Three nights later, Three Bridges Court woke like a theater. Lanterns in silk skins turned the river to molten bronze; pavilions unfurled like petals; the crowd pressed in with the appetite of wolves and the cheer of festival-goers. It smelled of spiced wine, oiled wood, and the particular tension that only comes when beauty and violence agree to share a stage.
The Jade River Pavilion had done its work well. The platform was round and a little too small, with low railings: enough room to fight, too little to run. On the far side, Azure Sky's juniors formed a blue-collared knot, cold eyes glittering. Clean Water Hall lounged in gray, laughing without showing any teeth. Merchants, minor nobles, and masked thrill-seekers filled the rest, betting in murmurs that slid along the water like eels.
"Remember," Shen Zhen said quietly, checking the Eclipse Void Brotherhood's placements, "we're here to win eyes, not count bodies."
Fatty Jin's mask was a painted grin that looked uncomfortably like his real one. "I brought snacks and eight lies."
"Use only three," Ling Yue said, tightening Mei's wrist wrap. Mei's mask was plain cloth; her eyes were not. The twins wore half-masks—left and right—so together they made a face if they stood close, a trick they used shamelessly.
Yuan Po had no mask. He stood behind them like a forgotten milestone—easy to miss until you tripped.
A herald in river green stepped forward, voice smooth. "Tonight's trials are simple. Four rounds. First, endurance: remain on the platform when it moves. Second, control: disarm without maiming. Third, insight: read the hidden rule. Final, supremacy: last team standing. Winners receive patronage and passage: a mark of legitimacy in polite districts."
Jin whispered, "Polite districts have better soup."
"Focus," Shen Zhen murmured.
Round One began with a tremor. The platform shifted—as if a dragon turned under it—tilting left, then right. Half the rookies stumbled; three fell, swallowed by cushions and jeers. Water jetted in arcs to slick the boards. In the chaos, plants beneath the stage exhaled a pollen-fog that made focus swim.
"Belly," Shen Zhen said. "Bow. Tongue."
They breathed as taught, feet low, weight soft. Where others scrambled, they flowed. Tie Hu caught a falling boy by the collar and flung him back onto the deck without looking heroic about it. Mei anchored two steps with her needle's thread, invisible to anyone not staring at her hands. The twins moved like a hinge; Ling Yue was a line that never wavered.
A masked fighter in blue chose the chaos to slash low at Shen Zhen's ankles. The black mark surged to eat the surprise; the golden seal warmed—warning. Shen Zhen lifted just enough, let the blade skim air, and tapped the attacker's wrist with the bone shard's lesson—hurt without harm. The blade clattered away; the fighter skidded, caught the rail, saved himself, and glared murder through silk. The crowd loved it.
Round Two: disarm without maim. Pairs formed. Judges watched with bored cruelty. Azure Sky's juniors made art of humiliation—slicing belts, dropping men's pants, knotting sashes into traps that made veterans look like apprentices. Clean Water Hall turned disarms into receipts, leaving people owing them somehow.
Eclipse Void adapted. Ling Yue turned a spear aside and tied it to its owner's dignity. Mei plucked a dagger from a sleeve, stitched the sleeve to its own hem, and patted the man's cheek before he realized he'd hugged himself. The twins pinballed a cudgel between them until its owner chased and tripped over his own feet. Jin "accidentally" fed a judge a candied plum and got an extra heartbeat to twist a wrist. Shen Zhen disarmed with hands that asked first—take grip, breathe, let go—and only when pride insisted did he apply the lesson of the bone shard.
By the end of Round Two, the crowd had learned their seals and the bookies began to adjust odds.
Round Three: insight. The herald smiled in a way that promised blood without mess. "Rule is hidden," he said. The platform rocked again, then stilled. Fighters circled, stalled.
"Eyes," Yuan Po said from the rail, not to them, but enough.
Shen Zhen knelt and touched the deck. The hair on his arm lifted. "The platform judges balance," he said, soft. "Not feet. Weight. Weight of intent."
He stood and moved right. The deck tilted left. He smiled. "It hears hunger."
"Then lie to it," Ling Yue said, and they did. The twins acted greed, leaping like dogs at thrown meat; the platform tipped away from them and dumped three overeager opponents who'd chased. Jin pretended cowardice so convincingly that the deck rolled toward men trying to crush him, and they slid off in a tangle. Mei stepped small and thought of needlework and ordinary soup; the board smoothed for her and bucked men thinking of glory. Shen Zhen thought of breath and brothers, not victory; the platform gave him a level field and punished a masked blue fighter whose qi spiked with kill-intent.
The herald's eyebrows climbed above his mask. "Eclipse Void advances."
Final Round: supremacy. The field narrowed: two Azure Sky pairs, one Clean Water pair, one Jade River pair wearing theatre-serene masks, and Eclipse Void. Rules simplified: last team on the deck wins. The railings lowered to knee-height—enough to tempt, not enough to save.
