Before the sun had fully risen, the Ning estate was already awake.
Servants moved in silence, hurried hands wiping down long tables, polishing jade cups until they gleamed, setting wine jars in neat rows. Plates were carried, washed, stacked, and laid out again, as if even the faintest dust would shame the clan before the eyes of tomorrow's guests.
Morning came with the fragrance of dew upon grass, sparrows chirping across the tiled roofs of the Ning clan estate. Sunlight spilled golden over the courtyards, painting the clan halls in warmth.
The entire Ning estate bustled, laughter and congratulations filling the outer courtyards.
Guests from allied families gathered, their eyes sharp, measuring the clan's strength even as they offered smiles and bows.
Ning Tianlei stood at the gates, bowing with rigid courtesy, concealing the ache in his chest. Every guest's praise was a blade turned sideways—reminding him of the son lost, of the daughter being given away.
Words of praise sounded sweet, but beneath them lay calculation—who stood to gain, who might fall, and whether the Hua Clan's shadow was blessing or blade.
Servants hurried back and forth with trays of wine, pastries, and roasted meats. Silk banners stretched across the gates, catching the morning light. Musicians plucked zithers to drown out the silence between empty compliments.
The elders of the Ning Clan stood at the center of it all, their robes gleaming, their voices rich with pride as they welcomed each arriving guest. To the outsiders, they appeared united—a family rising to glory. Yet those who looked closer would see the stiffness in their shoulders, the faint tremor in their hands.
For today, masks were worn tighter than armor.
Children ran through the courtyards chasing paper kites, the women of the clan carried trays of tea for visiting Lady's, and the younger generation toasted recklessly, spilling wine as they boasted of the union.
The smell of incense clung faintly to the air, mixing with the damp fragrance of morning dew. Red silks fluttered in the soft dawn wind. Lanterns swayed gently, their tassels whispering against one another like restless spirits.
By the time the sparrows began to sing, the clan's younger disciples had already gathered before the ancestral hall. Each wore formal robes of red, their faces tense despite the celebration to come. They bowed deeply before the ancestral tablets, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and burnt inscences.
One by one, the clan gathered at the ancestral hall. The air was heavy with incense; the polished tablets of forefathers glimmered faintly under lantern light. Disciples knelt in rows, elders pressed palms together, each offering words of guidance to the veiled bride.
One by one, they stepped forward.
Some laid down spirit jades, others scrolls of calligraphy or talismans inked with good fortune. Elders pressed small lacquered boxes into Ningyue's hands, filled with advices
"Walk with virtue."
"Endure with patience."
"Bring honor to both clans."
The great elders spoke last, their voices solemn as they offered pearls, jade ornaments, and even medicinal treasures as tokens for the union. Servants held trays to carry them, bowing as they stepped back into the line.
At last, Ningyue herself approached the incense table. Dressed already in red robes, veil lowered, she knelt before the tablets. Her hands, pale and steady, lifted three sticks of incense and pressed them to her forehead.
The hall was silent as smoke curled upward, winding through the rafters like threads of fate.
Behind her, the disciples and elders watched with reverence, yet none noticed the faint shadow of a crow passing across the courtyard tiles. Its cry split the morning silence, sharp, discordant, ill-omened.
Outside, the carriages had arrived. The gifts of the Hua Clan stood glittering beneath the rising sun.
Inside, the Ning Clan smiled as if Heaven's favor was upon them.
When the marriage procession departed, drums beat against the mountains, firecrackers split the mist, and the carriages rolled forth. Elders rode in the front, disciples followed behind, the roads lined with watchers eager to glimpse the bride.
But Ningyue's attention was elsewhere.
Through the veil she sensed it—the stir in the air, the whispers of pursuit. Somewhere beyond the revelry, shadows moved. Hunters. Bandits?
Yet joy never lasts long upon the roads of men.
It began with a whistle.
Then the cry of arrows cutting through banners.
Bandits burst from the ridges like wolves from the brush, blades flashing, eyes bloodshot. Their target was not hidden—carriages heavy with jade, gold, and silks; gifts meant as dowry to seal a marriage between clans.
Ningyue, sitting within the bridal carriage, froze. This… did not happen before.In her first life, the road had been clear—no ambush, no danger, only the slow march toward her cage.
Why now?
"Protect the bride!" the guards screamed.
Steel clashed against steel, screams echoed against the slopes. The mountain path became a pit of chaos—blood staining banners, dust swallowing song.
At the heart of the fray, Ning Tianlei's voice roared like thunder. His great axe split the air, each swing a storm. With a single cleave he hewed five men in half, his power so fierce it split the bandit formation into two.
But there were too many.
For every foe cut down, ten more pressed in.
Blades lunged into disciples, the carriage rocked under the strike of pikes, and the red silks were torn by smoke and blood.
The tide was turning.
The Ning Clan's strength faltered.
Hope was slipping away.
