Feiyan observed the traffickers' camp for hours, her eyes tracing the routes taken by the guards, the drunken rhythms of their patrols, and the vulnerable cracks in their defences. She didn't need much—just a moment, a distraction, a little chaos.
She crept back to where Shuye was crouching in the underbrush.
"I think I know what to do," she whispered. "Can you run fast?"
Shuye blinked. "I think so… What do you mean?"
"You're going to have to be bait."
"Wait, what? That doesn't sound—"
Feiyan stood, tightening the straps on her bracers. "Run like hell. Scream a little, throw rocks. I'll handle the rest."
Shuye opened his mouth to argue but caught the fire in her eyes and shut it. He gave a reluctant nod.
As night fell and the camp settled into its drunken lull, the traffickers laughed around flickering flames. They paid little attention to the eastern side—until smoke began rising.
One of the tents burst into flame.
"Fire!" someone shouted.
Then a voice rang out, shrill and defiant.
"You filthy cowards! Come catch me if you dare!"
Shuye stood near the blaze, waving his arms, slinging rocks, shouting obscenities with remarkable creativity. The men scrambled, half-drunk, charging toward him with swords and clubs.
He bolted into the trees.
Chaos spread through the camp.
Feiyan slipped through the shadows like a fox. A guard turned, but her blade was faster—quick, clean, silent. She dragged the body behind a crate and kept moving.
Meanwhile, in the old dungeon beneath the camp, Ziyan sat in the cold, chains now loose around her ankles. The familiar guard she had befriended earlier that week returned, his face pale and tense.
He knelt beside her, slipping her a small brass key.
"I unlocked your chains," he whispered. "When the noise starts—go."
Ziyan gripped the key but didn't move. "Tell me something."
The guard hesitated. "What?"
"Who wanted me taken?"
He stared at her, jaw clenched. "I wasn't supposed to ask. Orders came through a sealed message and gold. That's all."
"Don't lie to me."
He looked away. "The man said… he was from your clan. Someone highborn. Said it was a family matter."
Ziyan froze.
A memory stirred—cold eyes, a voice too smooth, too perfect.
The name was not spoken aloud. It didn't need to be.
"He wanted it quiet," the guard added softly. "Said you brought disgrace to the house. But it didn't sit right."
Ziyan stood slowly, fury tightening every inch of her spine.
"I'm not leaving," she whispered, "not until I know why."
The scent of smoke reached them. Shouts echoed from above.
"Go," the guard urged. "Now!"
Ziyan ran through the twisting corridors. Feiyan burst into the lower level, face grim, sword drawn.
"Ziyan!"
"Feiyan!"
They rushed together. Feiyan cut the last of her rope.
"How did you—"
"I tracked you. Shuye's still out there causing trouble." She glanced at Ziyan's torn robes. "You alright?"
Ziyan nodded once. "I found out… someone from my past did this."
Feiyan's jaw tensed. "You know who?"
"Not yet," Ziyan lied, quietly. "But I will."
A loud crack split the air, and the walls groaned.
"They're burning evidence," the guard shouted as he caught up.
A parchment fluttered down—marked with imperial seals. Feiyan caught it, eyes narrowing.
"This isn't just trafficking," she murmured.
Ziyan read over her shoulder. Her fists clenched. "They've been selling secrets."
The ground shuddered again.
"Move!" the guard yelled.
They fled through smoke and falling debris. Outside, Shuye reappeared from the trees, dirt-streaked and breathless.
"Did we get her?"
Feiyan grinned. "We got her."
Ziyan stood under the cold moonlight, scroll in hand, wind lifting her hair. This wasn't just about captivity anymore.
It was about truth.
And whoever had sold her out—family or not—would answer for it.