Dawn bled red across the treetops of Wuyuan Forest.
Mist drifted low over the ground like an omen. It was quiet, too quiet. The birds had flown off days ago. Even the insects had gone still.
And then came the rumble.
Like distant thunder, it rolled over the hills: the steady march of disciplined boots, the grind of steel against scabbards, the creak of siege wagons.
General Qiu Wenshenghad arrived.
Qiu Wensheng stood atop a black stallion, tall and imposing. His armor was dark bronze, etched with the tiger insignia of the Emperor's elite. A crimson cloak billowed behind him, the color of execution writ into silk.
Around him, nearly two thousand men fanned out through the forest's edge. Unlike Meng Qingshan's scouts, these were not reconnaissance troops, they were the Yun Empire's fangs, trained for scorched-earth campaigns and internal purges.
Beside him rode his second-in-command, Captain Luo Jin, sharp-eyed and ambitious. Qiu's voice was low and clipped. "Mark this perimeter. Five hundred meters in every direction. I want fire barriers. If they won't come out, we'll burn them out."
"Yes, General," Luo Jin said. "We estimate the settlement lies roughly two li deeper. Do you wish to send a forward unit?"
"No. Let them see our arrival. Let them know their end is coming."
He raised a black banner bearing the Emperor's seal. It flapped in the wind like a sentence of death.
In Xingzhao.
Atop the lookout tower, Liang Chengstared, pale-faced, at the black wave approaching from the east. He rang the bronze alarm bell—three hard strikes. Song Lianwas already awake. She met Liang at the tower moments later, bow slung across her back
.
"How many?" she asked.
"Too many," he whispered. "I counted twelve squads. At least a thousand men. And siege wagons."
Song Lian's jaw tightened. Yun Zhen stood beside her now, dressed in reinforced leather, his hair tied back in a warrior's knot.
"They're not here to scare us this time," he said grimly. "This is extermination."
The central square buzzed with movement. Refugees had become citizens. Citizens were now militia. Wu Shun, once a blacksmith, handed out iron-tipped spears and reinforced shields. His hands were blistered, but his voice was steel.
"Frontline, shields up. Archers on the platforms. Everyone else—smoke bombs and oil jars."
Jia Mei distributed rations with calm efficiency, marking every loaf of bread and strip of dried meat. "This isn't a siege," she told the others. "It's a storm. We survive, or we vanish."
Song Lian walked among them, checking traps, inspecting barricades, whispering quiet encouragement. She found Yun Zhen at the northern wall, eyes closed.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"That I never wanted war," he murmured. "I only wanted to live free."
Song Lian nodded. "Freedom always demands a price."
At midday, a lone rider approached the outer edge of Xingzhao—a flag of truce in hand. Song Lian, Yun Zhen, and Liang Cheng met him on the hilltop. The man dismounted, bowed curtly, and unrolled a parchment.
"By decree of His Majesty, Emperor Yun Taoxiang," the soldier read, "all traitors, usurpers, and harborers of sedition are hereby sentenced to death. Surrender the fugitive Yun Zhen, and the rest of the village may be spared summary execution."
He looked up. "You have until sundown."
Then he turned and rode off. The wind rustled through the trees. Yun Zhen's jaw tightened. "They won't keep that promise. Even if I surrender."
"No," Song Lian agreed. "But you're not going anywhere. We've come too far."
That night, fires burned low in the center of Xingzhao. Every citizen sat together—children nestled against mothers, old men holding rusted swords, farmers clutching pitchforks. Song Lian stood before them. Her voice was not loud, but every ear strained to catch it.
"I was born with nothing. No name. No family. No legacy," she began. "But this place gave me something more valuable than any of that purpose. And I will not let them take it."
She turned to Yun Zhen. He stepped forward.
"You know who I am. Or who I was. A prince without a throne. A ghost the Emperor tried to erase. But I say this: I do not need a crown. I do not need a palace."
He swept his arm wide to the people.
"This is my kingdom now. And I will fight for it."
Cheers broke the silence. Soft at first. Then louder. Until the night rang with the cries of a people who had decided they would not bow.
At the edge of the forest, Qiu Wensheng surveyed the trees, torchlight reflecting in his cold eyes.
"Sundown," he said quietly. "Then fire."
Luo Jin nodded. "And if they hold?"
"They won't," Qiu said simply. "Not against me."
But in the darkness of the trees, beyond the torches, something stirred. Not fear. Not doubt. Resolve.