"Power built on silence burns the loudest when it falls." — said by Han Yu
The city woke to rumors.
Not to bells, not to horns—those came later. But by then, it was too late.
By dawn, five separate barracks reported missing patrols. At the north gate, a guardsman was found stripped of uniform, unconscious and tied beneath a supply cart. At the southern watchtower, a signal mirror had been shattered and replaced with a crudely scratched phoenix.
And deep in the records hall, a ledger was stolen. Not burned. Not destroyed. Stolen.
Han Yu's fist slammed against the polished oak table, scattering scrolls and maps.
"Find them," he hissed to his captains, face pale with fury. "I want bodies. I don't care whose."
The officers didn't meet his eyes. Even the most loyal among them knew—this wasn't rebellion anymore. This was infiltration. Precise. Surgical. Patient. And it came from the inside.
In the hills east of Longchuan, Huai Shan stood barefoot on cracked stone, letting the morning sun touch his face.
The hideout was an old shepherd's retreat, hidden between folds of mist-covered rock. Mei Xuan stood nearby, wrapping fresh bandages around her wrists. Xu Liang sharpened blades in the background, humming softly under his breath.
Huai's body still ached with every breath, but something in him had clicked back into place. Not just resolve.
Vision.
"Did you read the ledger?" Mei asked, stepping closer.
Huai nodded. "Names. Payments. Supply routes. Whole districts loyal to Han Yu through coin, not faith."
"And the Phoenix?" she asked.
"Not gone," he said. "Just quiet. Waiting."
He turned to the others, voice steady. "We don't strike the walls anymore. We strike the roots."
Back in Longchuan, the palace murmured.
Not with rebellion—but with fear.
Officials closed their doors tighter. Servants whispered about the phoenix mark. A captain of the outer guard defected before noon, slipping out with maps of the inner court. He left only a single note behind:
"I no longer serve cowards."
Han Yu ordered his execution in absentia.
Nightfall.
In a cellar below a tavern long thought abandoned, Huai Shan addressed his old lieutenants—those who had survived, those who had hidden, and those who had simply waited.
He unrolled the stolen ledger across a dusty table.
"Each line here," he said, "is a foundation stone of Han Yu's rule. Corrupt merchants. Bought soldiers. False oaths. We break these one by one—not with war, but with truth."
One of the lieutenants—a woman with only three fingers on her left hand—leaned forward. "You want to turn the people?"
Huai nodded. "They don't have to fight. They only need to stop fearing him."
"And if they fear us instead?"
"Then we've already lost."
Mei Xuan looked at him. "So we strike in silence. But this time, we leave echoes."
Huai smiled faintly.
"Loud ones."
Back in the city, as midnight came, five fires lit the sky—one in each quarter. But not destruction.
Each fire revealed hidden truth:A warehouse filled with stolen rice meant for starving families.A ledger of false taxes.Letters from Han Yu to foreign mercenaries.Confessions. Bribes. Secrets.
All real. All undeniable.
The city no longer buzzed with rumors.
It seethed with something new.
Awakening.