The Blade Itself
The moon hung low over the training grounds as Ye Wuyin examined the faceless corpse I'd presented. Her fingers, calloused from decades wielding the modao, probed the false wound at its throat.
"This isn't your kill." Her voice carried the finality of a guillotine dropping. "The Frostblade Division has no use for you."
I met her gaze without flinching. "Then I'll carve my own path."
The blind scholar's words echoed in my bones—Don't let their game turn you into just another blade.
Ye Wuyin's sudden laughter was the scrape of steel on stone. "Fool girl. You think you can play this game without getting blood on your hands?" She kicked the corpse aside. "That soft heart will get you killed."
"No." I drew my dagger, pressing the edge to my own palm. Blood welled dark in the moonlight. "It's the only thing keeping me alive."
Her eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"The Crown Prince wants a weapon. You want a killer." I smeared the blood across my cheek. "But the deadliest blades are those with something left to lose."
Silence stretched between us. Then—
"You'll die within a week."
"Then I'll burn brighter than any of your Frostblade assassins."
Ye Wuyin studied me for a long moment before unsheathing her greatsword. The massive blade thudded into the earth between us.
"Prove it."
I didn't hesitate. My hand closed around the hilt—
And the game changed forever.
[The next morning, the Eastern Palace awoke to find three high-ranking officials dead in their beds. Each corpse bore the same mark: a single chrysanthemum petal placed over their hearts.]
No one noticed the blind scholar boarding a merchant ship at dawn.
No one saw the new shadow moving through the palace corridors.
And no one—
No one anticipated the storm about to break.
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