Fog slapped Shen Jin in the face like wet cloth.
He landed on slick stone, shoulder-first, then rolled to bleed off the impact. Behind him, the window frame splintered as a halberd butt slammed into it. Shouts knifed through the night—orders, curses, boots on steps.
"North alley! He went north!"
Shen Jin didn't argue with their guess. He ran south.
Yao City's backstreets were a maze of docks, drainage channels, and old brick walls that remembered riots. The fog turned corners into traps; every lamp became a phantom sun, every shadow a hiding place for a blade. Shen Jin kept his mouth closed and his breathing low, counting steps the way he counted coin.
Seven turns. Down three stairs. Left at the broken shrine.
He slid behind a stack of salt-crates and pressed his back to the wood. The Broken Ring Key burned against his forearm through cloth, heat pulsing in time with his heartbeat—like it was listening.
Don't be stupid, he told himself. Don't test it. Not here.
A pair of enforcers sprinted past the alley mouth, their armor scraping brick. Shen Jin waited until the sound thinned, then pulled the thin water-film from his pocket again. With two fingers he smeared it across his palm, then touched the nearest salt-crate.
Nothing.
He exhaled—half relief, half frustration. Whatever the Key had done in the auction hall, it wasn't a trick you could fire at will. Or maybe it was, and he just didn't know the price yet.
A low whistle sounded from deeper in the alley. Not the shrill kind a drunk used to call a friend—this was a signal.
Shen Jin's hand went to the copper pin in his sleeve.
"Easy," a voice said. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be on the ground."
A figure stepped out of the fog as if it belonged to him.
Gu Xingzhou. Broad shoulders, close-cropped hair, the kind of face that looked carved out of stubbornness. He wore a simple coat with no insignia, but the way he moved said soldier—one who'd quit taking orders before the world finished trying to give them.
"You're late," Shen Jin said.
"Still alive, aren't you?" Gu's eyes flicked to Shen Jin's sleeve. "You have it."
Shen Jin didn't answer. Silence was a currency too.
Gu snorted. "The Court's sealing the whole district. The Guild paid extra for 'unbroken limbs.' That means they want you breathing."
"Great," Shen Jin said. "I'm popular."
Footsteps, closer this time. Lantern glow smeared across fog.
Gu Xingzhou grabbed Shen Jin by the elbow and hauled him upright. "Move. You can interrogate the universe later."
They ran.
Not along streets—along the seams between streets. Gu led him through a collapsed fish-market, over a railing slick with algae, and into a drainage corridor that stank of river rot. The air grew colder. Their footsteps echoed like they were running inside a throat.
"Where are we going?" Shen Jin asked.
"Somewhere the Court can't bring halberds," Gu said. "And where the Guild won't risk lighting fires."
The corridor opened into an old maintenance chamber. Rusted gears. Broken sluice valves. A cracked mural on the wall that showed a ring of stars.
Gu Xingzhou shoved a metal grate aside and gestured. "Down."
Shen Jin hesitated for a fraction of a second—then climbed. The ladder rungs were damp and unforgiving. He dropped into a narrow crawlspace and felt the city's weight press above him.
When Gu followed, he pulled the grate back into place, then reached into his coat and produced a folded paper.
A warrant.
Not the pretty ceremonial kind. This one was raw—ink still fresh, corners not even trimmed. It bore the Yao Court seal and, beneath it, Shen Jin's name in hard strokes.
"Already?" Shen Jin said, the word tasting like iron. "That was fast."
"They wrote it before the curtain went up," Gu said. "All they did tonight was find a place to staple it to you."
Shen Jin's jaw tightened. "And the Guild?"
"They're smiling," Gu said. "This is good for business. Fear is always good for business."
Above them, the muffled roar of a crowd. Doors. Steel on stone. Someone shouting Shen Jin's description like a prayer.
Shen Jin stared at the warrant, then at his own sleeve.
The Broken Ring Key was hot enough now to sting.
He pulled it out.
Even in the crawlspace's dimness, the black-gold shard looked wrong—too clean, too certain. Its ring-etching seemed to shift when he didn't look directly at it, like a thought trying not to be caught.
Gu Xingzhou's eyes narrowed. "What is it really?"
"A door," Shen Jin said. "Or a lockpick. Either way, someone thinks it opens something worth killing for."
Gu breathed out slowly. "Your father."
Shen Jin's throat tightened at the name. "He said—if I ever wanted to find him, I'd need to enter the Nine-Ring Road."
Gu didn't laugh. That was the first sign he believed it.
"You want to run into a myth to escape a warrant," Gu said. "I always knew you were reckless."
"I'm not escaping," Shen Jin said. "I'm changing the board."
Gu held his gaze for a beat, then nodded once, like sealing a deal. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it right."
He reached into his coat again and pulled out a small leather pouch. It hit Shen Jin's palm with the weight of metal.
Ring Marks.
Shen Jin's brows rose. "Where did you—"
"I knew you'd chase a lead in that hall," Gu said. "So I chased mine. You weren't the only one who learned how to survive."
Shen Jin didn't thank him. He just closed his fingers around the pouch until the edges dug into skin.
"First," Gu said, "we get out of the city. Second, we get eyes—someone who can see pursuit before it bites. Third, we get wards. Because if the Road is real… the Road has rules."
Shen Jin looked down at the Broken Ring Key again. The scar in his palm tingled, as if the metal recognized the plan.
Outside, the city hunted his name.
Inside his sleeve, the Key burned like a promise.
"Alright," Shen Jin said softly. "Let's build a crew."