[A Marketplace · Afternoon]
The sun slanted low. The marketplace roared with noise: children chasing one another, vendors shouting, buyers haggling shoulder to shoulder.
Then a single, hoarse cry tore through the bustle.
Night Yi, dressed in coarse cloth and wrapped in a tattered cloak, knelt in the middle of the street. Before him stood a wooden placard, crudely inked with four characters:
"The Wronged Souls of Xiling City."
His voice was ragged, grief and fury barely held in check.
"I am the son of the Lord of Xiling… and I watched my father die beneath a Riftbringer's blade!"
"My mother was burned alive. My little sister died in agony. Thirty thousand citizens—overnight… all buried in fire!"
As the words left him, he threw himself forward, slamming his forehead into the bluestone pavement. A wet crack sounded.
Blood immediately seeped out.
"I do not beg for a city to be restored—only that the world remembers the thirty thousand wronged souls of Xiling!"
"If the Riftbringers can slaughter Xiling today, then tomorrow it will be your home!"
The marketplace fell into a stunned hush—then surged like a wave.
An old woman covered her mouth and sobbed. "Heavens… the child survived!"
A burly man roared, "Avenge Xiling!"
More and more people dropped to their knees, crying and shouting, grief multiplying into rage.
Night Yi lowered his eyes. Inside his sleeve, his fingers made a small, subtle hook.
Deep in the crowd, the men he had planted there instantly raised their voices, thundering the prepared slogans—
"The young lord still lives! Heaven's protection!"
"He lived for Xiling's wronged souls!"
In an instant, the momentum crested. The crowd's emotions were driven to a fever pitch.
A cold smile barely curved at the corner of Night Yi's mouth, swiftly hidden behind tears.
He had used this same method again and again—moving from market to market, repeating the tale of tragedy:
Grief. Blood feud. Wronged souls.
Each time, his reputation swelled.
Each time, the image of "Xiling's orphaned heir" burned deeper into the hearts of the people.
[A Southern Border Village · Night]
Night pressed down. The village lay quiet.
Then, from afar, came frantic shouts—steel clashing, screams, and the sudden bloom of firelight staining the sky red.
Dozens of Riftbringers tore through the village entrance, iron blades in hand, setting homes ablaze as villagers scattered in panic.
Children wailed. Elders fell. The air filled with cries that wouldn't stop.
And then—
Night Yi arrived in black armor, charging in at the head of several dozen "righteous men." His long blade carved the darkness. Firelight caught in his eyes. His voice boomed like a bell.
"Do not harm the people!"
Steel flashed. Several Riftbringers fell at once.
The rest—on cue—feigned chaos, pretending to crumble, then fled in a desperate rout.
The villagers stood frozen for a heartbeat before erupting into shouts.
"It's the young lord of Xiling!"
"Heaven has eyes—He left the heir alive to save us!"
Night Yi stood amid the flames, chest heaving as if he had clawed his way out of a sea of blood. He gripped his blade with both hands, eyes rimmed red. His voice was hoarse yet ringing with conviction—
"I seek no glory, no name!"
"I only wish that this world never sees another night like Xiling!"
"If the Riftbringers dare slaughter your homes—then I, Ling Shuo, will live and die with you!"
Tears streamed down faces. In that moment, the people saw him as a true protector.
Night Yi lowered his gaze, letting a thin, hidden smile form.
Because all of it—
The raid. The rout. The rescue—
Was a performance he had staged, line by line, blade by blade.
[Yao Capital · Court]
Within the Hall of Ten Thousand Scales, cinnabar steps rose high. Ministers lined both sides in strict order.
An imperial censor rushed in, dropped to his knees, and reported breathlessly:
"Reporting to Your Highness the Crown Prince—these past months, several villages along the southern border have been attacked by remnants of the Riftbringers. The people believed they would be slaughtered… yet each time they were spared by one man."
Crown Prince Si Moyan frowned. "One man?"
The censor lifted his head, voice ringing.
"Xiling's young lord—Ling Shuo!"
An uproar rippled through the hall.
A Minister of Works official gasped, "But Xiling was wiped out—its lord's entire clan perished! How could there be a young lord?"
The Minister of War's voice was low, thoughtful. "According to the villagers, he claims he was captured that day and later escaped. He has repelled the Riftbringers repeatedly and gathered righteous men to guard the countryside… Now many towns revere him as 'Xiling's Orphaned Heir' and 'the Hero Who Quells Chaos.'"
The court buzzed—some praising Heaven's mercy, others narrowing their eyes with doubt.
Si Moyan's gaze deepened. He raised a hand, silencing the noise.
"Rumors cannot be trusted."
His tone was cool and careful.
"I want proof. If this man truly is Xiling's young lord, summon him to the capital at once. If he is using a stolen name to deceive the world—then he must be punished severely."
The Left Chancellor stepped forward with measured calm.
"Your Highness, whether true or false, this 'Ling Shuo' has already won the people's hearts. If the court ignores him, public sentiment may tilt toward him instead. Better to summon him early: we may verify the truth and soothe the people."
The hall fell quiet.
Si Moyan's brows drew together. His voice dropped, almost to himself.
"Ling Shuo… a hero? Or… a calamity?"
