At the center of the military grounds—stood Lin Yechen, he was dressed in dark battle attire. Layered black fabric fitted close to his form, reinforced with subtle armor along the shoulders and forearms, each edge traced faintly with gold. A wide belt secured at his waist, bearing the emblem of the golden dragon—not for display, but for declaration. His sleeves were slightly rolled, revealing steady hands that held a sword with effortless control, no ornaments and no unnecessary movements.
Where the phoenix was refined—he was precise. Where the phoenix observed—he acted. The torchlight flickered across his figure, catching briefly on the gold details of his attire—like a blade reflecting fire. Above him—the same moon remained, cold and distant, Yechen's gaze lifted toward it for a brief moment.
"…Fengyu Empire." After a brief pause, he said with cold tone yet soft, "…Yu Shayue."
His voice was low and measured. His grip on the sword tightened slightly—not in hesitation, but in thought. "No delay." A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips. "…So you chose to step forward now." The wind moved again—sharper now, heavier, far away—beneath the same moon—Shayue stood in silence. And here—the dragon had begun to move.
The training grounds lay silence, emptied of soldiers and command, as though the night itself had claimed dominion over the field. Torches burned low along the perimeter, their wavering light casting long shadows across the worn earth, where countless battles had been rehearsed and decided before ever reaching the battlefield.
At the center stood Lin Yechen without saying anything, holding a dragon traced sword in his hand, he did not move right away. His figure remained still, composed beneath the pale glow of the moon, as though he were merely another shadow among many. Then—without warning—the blade in his hand cut through the air. The strike was swift, precise, unhesitating, fast and merciless.
Steel met nothing, yet the force behind it seemed to split the silence itself. Her advanced, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next—turn, strike, withdraw—his form disciplined to the point of inevitability. There was no excess in his technique, no display for admiration. Every motion carried purpose, honed not for spectacle, but for victory. The wind shifted as his sword moved again, sharper this time, faster, as though the air itself could not keep pace. His sleeve brushed against the hilt with controlled ease, his footing unwavering, grounded with the certainty of one who had never learned defeat. He paused only briefly, the blade held steady at his side. His breathing remained even, unchanged, as though the exertion had not reached him at all. Above him, the moon remained distant and unmoved. For a fleeting moment, his gaze lifted toward it—calm, unreadable—before the sword rose once more. He did not slow nor did he tire.
At a distance, Wang Lin watched with wide eyes. "…Is our master strengthening his power for his wedding?" he whispered, clearly impressed. "…Should we also start training like this before we get married?" Behind him, Hao Lin closed his eyes briefly. "…You should first find someone willing to marry you." Wang Lin blinked his eyes giving a fierce stare at Hao Lin, "…That was unnecessary." Hao Lin glanced back toward Yechen, his expression turning serious. "…This has nothing to do with marriage… He is just… unsettled."
Before Wang Lin could ask more—a figure approached, a folding fan swaying lazily in one hand. Huang Lixian. Both straightened immediately, bowing, "Greeting, Duke Huang." Lixian's gaze swept over the training ground, than settled on Yechen, a faint smile playing on his lips. "…What exactly is going on here?" he asked lightly, but he did not wait for an answer. Closing his fan with a soft snap—he walked straight towards Yechen.
Then—a soft sound broke the pattern. Snap sound of folding fan. "Practicing alone, at such an hour, Your Highness you are really different from others?" The voice carried amusement, light yet deliberate. Closing his fan with a gentle motion, Huang Lixian stepped forward, unhurried, as though he had not just intruded upon a moment meant for solitude. His robes swayed lightly with each step, elegance untouched by the dust beneath his feet. "You have a wedding approaching," Lixian continued, his lips curving faintly," yet here you are—perfecting your swordsmanship as though you intend to greet your bride with sword instead of ceremony." Yechen did not stop.
The blade cut through the air once more, swift and unyielding. "If that is the case," Lixian added, tilting his head with feigned curiosity, "should I be concerned for the Crown Princess… or for you?" A breath passed. Then—Yechen moved.
In a single motion, the sword turned—its cold edge halting just short of Lixian's throat. The air stilled. For the briefest moment, even the night seemed to hold its breath. Lixian froze. Then slowly—very slowly—he lowered his gaze toward the blade, his expression shifting into something almost… wounded. "…Is this how Your Highness now greets his closest companion?" he said softly, his tone carrying exaggerated sorrow. A faint sigh followed, yet with a sweat. "To think that after years of loyalty, I would be met with a drawn blade… it is truly a tragic fate."
Yet even as he spoke, his hand lifted calmly. Two fingers reached forward—and with effortless ease, he pushed the blade aside. The steel yielded. Lixian straightened, his expression returning to its usual ease, though a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes. "Are you truly going to point your sword at your own friend over a simple remark?" he continued, the earlier tone of grievance already dissolving into quiet humor.
