Day 1 – The First Feather
The northern courtyard slept like a thing preserved in amber.
No footfall, no servant's cough, no sound but the slow lap of water against stone. The moon had climbed high enough to catch the still pond in silver, turning the koi into pale flickers drifting under the surface.
Xie Lan sat cross-legged on the veranda, robe sleeves pooling at his sides, a half-empty flask of wine beside him. He had been awake long enough to feel the weight of the night settle in his bones — that particular heaviness that came not from fatigue, but from thinking too much.
The Emperor had given no summons since the audience. No formal inquiry about Huayin. No word about the assassins. Just silence — the kind that could mean he was being left alone… or being quietly encircled.
A night heron called once from the far end of the bamboo grove.
The sound faded into the whisper of leaves.
And then came another sound — faint, deliberate. The soft scuff of something falling on the flagstones beyond the veranda.
Xie Lan did not move at first.
The stillness was part of the measure — wait long enough and an enemy will show themselves, impatient. But the sound didn't repeat.
He rose without haste, crossing the veranda with bare feet. The cool of the polished wood gave way to the faint warmth of the stone.
There, at the base of the carved moon-gate, lay a single feather.
Black.
Tipped in white.
Long enough to belong to no palace bird he knew.
When he crouched, the faint sheen of silver thread caught the moonlight. The tip of the feather had been bound with a narrow knot of thread — the kind used by palace scribes to secure coded scrolls.
He untied it with careful fingers. A scrap of paper slid free, folded into a precise square.
Only three characters inked upon it, in a hand he recognized instantly:
星堂一问
The Hall of Stars asks one question.
His jaw tightened.
The Hall of Stars was not a place — not in the sense of walls and roof. It was an old name for a circle of the Emperor's most dangerous retainers, those whose work was so delicate it never reached the court records. It was also the same sigil embroidered into the black silk left at his gate two nights ago.
He turned the feather in his hand, feeling the faint oil along its shaft. Not poison — not meant to harm. Meant to mark him.
A message and a claim.
The koi shifted beneath the pond's surface, sending ripples through the moon's reflection.
He didn't call for Yao Qing. She had taken the outer watch tonight, and disturbing her now would only make her move in ways the palace spies could measure. Let them think he hadn't noticed the feather. Let them think he was still, waiting like a fish in clear water.
Xie Lan slipped the paper back into its knot and set the feather on the edge of the veranda.
If the Hall of Stars wanted to ask a question, they could come ask it themselves.
Until then, he would give them nothing but the image of a man in seclusion — unmoving, unreadable, untouchable.
The wine at his side was cool now. He poured it into the shallow cup and drank slowly, eyes never leaving the pond. The taste was dry, almost bitter, but it anchored him in the present.
Above, the moon thinned behind drifting cloud.
The bamboo rattled once and fell silent.
And in the stillness, he could almost hear it — the slow, careful drawing of a net in dark water.
Dawn came with a pale light, sliding between the bamboo leaves like water through a sieve. The northern courtyard smelled faintly of wet earth and sandalwood from the incense coils Yao Qing had lit during the night watch.
Xie Lan had not moved from the veranda.
When Yao Qing slid the inner door open, she paused for a fraction of a heartbeat — taking in the same stillness she had left the night before.
"You should sleep," she said.
Her voice was soft, but the warrior's edge was there — the same tone she used to tell a subordinate to resheath a sword before they cut themselves.
"I slept," he said, though they both knew it wasn't true.
She crossed the courtyard with a tray, steam curling from the clay teapot. She set it down between them, poured, and waited until he took the cup.
The tea was hot and sharp — not palace jasmine, but roasted oolong from the southern valleys. He let the heat seep into his fingers before drinking.
Yao Qing's gaze swept the courtyard. "There's a feather on the veranda rail."
"I saw."
"And?"
"It can wait."
Her brows drew together, but she didn't press. Instead, she reached into her sleeve and slid a narrow bamboo slip across the table. "This came from the kitchen runner assigned to our wing. No name given, only a message — that the Crown Prince's personal taster visited the kitchens yesterday."
The cup in Xie Lan's hand stilled.
