The air in the Private Parlour was thick with the scent of expensive sandalwood and the sharp, floral notes of Dahongpao tea. Li Feng and Fuige followed the woman in charcoal to the center of the room.
"Sit," she commanded softly.
Li Feng lowered himself onto the silk cushion, his knees protesting. Across from them stood a low table, and behind it, a hanging gauze veil.
It was thin enough to see a silhouette—a woman, back straight, pouring tea with a calculated stillness that belonged in an Imperial court, not a backroom tea house.
"My Lady, they have arrived," the woman in charcoal announced.
The silhouette didn't move.
"Try the tea, Your Highness. It is a rare harvest from the Wuyi cliffs. A gift for a man who usually prefers the scent of iron."
Fuige took the cup first, checking for the tell-tale shimmer of poison before nodding to Li Feng. Li Feng took a sip, but his mind was spinning. The tea was bitter and expensive, but all he could think about was the girl behind the curtain.
"Have we met before?" Li Feng asked. His voice felt too small for the room.
The woman in charcoal didn't answer. Instead, she unrolled a heavy silk scroll on the table and placed a pot of vermilion ink beside it.
The voice behind the veil grew cold.
"I will not ask for another favor, Your Highness. I only ask for your thumbprint. Cancel our engagement. It would be an honor to be forgotten by you."
Li Feng froze, the tea nearly spilling.
Engagement?
The "Student" part of his brain screamed. He was a 12th-grader who hadn't even been to prom, and now he was apparently betrothed to this lady? Because he was still in "Student Mode"—trying to be polite, trying to resolve the conflict—he reached for the ink. He didn't want a wife; he wanted a way out of this chaos.
Fuige hissed, grabbing his wrist.
"Highness, stop! This is an Imperial Decree. The Emperor has already sealed the match. If you cancel this, it's not just a breakup—it's a slap to your father's face. It's treason."
Li Feng's hand hovered over the red ink. The wild vanilla hit him again. It wasn't just a smell; it was a cold shock to his spine. Li Feng's vision blurred at the edges, the polite student-mode flickering like a dying candle, until only the wolf remained..
"I asked you a question," Li Feng whispered, his hand stopping halfway.
The silence from behind the veil was the final trigger. Li Feng didn't even think; his body just reacted.
With a blur of motion, his hand went to his belt. He flicked his wrist, sending a concealed dagger whistling through the air. The blade sliced through the silk cord holding the gauze veil, then bit deep into the wooden pillar behind it with a resonant thwack.
The curtain collapsed in a heap of white silk.
Li Feng didn't wait for it to hit the floor. He lunged. His boots skidded on the polished floor, the Identification guiding his muscles with a memory that felt like rusted iron snapping back into place.
As he reached the lady, he wrenched the dagger from the pillar in one continuous, sweeping arc and pressed the cold steel against her throat.
He was inches from her. He could smell the wild vanilla coming off her skin, mixed with the sharp, metallic scent of his own blade.
How did I get over here so fast? Li Feng's mind screamed. I'm a chemistry failure, not a freaking ninja!
"You," the Tyrant's voice rasped out of his mouth. It was a low, vibrating growl that made his own throat ache.
The woman in charcoal bolted. "My Lady—!"
CLANG.
Fuige's blade met hers, the impact sending a shower of sparks onto the tea set. "Know your place," Fuige growled, his boots planted firm. "The Prince is speaking."
Li Feng looked into the lady's eyes. They weren't wide with fear; they were dark, focused, and full of a cold, silent challenge. Her pulse was a frantic rhythm against the edge of his knife—a tiny, trapped heartbeat.
"Your Highness... I would rather die than wed you."
The lady's voice trembled, a single tear catching the light before it tracked down her cheek.
"Is marrying me really that nauseating, Song Lian?"
He pressed the dagger a fraction harder. A single bead of red welled against her throat, staining the pristine silk of her collar like a dropped petal.
Behind them, Yue'er lunged, but Fuige's blade stayed steady at her throat. The sound of shifting silk and heavy breathing was the only thing filling the room.
Li Feng stood up. He didn't offer a hand. He looked down at her as if she were a piece of conquered earth.
"The wedding will continue," he said. The Tyrant's voice was a low, vibrating rasp. "Mention a divorce again, and I'll uproot the Song clan. I'll start with the elders and work my way down until your line is cold. And I'll make you watch every second of it."
Lian's breath hitched—a sharp, jagged sound of pure horror. Li Feng wiped her blood off his blade with his thumb.
"And if you're holding a torch for the 'God of Death,' Zhou Yan... don't worry. You'll see him soon. His head will be the first thing to pass through the capital gates for the Spring Festival."
Li Feng walked out of the silk chamber without looking back. Only when he hit the humid air of the street did his hands start to shake.
What the hell did I just say?, the student inside him screamed. I don't want to kill her family! Who is Zhou Yan? Why did I call him Big Cat's name?
But the Tyrant didn't care. The Tyrant was already thinking about the Bridge.
---
The horse's gallop sent jolts of fire through Zhou Yan's side. The linen bandages were already a soggy, warm mess, but he didn't slow down. Behind him, Wei Da struggled to keep pace through the mud.
"General! Catch!"
Wei Da leaned out of his saddle and hurled a White Jade Phial. Zhou Yan snatched it out of the air without looking, his fingers gripping the cold stone.
"The camp physician said that'll keep your heart from failing before we hit the bridge," Wei Da shouted over the wind.
"But General, listen to me. That Shadow Merchant, Han Jue... he's a bottom-feeder. He trades tales, secrets, and human lives for a handful of gold taels. We don't find him to rescue him. We find him to kill him."
"Shut your mouth!" Zhou Yan snapped. His voice was thin, the Student fighting through the pain. "Han Jue is my best friend. He's not a traitor. He's probably just scared."
Wei Da pulled his reins, forcing his horse to a skidding halt.
"Are you still in a delirium? You're saying things that I don't understand. That Merchant is the one who leaked your position to the Palace! He told them you were a traitor trying to snatch the crown from the Royal Clans. That's why there's a price on your head. He sold you out, sir!"
Zhou Yan jerked his horse to a stop. The world tilted.
He clutched his temple, his vision blurring into a swarm of static. A low, guttural vibration started in his throat—the voice of the God of Death rising like a tide. When he spoke again, the Student was gone. The voice was heavy, resonant, and stripped of mercy.
"I don't care for gossip," Zhou Yan rasped. "But I have no stomach for rot. The Emperor is a corpse on a throne, and the Prince is a rabid dog. I am willing to trade my last breath to see their heads on a spike if it means cleaning the court."
He looked at Wei Da, his eyes cold and flat.
"We aren't just going to the bridge. We are putting Prince Xiao on that throne. He is the only one with the bloodline and the spine to change this Empire. If the Tyrant wants a war, I'll give him one that burns the Palace to ash."
"Move out," he ordered. "The Bridge won't wait."
He uncorked the jade phial with his teeth and swallowed the bitter pills in one gulp. He didn't feel like a high schooler anymore. He felt like a weapon.