Yechen finally stilled. A faint smirk appeared his face, "Choose your remarks more carefully." The reply was calm, unhurried, yet edged just enough to carry meaning. Lixian laughed softly, unfolding his fan once more as though the moment had been nothing more than a passing breeze. "Ah… so it is true, then," he said lightly, his gaze sharpening with interest. "This marriage has already begun to affect you." Yechen said nothing.
But the smirk did not fade, and that—was enough answer. 'Marriage…' For a fleeting instant, something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then it was gone.
The clash of steel finally stilled as Lin Yechen lowered his sword, his breathing remained even and unchanged. Huang Lixian stopped a few steps away, tapping his folded fan lightly against his palm, a faint smile playing on his lips. "…I leave for a few days," he said causally, "…and return to find the Crown Prince personally dismantling the training ground and not only that, you also pointed the sword on me." A small pause followed. "…Should I congratulate you… or be concerned?"
Yechen did not look at him immediately. He wiped the blade once—clean, precise—before sheathing it. "…Say what you came to say." Lixian chuckled softly. "as always, straight to the point." He stepped closer, lowering his voice just slightly. "I heard a rather interesting piece of news on my way back… something about a marriage."
At a distance, Wang Lin leaned slightly toward Hao Lin. "…It begins," he whispered. Hao Lin did not respond. Lixian's smile deepened just a fraction. "The Fengyu Empire's Crown Princess," he continued lightly, "…has quite the reputation." a small tilt of his head. "…And yet, you accepted without any delay… again."
This time—Yechen's gaze shifted, calm and unreadable, he said, "…So?" Lixian let out a quiet breath, amused, "So… I am curious." A pause, "…Is this strategy… or interest?" A faint stillness passed through the air. Yechen's expression did not change, "…Does it matter?" Lixian smiled, "It does," he replied, "…depending on whether I should prepare for a wedding—" A slight pause, "…or for a war."
Yechen's gaze lifted slightly toward the night sky, the same moon, cold and distant. "She accepted." The words were simple, but deliberate. Lixian's eyes narrowed just slightly. "…And that is what interests you?" Yechen's grip on his sword shifted faintly. "…no hesitation at all and… no conditions." His gaze darkened just a fraction. "…That is not normal." At the edge, Hao Lin's expression sharpened. He had though the same. Lixian's smile returned—slower now. "…So you noticed." A faint chuckle followed. "…And here I thought you were simply preparing to be a good husband."
From the side, Wang Lin couldn't hold back. "…Our master? A good husband?" He paused, shiver coming from his spine. "…That sounds more dangerous than war." Hao Lin closed his eyes briefly, "…Stop speaking." Lixian ignored them, his gaze still on Yechen, "…Then what do you think she wants?" Yechen did not answer immediately. His gaze remained distant for a moment—calculating. "…Something beyond from marriage… And I intend to find it out."
The wind shifted across the training ground. The torches flickered. Lixian's fan opened once more with a soft sound. "…well, that is… interesting." A small smile lingered on his face, "…It seems your bride will not be simple." Yechen's expression remained unchanged. "…That is good… Neither am I."
--
The night air had barely settled when Lin Yechen finally spoke again. His gaze shifted from the moon back to the training –calm, decisive. "Prepare the troops," he said without any hesitation, "We march within three days." For moment—no one reacted. Silence fell quieter and longer, then Wang Lin blinked his eyes and said in confused, "…March?" another pause, "…As in… war?" Beside him, Hao Lin's expression sharpened immediately. "…Your Highness," he said carefully. "…the marriage preparations with the Fengyu Empire have already begun… The court is expecting your presence."
Even Huang Lixian stilled slightly, his fan pausing mid-motion. His eyes flicked toward Yechen with interest. Yechen's expression did not change. "…And?" the single word fell cold and final. Wang Lin looked between them, clearly confused. "But…Your Highness," he said hesitantly, "… what about your wedding—" Yechen cut him off. "The people of the empire do not wait for my marriage." Silence fell instantly.
His voice remained low—but carried undeniable authority. "If the borders are threatened," he continued, "…then the army moves, whether there is a wedding or not." Hao Lin lowered his gaze slightly. He understood now, this was not impulsive, this was priority. "The empire comes first," Yechen said with calm and unyieldingly, "Everything else—follows later."
The meaning was clear. Marriage, alliance, even a Crown Princess—none of it stood above the empire. Wang Lin straightened immediately, his earlier confusion gone. "…we understood, Your Highness." Hao Lin nodded once. "…I will make the necessary arrangements."
Lixian's fan snapped shut softly, a faint smile returning. "…So it seems," he murmured, "…this marriage will begin with absence rather than presence." Yechen did not respond, but the message had already been delivered.
War did not wait and neither did He.
To be continued...