A taster visiting the kitchens didn't mean much on its own — unless the visit came before an unannounced delivery.
The tea's steam blurred the air between them.
He set the cup down. "Drink only from this pot today. Nothing else."
"I already did," she said.
They drank in silence for a while, the steam carrying the faint scent of char and stone.
---
Mid-morning brought a sound from beyond the moon-gate — the slow sweep of a broom across stone.
It was the palace gardener, an old man with a back bent like a bow, moving at the same unhurried pace he had for the last decade. But as he passed the gate, his broom dipped in a deliberate curve, tracing a circle and then two short lines across the dust before smoothing it away.
Xie Lan's gaze followed the motion. It was a code mark — an old battlefield cipher meaning: You are being counted. Noted. Watched.
He didn't rise.
Didn't nod.
Just watched the man shuffle away, the bristles of the broom whispering against stone until the sound faded into the morning hum of the court.
---
By noon, the sky had dulled to the color of old bronze. The pond reflected it in broken fragments, rippled by the occasional leap of a koi.
Xie Lan stayed within the courtyard, reading a scroll he didn't need to read, turning each page with the same even rhythm. The Hall of Stars would note if he walked beyond his walls today; better to give them a picture of confinement they could believe.
Yao Qing remained nearby, oiling her chain in slow, deliberate strokes. The scent of the metal polish mingled with the sharper note of the oolong cooling in the pot.
At some point, she said quietly, "If the Emperor called you now, what would you tell him about Huayin?"
"That I followed his law," Xie Lan said. "And that the Crown Prince did not."
Her hands stilled. "And if he asked you to swear it before the court?"
He looked at her, golden eyes steady. "Then I would ask if he wanted the truth, or the answer that lets him sleep at night."
For a moment, only the bamboo moved — tall green stalks bowing slightly under the afternoon breeze.
---
As the sun dropped, shadows stretched across the pond, the moon-gate framing a sky now streaked with red. Yao Qing lit the lanterns one by one, their light flickering over the carved beams.
When she went to fetch fresh water, Xie Lan rose at last. He walked to the veranda rail, picked up the feather, and twirled it once between his fingers. The silver thread caught the lantern light.
Then he slid it into the sleeve of his robe.
If the Hall of Stars wanted their question answered, they would have to come and stand before him.
Day 3 – The Visit from the Masked Servant
Morning came with the thin light of an overcast sky.
No bells, no summons, no servants beyond the usual one who left food at the outer gate and withdrew without a word.
Xie Lan ate nothing. The untouched tray sat on the veranda, its porcelain bowls gathering the faint dust carried in by the wind.
Yao Qing paced the courtyard, her steps deliberate. She'd been silent since dawn — her version of alertness.
Finally, she said, "It's too quiet."
"It's supposed to be," Xie Lan replied, seated cross-legged at the low table, the Lunar Bone Sabre resting on the wood beside him. "Quiet is easier to control than noise."
---
The first knock didn't come until midmorning.
Three slow, even beats on the outer gate.
Yao Qing answered, chain coiled in her hand, but the figure standing outside was no courtier or guard. It was a servant in plain hemp robes, face covered by a gauze mask that veiled everything but their eyes.
"I bring a message," the servant said. The voice was low, genderless, the kind that could belong to someone fifteen or fifty.
Yao Qing blocked the way. "Leave it here."
The servant's gaze slid past her to Xie Lan.
"It is for him to hear."
Xie Lan gestured faintly. "Let them in."
---
The servant stepped into the courtyard without looking at the pond, the bamboo, or the veranda — as though such things didn't exist. They moved directly to the low table and knelt, head bowed.
"The Hall of Stars requests your presence," they said. "Tonight. Second watch. Alone."
The words hung in the air like the slow drip of water into a deep well.
Yao Qing's stance sharpened. "He doesn't go anywhere alone."
The servant's masked head turned toward her. "The request was not for you."
"It wasn't a request," Yao Qing snapped.
---
Xie Lan raised a hand, and the courtyard stilled.
His eyes stayed on the servant. "What happens if I don't attend?"
For a long breath, there was only the sound of wind through bamboo.
