As Mùyě (牧野) reached the palace gates, the sun was setting. His horse, spent and caked in the dust of the northern roads, breathed with a heavy, ragged wheeze. He surrendered the reins to the stable lad, yet before he could shake the weariness of the journey from his bones, terrified shrieks from the far end of the royal stables broke the silence.
A young guard, his face ashen and his heart thundering in his chest, ran towards him.
"Officer! Thank the gods you are here. Yè Yá (夜牙) has turned savage once more! He has a guard's hand in his maw and will not let go!"
Without a second thought, Mùyě dashed after him. The scene he encountered was harrowing. Behind thick wooden bars, that colossal black wolf—his eyes gleaming like two stoked coals in the gloom of the cage—clutched the bloodied hand of a middle-aged man between his teeth. With a feral snarl, the beast thrashed his head from side to side, seeking to tear the flesh asunder. The man, his features twisted in agony, cried out,
"Help!... I beg of you... save me!"
With the icy composure of a seasoned warrior, Mùyě commanded,
"Bring Yè Yá's feed and a bucket of cold water, at once!"
He then turned to the man and barked,
"Be still! Do not struggle, and for pity's sake, do not pull back!"
Using the butt of his steel scabbard, Mùyě delivered precise strikes to the sensitive bridge of the wolf's snout, whilst signalling the others to strike the opposite side of the cage to break the predator's focus. As the scent of fresh meat filled the air and the rhythmic blows continued, the wolf's instincts finally shifted. Yè Yá released the man with a sudden lunge, hurling himself towards the new prey.
The guard collapsed to the ground; his hand was drenched in blood to the wrist, the puncture marks reaching the very bone. Trembling with shock, he wiped his tears with a tattered sleeve.
"I have a wife and children... I am a poor man. If this hand is lost, how shall I feed them?"
Mùyě, his gaze a blend of pity and resolve, placed the bucket before him.
"Wash your hand. Fret not, it shall heal. I shall speak with the Master of the Stables to ensure you are given lighter duties for now."
He bound the wound with a clean cloth, clapped the man on the shoulder, and said, "Stay strong."
Then, with rapid strides, he made for Hēiláng (黑狼)'s quarters; he bore a message that could no longer tarry in his hands.
At the entrance, he composed himself and requested leave to enter. The room was shrouded in semi-darkness.
Hēiláng sat behind his simple wooden desk—a spartan piece of furniture adorned only with a few silk scrolls and a delicate calligraphy brush. Without lifting his eyes from the scroll before him, he spoke in a frost-tipped voice:
"You are late!"
Mùyě bowed.
"Your Highness, I crave your pardon. An untoward incident occurred in the royal stables. Yè Yá is beyond all restraint now. Since your grandfather's passing, he shows favour to no one. Had I not arrived, he would have shredded a guard's hand and..."
Hēiláng suddenly looked up, cutting him short.
"Do you wish to finish?"
Mùyě knew the weight of that predatory gaze. Shamed, he lowered his head.
"Yes, Your Highness... my apologies."
"What transpired in Hǎilán (海蓝)?" Hēiláng demanded.
Mùyě snapped back into his military bearing.
"I delivered the letter to His Excellency Liángwáng (良王). He stated that he shall halt the rebels at Sōng Lǐng (松岭) until reinforcements arrive."
Without delay, Hēiláng unfurled his silk map. His fingers glided over the mountain ridges until he found that position.
"A shrewd choice; it is quite far enough from Hǎilán."
He then fixed his eyes directly on Mùyě. "How long do you reckon it shall take us to reach it?"
"A day, likely, Your Highness," Mùyě replied.
Hēiláng leaned back in his chair, and after a brief silence, asked,
"How many are stationed there?"
"One hundred elite troops and twelve cavalrymen, in addition to the local levies."
Hēiláng nodded. "Good. That shall suffice… You may go and take your rest."
Mùyě hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. Hēiláng asked,
"Is there something else?"
"No, Your Highness ..." Mùyě murmured, turning for the exit. But before he crossed the threshold, Hēiláng's voice arrested him.
"Stay a moment..." A heavy silence filled the room.
"Did you... see Lady Hàn Yuè (汉月)?"
Mùyě turned back. "I did." He paused, then ventured,
"Forgive my impudence, but... I do not believe it was right to send her no word."
Hēiláng, his face an unreadable mask, asked :
"Did she speak of this?"
"She asked whether you intended to visit, given that you sent no letter. I told her I had received no instructions regarding the matter."
Hēiláng took a deep breath and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Once the sound of Mùyě's footsteps had faded, he slowly rolled up the map. In the absolute stillness, a peculiar smile—one reserved only for himself—touched his lips. He whispered under his breath:
"You know me far too well, my darling!"