YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 8, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  The candlelight fluttered as a spirited breeze whisked through the open windows of the library. But the thick, cloth curtains barely shifted, all wound up tightly by a double-knotted curtain ring.

  Moonlight spilled across the marble floor, threading through the pale stone like silver stitched into white jade. Silence lingered in the air, matched with the faint scent of dried bamboo shelves mingled with the dust of centuries.

  I unrolled a scroll, and the wood groaned. Printed characters marching across the surface in tidy columns faced me, each precise strokes repeated with mechanical perfection.

  Poetry .

  A figment of one’s imagination; a fleeting moment that could not live on. Crushed by the world and locked away on a bamboo scroll, these characters were nothing more than sweet longings. A harsh reality but the only reality there was.

  And I had not come to the library to read fiction.

  I closed the scroll.

  The shelf to my right listed slightly under the weight of its contents. I moved along it, fingers brushing the ridged labels. Basic Alchemy. No. Advanced Alchemy. Possibly. The Complete List of Poisons (Ranked). Familiar.

  The moon shifted and one scroll caught in its light. Velvet red cord lined the bamboo scroll—bright and unusual, as if it wanted me to read it. I reached for it.

  Another hand touched it first.

  I looked up. I found myself face-to-face with an intruder, their hand tightly curled around the other end of the scroll.

  They moved first; eyes wide, fingers releasing, and body turning. I watched through the shelves as they sprinted down the aisle.

  Light flared at the far end of the library. The Sentinels. The Emperor’s personal Imperial Guards. Their halberds gleamed, flame-dipped, with the crest of Taishan. They only had one job.

  And they didn’t take prisoners.

  I wonder what the intruder will do.

  A pair of hands wrapped around my mouth and my neck. The sensation of a jab resonated in my left wrist and upper back, and my muscles twitched in response.

  Do they plan to take me as a prisoner?

  It seems they aren't from here.

  Else, they wouldn’t have dared.

  I hit the floor and was dragged behind a shelf.

  “Don’t move,” they whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Her voice was female. Young. Firm. Unrefined.

  I could have easily killed her with a single move. I should have. But I found myself intrigued by the whole farce; a girl sneaking around Taishan, at night no less. But if she was an assassin, there was no reason for her to be in the Alchemist Guild.

  Could be a thief.

  She shoved me down. And her weight—though light and lithe—bored down into me efficiently. Whoever this person was, they weren’t simple. Her martial forms had the consistency of someone who had learned to survive, not to win. And her cultivation level was exceedingly poor.

  What was she doing here?

  I attempted to move. My hand twitched like pins and needles were being pierced into my flesh; the unwelcoming sensation of my qi draining away like water in a sieve.

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  A gleaming hairpin caught the moonlight as it pressed against my neck. She leaned close. She had covered her face extremely well, leaving a thin slit for her eyes. I studied them; this was the only piece of information I would be able to use to find her identity.

  She blinked.

  Those eyes should not exist in this world.

  “Young lady, what are you doing here?” I said.

  The guards’ torchlight drew long shadows over the floor, flickering against the wooden pillars. They were no doubt looking for this girl. Dimmed whispers echoed across the room as the lead guard commanded his subordinates to search.

  She rolled us under a lower shelf, pinning me with the awkward pressure of her knee.

  “None of your business,” she muttered.

  Their footsteps passed. I considered calling out just to see how the girl would react. But with her knee on my sternum and a sharp object still near my throat, it would have been undignified.

  She rose first, dusting off her sleeves with a complete lack of urgency.

  “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She held something up. In the low light, I recognised the silhouette—a thin acupuncture needle. “But I hit your vagus nerve and wrist meridian. You won’t be doing much for the next few minutes.”

  Ah. I see. That’s why my qi felt like it was disappearing.

  She rifled through her pockets either pretending to be or being oblivious to the current situation.

  But her inaction revealed something about her identity.

  One, she was an alchemist. Likely tier-six—her precision with needles implied anatomical mastery.

  Two, she most definitely wasn’t from Taishan. If she were, she’d know who I was. And she would not have left me unbound.

  “It’ll wear off,” she said lightly, turning back to the shelves. Without ceremony, she began yanking scrolls down and shoving them into a reed sack.

  I stepped forward, caught her wrist mid-reach.

  Her amethyst eyes widened. “How—”

  Predictable. For all her alchemist skills, it became clear that she was really not a cultivation practitioner. She struck clumsily; I intercepted her kick, forced her back, and twisted her arm across her chest. She hit the bookshelf behind her with a dull thud.

  Her head barely made it to my chest, yet her raised chin and attitude made her seem taller.

  “Kill me,” she said, staring up without flinching. “Call your guards.”

  Her eyes reflected resistance, a steely glare which only served to flare the silver slivers in her eyes. Yet her limbs trembled. I narrowed my gaze. In those changing eyes, there was an intense light.

  A light that surpassed my calculations.

  She kicked her book bag across the floor and zapped it with a tinge of white magic. Instantly, it caught on fire.

  The smell of burning parchment struck my nose.

  All those precious books, the knowledge, history…I dug my fingers into her shoulders.

  “The books or me,” she said, staring me down. “It’s your move.”

  There would always be ways to find her even if she left today. But I wouldn’t be able to replace those historical artefacts. Besides, it wasn’t my business. If it weren’t for my impromptu visit, no one would have known she was here.

  I let her go.

  Her footsteps echoed sharply, each tap ricocheting across the marble floor. The curtain swung open behind her, casting a blade of moonlight across the archive as she vanished into the night. I turned to the fire. A wave of my hand was enough; my spell smothered the flames instantly, leaving no ash, no smoke.

  She had taken a gamble, trying to deceive me. If she hadn’t encountered me, I suspected that the girl would be dead.

  Though the fire was out, the bag remained. I picked it up. Reed—light, coarse, familiar. But this one didn’t burn.

  I see, there are fireproof wards etched along the fibres.

  I pulled out the scroll that I had seen earlier and turned it around in my hands. Meridian Seal Poisons.

  That confirmed it. Whatever doubt lingered about her identity, the presence of this book snuffed it out.

  I fingered the rough reed sack. Reed was a common and cheap material grown nearly everywhere with water. But this weave—tight in some places, loose in others—was unique to one place.

  Shanhu Prefecture. It made sense as well, since their craftsmen were known to create fabrics and goods impervious to fire.

  Still, I frowned. This was the second time since Shanhu had made an unnecessary appearance in Taishan’s affairs. First, Ze Yijun and the rumours of bīnghuǒdú. Now, it was this girl.

  It was odd as well. Shanhu rarely involved itself in Taishan’s internal politics. Or so they made themselves appear.

  I glanced toward the window.

  Maybe it wasn’t just Shanhu. There were only two major alchemist sects: Huadu and Yuyan. Judging by her technique, Yuyan was unlikely. Unless they’d discovered some dark horse to erase the humiliation of last year’s exam. But even then, no one in Huadu ranked beyond tier-five.

  No one, except An Lingqi, the once-in-four-thousand-years talent.

  I returned the scroll carefully to the shelf.

  The guards on duty tonight must be punished.