Then the servant said, "The Hall will take your absence as an answer."
No threat.
No elaboration.
But the weight of what answer meant was clear enough.
---
When the servant left, Yao Qing shut the gate harder than necessary. "You're not going."
"I am," Xie Lan said, picking up the sabre.
"They could kill you there."
"They could kill me here." He slid the blade into its sheath. "But if I don't walk into their shadow, they'll decide what I look like in it."
Yao Qing's jaw tightened. "Then I'm going with you."
His gaze was steady, unyielding. "Not tonight."
The lanterns in the courtyard swayed, their light pooling across the pond's ripples like scattered coins.
---
That night, he would go.
But for now, the day still stretched ahead — and the palace's eyes were watching.
Day 4 – The Summons at Second Watch
The second watch began with rain.
Not the open roar of a storm, but a fine, steady drizzle that slicked the palace roofs into glistening black.
Xie Lan left the scholar's retreat without a lamp. Yao Qing followed him to the outer gate, chain looped at her hip, her hair damp from the mist.
"You walk into this alone," she said, "and you walk back out the same way. Or I burn the Hall of Stars to the ground."
Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
He gave her the faintest of nods, then stepped beyond the gate.
---
The Hall lay in the western wing of the palace, behind walls of dark stone veined with silver. Few entered without permission. Fewer left with the same clarity they'd had before crossing its threshold.
The bronze-masked servant waited beneath the eaves. They did not speak, merely turned and led the way through a series of covered corridors, each quieter than the last.
No guards stood along the path.
No sound followed their steps but the muted drip of water from the roof tiles.
---
At the final gate, the servant stopped.
Beyond lay the Hall — its doors carved from black lacquer, inlaid with a thousand silver stars so fine they seemed to shimmer in the torchlight.
The servant bowed once.
"The Hall awaits."
Xie Lan stepped inside.
---
The air within was cool, touched with the faint scent of sandalwood and… something sharper beneath it. Incense meant for long nights and steady hands.
The chamber's dome was painted with constellations, each star picked out in silver leaf. In the center of the room stood a single low table, flanked by two screens of white silk.
A figure sat behind the table, their face obscured by the shadow cast from the dome above.
"Xie Lan," the voice said. Smooth. Cultured. The kind of voice that could tell lies like lullabies.
---
He stopped three paces from the table.
"You wanted me alone."
"And you came," the figure said. "That tells me you value answers over safety."
"Or that I wanted to see which shadow called me."
A soft laugh.
One of the silk screens stirred, though there was no breeze. Another figure's silhouette shifted behind it — tall, still, watching.
---
The voice continued. "The Crown Prince has spoken of you often."
"I'm sure he has."
"Not always unkindly," the figure said, as if offering a gift. "But his… concern is persuasive. He believes you carry something that could end the Empire."
"And do you?"
Xie Lan let the question hang a moment. "If I did, the Hall of Stars would already know."
The figure behind the table inclined their head slightly. "We know enough. Which is why we give you this choice."
---
The room seemed to narrow.
"Choice," Xie Lan repeated.
"You can return to the Emperor's favor," the voice said, "by swearing your loyalty to the Crown Prince's cause. Publicly. Without hesitation."
"And if I don't?"
The shadowed figure smiled — he could hear it in the tone. "Then we will decide the story history tells about you."
---
Xie Lan's hand rested lightly on the hilt of the Lunar Bone Sabre.
"I prefer to write my own stories," he said.
For the first time, the watcher behind the silk screen moved — a single step forward. Enough for Xie Lan to catch the glint of armor lacquered in bronze, and the faint etching of a horned mask.
The same as the assassin in Huayin.
---
"I'll take your message," Xie Lan said, turning toward the door.
"And you'll think on it?" the figure asked.
He didn't look back. "I'll act on it."
---
When he stepped outside, the rain had deepened.
The servant was gone.
The corridors back to the northern courtyard were empty, save for the feeling of unseen eyes following him all the way to his gate.
Yao Qing was waiting, her hair plastered to her cheek, her eyes sharp.
"Well?" she asked.
He only said, "They've shown their hand."
She nodded once. "Then we'll cut it off."
---