Before the gong, a new masked fighter stepped onto the platform. Not on any list. The Jade River hostess didn't stop him. The crowd's murmur sharpened.
He wore plain gray. No sect marks. No ostentation. Just a sleeve brushed with a faint scent—heaven-branch incense—and a patience that felt like a trap. He turned his head and found Shen Zhen immediately in the crowd of bodies, as if guided by a memory neither of them owned.
"Devil," he said conversationally, voice under a mask that let sound slip like a knife through silk. "Orphan."
Shen Zhen's breath hitched. The pond under the storm wrinkled. The seal warmed, urgent: Not this.
The man's head tipped. He stepped closer in the crush. "Your mother," he said, and spoke a name Shen Zhen had not allowed himself to recall out loud. Said it with care. With familiarity. With a cruelties' smile buried under sameness.
The reverse scale reared like a dragon, ice exploding into steam. Shen Zhen tasted iron. The black mark opened like a mouth.
Ling Yue's hand closed on his wrist so hard his bones remembered her before his rage did. "Breathe," she said, voice a blade against his throat that would cut if he didn't obey.
He breathed. Belly. Bow. Tongue. The seal pressed down like a father's palm. The mark shuddered, snarling, and then watched through his eyes.
"Later," Shen Zhen told the dragon. "We choose the cliff, not fall from it."
The gong rang like a head striking stone.
Chaos compressed. The platform twitched, listening for intent. Azure Sky's pair came hard, efficient, aiming for clean ring-outs to avoid scandal. Clean Water flowed and trapped, trying to turn the field into debt. Jade River danced, subtracting opponents with grace.
Shen Zhen's world tightened to the gray-mask. The man's footwork was not Azure Sky's school. It was something older, meaner—knife-fighter in a nice coat. He never overreached. He never chased. He always turned his opponent's breath against them, the platform tipping to punish whoever wanted more.
"Discipline," Yuan Po's voice reached through noise as if they had trained for this line. "He is a mirror. Don't pose."
Shen Zhen stopped trying to hit him. He breathed until the hand wanted to eat stopped wanting. He made space enough for Ling Yue to break an Azure Sky hold with her forearm and Mei to bind a Clean Water ankle with thread and a laugh. Jin got knocked half-over the rail and turned the fall into a soup-seller's wail that distracted two men long enough for the twins to pinball them into cushions. The crowd howled as odds flipped.
Gray-mask watched. Waited. Spoke, low. "He said the same to me."
"Who?" Shen Zhen asked before the seal could close his mouth for him.
"The man with your jaw," gray said. "He told me not to fall. Then he fell first."
The world tried very hard to turn red. Shen Zhen's vision pin-pricked, then widened again as breath found him. The platform bucked—not at him, but at gray, as if his words weighed more than fists. Shen Zhen stepped left, let gray step into where he had been, then breathed out in a way the platform liked and the deck dropped a thumb's width. Gray had to shift; Ling Yue stole his timing; Mei looped his wrist; the twins shortened space.
He cut free with a neat twist and laughed into his mask. "Good. You learned to share."
They moved. They broke an Azure Sky pair. They unbalanced Clean Water. Jade River lost a man with a gasp and a bow as if rehearsal dictated grace. The fight narrowed to Shen Zhen's four and gray and one Azure Sky junior who should have quit and didn't.
Gray spoke again, words for Shen Zhen alone. "If you win this stage, the next one has teeth. Bring better names."
"Bring your own," Shen Zhen said.
Gray's shoulders hit a breath he hadn't planned. He stepped—and the platform read his intent as a stumble. Shen Zhen guided it with a breath's push. Gray slid, caught the rail, bowed a fraction in acknowledgment, and let go on purpose. He disappeared into cushions without grace and with a promise.
Gong. Silence that wasn't. Then the court erupted.
"Winners," the herald intoned, "Eclipse Void Brotherhood."
Masks dipped; coins changed hands; reputations shifted like sand hit by a wave. Jade River's hostess smiled with her eyes and mouthed, later. Clean Water's woman drew a finger across her throat, then made a tiny heart with the same hand as if to confuse curses. Azure Sky's juniors filed out, faces polite with rage.
Shen Zhen stood very straight. He should have felt triumph. He felt the reverse scale panting, kept on a leash; the mark watching, hungry but learning; the seal warm and tired like a lantern burning good oil.
Ling Yue touched his shoulder. "Eyes, not bodies. You did it."
Jin hopped. "And soup!"
Mei tugged his sleeve. "He knew a name he shouldn't."
"I know," Shen Zhen said.
"Who was he?" Tie Hu asked.
"A mirror," Yuan Po said. "And mirrors don't show their own faces."