Before she could rise, a shrill cry split the sky. A shadow, vast and winged, swept across the mountainside. The air shook as a hawk-shaped aura descended, its presence slamming into the bandits like a storm. The ground quaked, trees splintered, and smoke filled the valley.
Han Tianci.
Four warriors riding on the silver lion crashed at his side, each bearing the mark of ruthless training. Their entrance was a storm that broke the battlefield.
Tianci's sword was a dragons tail. Every thrust and swing pierced the armor sent them flying, finding gaps between blades, slipping past enemies cutting them down as though fate itself work for him. Not a strike wasted, not a motion late to avoid strikes reflexes like a cat—each enemy fell as though his weapon danced upon threads of inevitability.
His men moved like extensions of his will, cutting into the bandits with merciless strikes.
The battlefield shuddered. What was moments ago despair turned into carnage—bandits beaten, crushed, sent flying into the dirt. Screams replaced laughter. The tide reversed.
Ning Tianlei's chest heaved as he steadied his axe. For the first time in the battle, his eyes turned upward—toward the youth whose presence had severed hopelessness like silk.
And in that moment, every gaze—friend, foe, and kin alike—was drawn to Han Tianci.
The hawk of silver light, the youth whose sword stitched death itself.
The caravan disciples bowed deeply, voices shaking with gratitude. "Esteemed heroes, may we know your names? We owe you our lives."
One stepped forward, his expression calm, his aura restrained yet sharp as a blade.
Han Tianci.
At those words, Ningyue's hand shot to her veil. Her heart thrashed in her chest. She dared to lift the curtain of the carriage—and froze. Among them she had glimpsed a face she knew.
Within her carriage, Ningyue's fingers clenched.
Ningyue lifted the curtain a fraction, her gaze falling upon that familiar face.Her breath caught.Her pulse stumbled.
Han Tianci… why? Why's he here? What happened to the past I know? This day was meant to pass in peace. Why does fate change its path?
She lowered the curtain swiftly, hiding herself from their eyes, though her hands trembled upon her lap.
Her vision blurred. This was impossible. In her first life, Han Tianci should not appear here—not now, not in this place. And yet there he stood, his eyes cold, his bearing unyielding, as if carved from heaven's will.
Ningyue quickly lowered the veil, trembling. But her heart… it was alight.
Ning Tianlei rushed forward, giant axe in hand, his chest rising with gasps. He bowed deeply, with gratitude."Our Ning Clan owes you a debt of life. Please—accept our thanks."
At his side, the Hua Clan representative orders, already directing servants to drag forward treasure chests, jewels glittering in the sun."These are but tokens of respect. Please, take them."
But Han Tianci's face did not soften. His palm pushed the treasures back, his tone firm."We humbly reject. We did not act for reward. we were on our way and heard noises, you are safe now. We shall depart."
The Hua envoy pressed again, voice earnest, "Then… at least tell us how we may aid you?"
A companion at Han Tianci's side spoke before caution could restrain him, words sharp and unhidden:"We are searching. For a man. His name—Li Qiong."
The group's leader added coldly, "If you wish to repay us, spread word. Find him. His information will be reward enough."
Inside the carriage, Ningyue's heart lurched. Her breath shattered, her fingers curled into her crimson robes until blood welled from her palm.
Li Qiong…!Her chest burned, joy and disbelief warring within her. She bit down her cry, lowered the veil, and bowed her head, hiding her blazing eyes.
They bowed politely and turned to leave.
From outside, Ning Tianlei glanced toward the carriage, catching only her trembling silence, her hidden unrest. His heart stirred, and a peace certainty settled within him.
But Ningyue's attention was elsewhere.
Her heart tightened, but her face betrayed nothing. With each turn of the carriage wheels, she counted the steps, waiting.
When the caravan paused at a mountain pass to offer rites to the earth, she slipped away. Her figure dissolved into mist, her breath sealed within, her steps as light as drifting smoke. The ghost path—silent, unseen. None noticed the bride vanish from her place.
In the trees above, she followed the pursuit. Armored riders small as a army moved like hounds on a scent, banners snapping in the wind. At their center rode Han Tianci, His expression was carved from stone, he marched forward leading the troops.
Ning Tianlei's eyes had caught her absence. He searched the ranks, saw her veil missing, and his heart clenched. When his gaze rose and couldn't saw his daughter's shadow among the ridges, following Tianci's company, a bitter realization struck him.
"Yue'er!" Tianlei's voice boomed on all direction as the entire caravan gasped in shock.
That young man… was it truly him?
Yet he was wrong.
For Ningyue's eyes held no affection when they settled on Han Tianci. They were sharp, fierce, haunted with a single name she dared not say out aloud.
Li Qiong.
The hunters thought they were closing in on prey. Tianlei thought his daughter's heart had beating again. And Han Tianci… believed he is closer.
Li Qiong....