The tournament ended with the usual rituals—judges scrawling notes, elders trading polite words sharp enough to cut cloth, sect disciples bowing stiffly as if their spines were swords. I bowed, smiled the required smile, and counted each breath until I could leave.
But Lotus Hall did not release me. Not yet.
When dusk thickened, the elders sent us through Lantern Alley—the long strip of stalls and bridges strung with crimson lights, where sect disciples mingled with peddlers and gamblers, and merchants from Kang Clan laid their silks like snares. It was meant as diplomacy. For me, it was a cage.
The crowd jostled. Perfume and frying oil tangled with the sharp scent of lamp oil. Every lantern looked like an eye.
I felt it before I saw it… an off-rhythm in the crowd's pulse, a tug in my chest where the hairpin hummed faintly. Someone was following me.
Then the strike came.
A glint from the rooftop—dart, not arrow. I moved on reflex, Lotus Mirror Hand unfurling. The dart kissed my palm, spun into the ground, hissing with venom that burned stone black.
Gasps. The crowd scattered. Red silk flashed.
The assassin was masked, clad in Vermilion style, fluid sleeves concealing blades. The Red Courier.
Their second strike snapped toward me like lightning. It is too fast, just then another presence slid into rhythm beside mine.
Ge Ji Ming.
He came from the opposite side of the alley, sabers drawn, feet splitting into Heaven-Stride afterimages that tangled the assassin's path. For a heartbeat, his qi brushed mine again. The resonance struck like a gong inside my chest.
I inhaled. He exhaled. The world blurred into harmony.
Our movements overlapped, my Silver Thread Needle launching as his blade curved, both strikes weaving into a spiral of moonlight and steel. The assassin recoiled, cloak torn, lanterns above us shattering from the clash of qi.
Gasps turned into silence. Only the hiss of burning silk filled the alley.
The Red Courier melted back into the crowd, vanishing as quickly as they'd appeared.
I staggered one step, cutting the resonance short. My pulse screamed. Ji Ming steadied me with a hand against my wrist, not too tight, not too familiar, but enough to betray he had felt it too.
"Twice now," he said under his breath, eyes never leaving mine. His voice was raw, lower than before. "Once is chance. Twice is fate."
I should have pulled away. Instead, I asked, "Do you want it?"
His jaw tightened. "Wanting isn't the same as surviving."
We both turned then, too late. Across the alley, watching from the balcony of a tea pavilion, Kang Ya Zhen lowered her fan. Her expression was serene, but her gaze lingered on Ji Ming's hand against mine, and I knew: she had seen everything.
Lantern Alley was still glowing red, but suddenly it felt like a warning fire.