[Dining Hall]
The air was thick with the scent of hot porridge and rice. Commoners ate and whispered, trying to keep their voices down—yet unable to hide their excitement.
"They say Young Lord Ling didn't die. The Riftbringers captured him, and now he's appeared again in the southern villages!"
"Yes—my old man saw him with his own eyes. Thin as he is, he really looks like the Ling family's eldest son."
"Ah… the Ling clan has suffered too much. If the young lord returns, perhaps he can rebuild their name."
Ling Dang held her bowl—then her fingers stiffened. Her knuckles went pale.
She lifted her head slowly, her gaze locking onto the murmuring people as if the world had narrowed to a single point.
"…Big brother?"
The word was barely audible—yet her chest rose and fell sharply.
Her lips trembled. She gathered every scrap of courage she had, stepped forward, and stopped one of them, voice shaking with urgency.
"Who… who are you talking about? That eldest son—where is he now?"
The villager jolted at her intensity. Seeing her face drained of color and her eyes burning with need, he hurried to answer:
"Miss, it's not something I invented. It came from the workshops. They say Young Lord Ling… is in the capital now. Someone saw him enter the palace with a noble patron."
A boom went off in Ling Dang's chest, as if her whole body had been hollowed out.
The porridge in her bowl quivered and spilled onto the table, but she didn't notice.
"Big brother… he's alive…"
She whispered, dazed. Her eyes burned hot—yet she forced the tears back down with sheer will.
[Yao Capital · Hall of Ten Thousand Scales]
Incense curled from bronze cauldrons. Officials stood in rows.
Crown Prince Si Moyan sat upon the cinnabar steps, expression stern and heavy.
The palace doors swung wide. A young man entered under guard.
He wore rough battle armor. Blood marked one shoulder. His face was lean, his eyes fierce.
He was—
Xiling's Orphaned Heir · Ling Shuo (Night Yi).
The moment he crossed the threshold, he threw himself to the floor with a heavy thud, smashing his forehead against the stone.
His voice was hoarse yet thunderously clear.
"Reporting to Your Highness! I am Ling Shuo, son of Xiling's lord! I witnessed Xiling fall—thirty thousand citizens buried in blood and flame! My parents slaughtered, my little sister's body never found… Only I survived!"
His voice broke. He choked, as if he could barely breathe.
"I do not seek to restore a city! I only beg that the world never sees a second Xiling!"
The hall was dead silent for a beat—then erupted in murmurs.
"How pitiful…"
"Heaven truly spared his life…"
"This youth has saved villages again and again—perhaps he is chosen by Heaven…"
The Crown Prince's brow tightened. His voice sank.
"I ask you—Young Lord Ling. It is said you repelled Riftbringer remnants repeatedly in the south. Is this true?"
Night Yi lifted his head. His eyes blazed.
"Yes! If they dare butcher villages, I go with righteous men to save them. I cannot bear to see innocents bleed. If my life is not taken, then I will protect!"
Many officials nodded; some were visibly moved, eyes shining.
Night Yi finished and remained prostrate—lonely, tragic, heroic.
—He acted it to the bone, stamping the grief of "Xiling's orphan" and the image of "hero who brings peace" into the ministers' minds.
Si Moyan studied him for a long moment, then spoke at last.
"If Young Lord Ling can soothe the people, the court must take him seriously. You will remain in the capital for now, awaiting further decision."
The hall immediately exploded.
A Vice Minister of Revenue stepped out first, voice solemn.
"Xiling was but one city, yet thirty thousand perished. A single orphan bears that weight—his loyalty and grief are undeniable. If such a man is not placed in an official guest lodge, how can we calm the people's hearts?"
A deputy from the Ministry of War snapped back coldly.
"Xiling fell in battle. We cannot accept one-sided words. If he is an impostor—or worse, connected to the Riftbringers—then housing him lightly may invite catastrophe!"
Debate burst across the hall:
Some demanded he be honored publicly, to show the court's benevolence and offer visible protection.
Others demanded harsh interrogation, refusing to be fooled by chaos-era opportunists.
At last, all eyes turned to the Crown Prince.
Si Moyan's expression was steady. His gaze swept the hall. His voice was gentle—yet carried unquestionable authority.
"Xiling is destroyed. The heir stands alone. If we treat him as a prisoner, will the world not grow cold?"
"Can I, as Crown Prince, watch the orphan of martyrs wander the streets?"
Silence fell.
Then Si Moyan paused, and the temperature of his eyes sharpened—cold light flashing through.
"However—loyalty cannot be borrowed. I have already ordered the Shadow Guards to investigate Xiling's former territory. If his words are false, I will personally demand his罪."
He struck the decision like a hammer.
"He will be housed temporarily at the guest lodge, with generous provisions. The people may visit. But every move he makes must be reported in secret."
The ministers answered in unison:
"We obey Your Highness's decree!"
"Your Highness is wise!"
Sunlight poured in from outside the hall, cutting across Night Yi's face—half lit, half shadowed, his expression unreadable.
He bowed low to thank the Crown Prince.
Yet beneath the shadow, at the corner of his lips, a cold smile quietly appeared.
—He had entered the game.
—And the board was already his.