beside her, grim and alert. Wu Shun held a reinforced hoe like a weapon.
Song Lian's voice was steady. "An imperial unit is approaching. They're less than a day away. We do not have the forces to fight them directly—but we are not defenseless."
She pointed to the perimeter map. "Our traps are set. Spike pits on the southern trail. Smoke mines at the river crossing. Liang Cheng will draw them off the direct path. Yun Zhen and I will buy time."
Murmurs filled the clearing. Fear. Anger. Resolve.
Yun Zhen stepped forward. "You are not cattle waiting for slaughter. You are citizens of a land not yet born. This place… this Xingzhao is the seed of something greater."
He drew his blade, forged from melted-down plowshares. "And no seed grows without protecting its soil."
By nightfall, Meng Qingshan's unit had reached the first line of defenses. The path narrowed—unnaturally so. Han Xiu raised a hand. "Commander… something's not right…"
With a sudden roar, the ground collapsed beneath the front line. Horses screamed as they fell into pits lined with sharpened branches and tar-soaked spikes.
A burst of sulfuric smoke exploded from a nearby brush pile, sending the remaining soldiers into a coughing fit. From the treeline, Song Lian's voice rang out.
"You are not welcome here. Turn back now."
Meng Qingshan stepped forward, unphased.
"You hide behind tricks and trees. Cowards use traps. Warriors face judgment."
She appeared then, bow in hand, arrow nocked and aimed directly at his head.
"I've faced more judgment than you can imagine."
Yun Zhen stepped beside her. "You seek a dead man, Commander. I am no longer the prince you hunt. I am a protector now. And you are trespassing."
Meng's eyes narrowed. "So it's true."
He raised his hand. The remaining soldiers fanned out—but carefully, wary of more traps.
"We will take you in chains, alive if possible. Dead if necessary."
Song Lian smiled coldly. "Then come and try."
As the soldiers surged forward, a horn blew from the north, the second signal.
Liang Cheng had done his job. Fires now blazed across their flanks, controlled and distant, but enough to confuse the soldiers' mounts and scatter their formation.
More smoke bombs erupted, not to harm, but to confuse, filling the air with blinding haze and the scent of sulfur and chili powder. Horses bucked. Men shouted. By the time the soldiers regrouped, Song Lian and Yun Zhen had vanished.
Meng Qingshan surveyed the chaos. Four of his men were injured. Two horses lost.
No sign of the rebels. Only traps. Smoke. Precision.
Not the work of peasants. He clenched his fists. "We return to Xuanjing. And we will return… with fire."
Back at the refuge, Song Lian removed her leather gloves, hands blistered but steady.
"Minimal damage," she reported. "They didn't get close enough to see the village itself."
Jia Mei grinned. "You scared the Empire."
"No," Song Lian said. "We bought time.
That's all."
Yun Zhen approached, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "You led them today."
She shrugged. "Someone had to."
He looked at her a moment longer. "They'll be back. Stronger."
"I know."
"And yet… you're still building."
Song Lian smiled faintly as the rising sun bathed Xingzhao in soft golden light.
"Because someday, this place will be too strong to burn."