The morning sun shone brightly over the city of Límíng. Birds chirped joyfully from the distant treetops, their melodies carried gently by the breeze. The light was warm, not yet harsh, casting a golden glow upon the waking city.
Even at this early hour, the streets were alive. Merchants busied themselves setting up stalls, their goods laid out with care and purpose. Cartwheels clattered over pebbled roads, and the occasional neigh of horses echoed through the alleys. The palace, towering in the distance, gleamed under the sunlight — its jade-tiled rooftops sparkling like precious stones.
Within the palace grounds, Bǎihé slid open the wooden door of her chamber. She stepped outside and inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp spring air.
Today will be a good day, she thought, smiling to herself.
Her courtyard was bathed in sunlight. Blossoms danced gently in the breeze, her little pond shimmered like glass, and the leaves of the plum trees rustled as if singing to the morning. Everything glistened with the beauty of spring.
Bǎihé beamed with pride, admiring the harmony she had cultivated. But before she could take another step, a low rumble stirred beneath her feet. It began faintly—then surged, violent and fast. The ground trembled. Bǎihé stumbled and fell hard, pain shooting through her head. A sharp ringing pierced her ears as her vision blurred into whiteness.
Then... silence.
⸻
The ringing faded. Slowly, she stood, disoriented.
She was no longer in her courtyard.
All around her lay a vast field of flattened grass and broken sunflowers, stained in blood. The stench of iron filled the air. A breeze swept across the land, whispering of death.
She looked down — her body now clad in heavy armor marked with the crest of Lí Míng. Her hands were bloodied, a deep cut slicing across her palm. This was no ordinary wound. It was the work of a blade.
Her heart pounded. Her mind spun.
What happened?
She turned slowly, taking in the full horror: soldiers littered the field, many dead, others groaning in agony. Most of the fallen bore the armor of her palace guards.
This was a battlefield. And Lí Míng... was losing.
"Bǎihé!" a voice shouted.
She turned to see a man sprinting toward her, blood on his armor and sword. His long dark hair flowed behind him, with a few strands braided tightly. His face was fierce, his brown eyes filled with concern and familiarity.
Why does he know my name? she wondered. And so informally?
"Are you hurt?" he asked, breathless.
She blinked at him. The armor he wore... it was different. Not from Lí Míng. An enemy? Or an ally?
"Do you want to return to the tent?" he asked again, stepping closer.
"No... I'm okay," Bǎihé replied quickly, the words escaping her before she could think. "What about the city walls around the East River? Are the barriers still holding?"
She froze. What barriers? she thought, confused. She hadn't meant to say that. The words felt like someone else had spoken them, her body acting on knowledge her mind didn't remember.
"The west bridge is still secure," the man said. "There's little chance they'll reach the gates."
She managed a small smile — but then noticed a large gash on his lower back, his tunic torn and soaked in blood.
"Is that your blood?" she asked, stepping forward.
"It's nothing," he said. "Just a cut."
"From a blade," she countered. "You need treatment, now."
She grabbed his hand. His warmth startled her.
From the hill, the clash of swords rang through the air again, joined by distant cries of pain — sounds she somehow hadn't noticed until now.
"I'm fine," he said with a soft smile.
She nodded, reassured. Something about his gaze was familiar... She knew she could trust him.
But then her eyes swept the field again. So many dead — mostly Lí Míng soldiers.
Who are we fighting?
"Are we going to win?" she asked quietly, eyes still searching the horizon.
Then the ground trembled once more. Her knees gave way, and her vision spun.
⸻
When her senses returned, she stood in another part of the battlefield. The man was gone.
An arrow was already in her hands, drawn back, aimed with precision. Her fingers released it — and it flew straight into the skull of an enemy soldier.
She gasped.
When did I learn to shoot like that?
She scanned the field frantically until she found him again — just feet away, locked in combat with a masked man in regal black armor. Not a soldier. A leader.
Before she could reach them, enemy soldiers tackled the man to the ground, pinning him on his knees.
Her body reacted without thought. She sprinted forward — just in time to see the masked man plunge a sword into his stomach.
"No!" she screamed, launching herself into the fray.
She kicked the masked man in the leg with full force, sending him staggering backward. Then she pulled out her arrows and fired—taking down the two men holding her comrade.
He groaned, clutching the blade embedded in his abdomen.
"It's... not too deep," Bǎihé stammered, gently pulling the sword free. "You'll be alright."
"Bǎihé... don't..." he tried to speak, but blood spilled from his lips.
Tears welled in her eyes.
She turned slowly. The masked man had risen, weak but standing. He stared at her.
Bǎihé's hand moved to her sword. She raised it to his throat. With one swift motion, she could end him — sever his head cleanly.
But she hesitated.
Her hands trembled with rage and confusion.
Just kill him! He's a threat!
But why couldn't she?
Her emotions surged: anger, hatred, sorrow... and something deeper. Regret?
The masked man closed his eyes, as if accepting his death.
Bǎihé clenched her jaw, tears streaking her face.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
The man opened his eyes — familiar, piercing.
"If you truly hate me," he said calmly, "then kill me."
The voice struck her like thunder. She knew that voice.
She turned back, briefly, to the injured man—he was still standing, barely, watching silently.
He's alive. Thank the heavens.
She turned again to the masked figure, sword raised — and swung.
Blood splattered across her face.
Her eyes widened, her body frozen.
Did I kill him?
Her vision blurred again. Darkness closed in.
The battlefield spun.
Her legs buckled.
We're all doomed anyway...
The final words she heard before everything went black.