In the heart of the Liang Kingdom's western province, nestled between rice terraces and mist-shrouded mountains, the Xu family compound stood peacefully under the pale silver of moonlight. Xu Wenyan, the son of a humble official and an ex-military cultivator, had always lived far from the political power of the capital. Yet tonight, the serenity of his home was about to shatter.
Wenyan, tall and sharp-eyed even in the dark, paced silently through the training courtyard. The summer night was warm, but the air carried a strange chill that made his senses prickle. Something wasn't right. He had felt it all day—the weight in the air, the odd behavior of the guards, the silence of the forest.
He glanced toward the family house, where warm lantern light spilled from the windows. Inside, his parents and younger siblings were likely finishing supper. They had always been warm, always kind. He was grateful for them. He hadn't always had memories of this place, but what little he remembered, he cherished.
But tonight, his instincts screamed danger.
He turned toward the gate just as a whistle split the air. A flash of silver. A dart shot toward him. He dodged.
"Assassins!" he barked, unsheathing his blade in one clean motion.
Figures dressed in black leapt from the rooftops. Three, no—four of them. Silent, deadly. They came from every direction, moving with terrifying precision.
Wenyan met them head-on, blade singing through the air. Sparks flew as steel clashed. He parried a strike to the heart and pivoted, slashing through the attacker's thigh. Another came from behind, but he ducked low, sweeping his leg out and sending the man crashing into the cobbled stones.
Just as the third assassin lunged at him, something strange happened.
A blur of black swept in from the shadows. The assassin's dagger never landed—instead, he was kicked aside by a masked stranger, dressed in dark robes, face covered, moving with speed and grace beyond any common warrior.
Wenyan paused mid-swing, instinct flaring. He narrowed his eyes. That stance, that movement—it was martial arts, but refined. Deliberate. Noble.
And yet... it was a woman.
He couldn't explain how he knew. Her presence gave her away—fluid, powerful, but lighter than a man's gait. She didn't speak as she fought, only moved like the wind: precise, elegant, deadly.
They fought side by side in silence. Blade, dagger, fist, shadow. When the last of the assassins fled into the night, leaving only the scent of blood and rust behind, Wenyan turned to her.
"Who are you?" he asked, panting slightly.
The masked figure didn't answer. She simply turned her face slightly toward the moonlight and started to leave.
But he reached out, gently grabbing her wrist. "I know what you are. You're not some wandering swordsman. And you're definitely not a man."
The masked girl stilled. Then slowly, she pulled her wrist free.
Wenyan's gaze didn't leave her for a moment. Something stirred inside him, something unfamiliar yet hauntingly real.
"Why help me?" he asked.
She didn't speak. She only turned her head slightly, voice low and clear beneath the mask. "Because you shouldn't have died tonight."
And then, like smoke, she vanished.
---
In the imperial capital, the Crown Princess Qin Yelan stood before her mirror, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as her attendants helped her undress from her male disguise. Her robe, black and plain, bore a tear on the sleeve where a blade had nearly cut through. Her heart still raced.
"You were gone too long, Your Highness," one of her maids whispered nervously.
Yelan didn't answer immediately. She looked down at her hand, the one he had held.
That boy... No, that man. There was something strange about him. His presence was warm yet sharp, like a fire hidden beneath ash. And those eyes... they had looked at her like he knew her. Not just as the person she was tonight, but deeper.
She turned away from the mirror.
"No one must know," she said calmly. "Not about tonight. Not about him."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Qin Yelan stepped to the window and gazed out at the night sky. The stars shimmered above the city like fireflies. A breeze swept through the curtains, brushing her face.
For the first time in years, something inside her stirred. Something she thought she had locked away long ago.
Memories she didn't remember having.
Faces she didn't recognize.
And the name...
Xuanming.
She touched her temple as a dull ache passed through her head. Just for a moment. But enough to leave her breathless.
"No," she whispered to herself. "I buried that name long ago."
---
Back in the Xu family home, Wenyan sat alone in his room, a shallow cut on his arm bandaged roughly. The moon was high now, casting pale light on his desk.
He couldn't sleep.
He kept seeing her.
The masked warrior.
And something about her face...
Something about her felt like a missing piece.
A name clawed at the edges of his mind, whispering like a forgotten song.
"Yelan," he said quietly.
He didn't know why he said it. He didn't even know where the name came from.
But when he closed his eyes, he saw her standing in the moonlight, face half-covered, eyes fierce yet soft.
And something ancient inside him... cracked.
He didn't know it yet, but his past had just started bleeding into his present.
And nothing would ever be the same again.