The rainy season came early to Mount Liang.
Thick mists veiled the slopes like mourning veils, and the trees dripped with silence. Beneath the shelter of a craggy outcrop, Princess Lianhua knelt in the mud, her palms flat against the earth, steadying her breath.
Wuchen stood behind her, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Again," he ordered.
Lianhua rose, drew her blade, and lunged at the straw target. This time, her swing was clean—fast, calculated. The wooden frame cracked and collapsed. Her breathing came in shallow bursts, but her grip remained tight.
She turned to face him.
"Good," Wuchen said. "Now you understand: anger is a sword with two edges. Control it—or it cuts both ways."
Lianhua wiped sweat from her brow. "Anger keeps me alive."
"Control keeps you in command."
They stared at each other for a beat too long.
Wuchen broke it first. "Your people are gathering. Word spreads. They say the dragon's daughter walks again."
❖ ❖ ❖
By the following moon, a band of loyalists arrived at the village—a dozen riders from the southern garrison, a pair of exiled scholars, even a thief who once served as the palace's informant. All had lost something to Minister Jiafei: homes, family, dignity.
They pledged fealty to Lianhua not out of obligation, but hope.
In the candlelit depths of Madam Song's home, Lianhua stood before them, armor still mismatched, hair bound high with a strip of black cloth.
"I am no longer the princess you once knew," she began. "The empire you remember is dead. We will not resurrect it as it was—we will rebuild it as it should be."
The room held its breath.
"No more blood for noble names. No more silence under tyranny. From this night forward, we fight not for a throne, but for justice."
Wuchen stepped forward, drawing his sword. He sank to one knee.
"For the phoenix who rises from the ashes," he said.
One by one, the others knelt.
Lianhua took a single breath.
And the rebellion was born.
❖ ❖ ❖
Far away, in the capital of Fengjing, Minister Jiafei drank wine laced with crushed pearl and stared into his lacquered mirror.
"Where is she now?" he asked the shadow behind him.
The assassin—draped in grey silks, with a blade hidden in her boot—answered with a soft smile.
"She trains. She gathers followers. And she is no longer a child."
Jiafei's mouth twisted into a grin.
"Then send her a message. One she won't ignore."
❖ ❖ ❖
At dawn, the fires came.
Madam Song's village—once quiet, nestled in cherry blossoms—was torn by screams. Soldiers in black armor descended like carrion crows, bearing the sigil of the new regime.
Lianhua awoke to the sound of steel.
Wuchen dragged her from her bed and shoved a sword into her hands. "No more training. This is real."
She fought through smoke, cut through men twice her size, and found herself face to face with a captain—eyes blank, lips smiling.
"We were told to kill you first, Princess."
She bared her teeth. "Then your orders were foolish."
Her blade found his throat.
When the sun rose again, the village smoldered. Half the homes lay in ruins. Madam Song was dead—killed while shielding a child. Lianhua knelt beside her body, trembling, her bloodstained hands curled into fists.
"This is the cost," Wuchen said beside her.
"I know," she whispered. "And I will make them pay."