The Golden Lute Pavilion softened as the night stretched thin.
Music that once surged with drunken bravado now trickled into uneven notes, punctuated by the occasional shrill laughter of a gambler winning...or losing...too much silver. Perfume and wine merged into a heavy fog that clung to the air like a tired sigh. Lanterns flickered above, shedding warm honey light along the carved beams, bleeding gold into every shadow.
And in those shadows… Jin Yue moved.
His veil hid the ethereal face that would have drawn too many eyes.
His sleeves hid the calloused hands that belonged to a fighter, not a courtesan.
His lowered gaze hid the storm brewing in his chest.
But nothing hid his resolve.
Tonight was the night he would peel back the rot inside this place...root and stem.
A group of drunken nobles stumbled past, laughing so loudly that the lacquered screens trembled. A dancer twirled unsteadily nearby, her bangles clinking in time with her forced smile. Jin Yue slipped between them without leaving a ripple, weaving through the fading chaos with the grace of a quiet moonbeam.
Every step brought him closer to the staircase.
The second floor...
the storage room...
Shen Ling...
He paused at the foot of the stairs, waiting for the perfect moment. Timing was everything. One misstep, one wrong shadow, and the entire brothel would descend upon him. His breath stayed shallow, body relaxed, eyes half-lidded in feigned docility.
Behind him, a drunken merchant lurched forward and crashed into a table, toppling wine cups, sending courtesans shrieking. The roar of laughter that followed rose like a wave.
It drowned everything.
Perfect.
He moved.
Up the steps.
Light as breath.
Silent as prayer.
The floor dipped slightly under each careful step, but no sound escaped him. The staircase curved upward into a narrow corridor lit only by dying lanterns. The world dimmed to a warm amber glow, dust particles floating lazily through still air.
At the top of the corridor, the first Wind Pulse guard leaned against the wall...half-conscious, lids drooping, chin tipping toward his chest. He muttered a curse about the draft, rubbing his arms against the cold.
He didn't hear Jin Yue approach.
He didn't hear the whisper of cloth.
He didn't hear death coming.
Jin Yue's fingers slid over his fishing line, tightening their grip with the ease of muscle memory carved through years of necessity. His breathing slowed… quieted… vanished into the hush of lantern smoke.
A single step.
A quiet inhale.
A swift flick of the wrist.
The line melted through air and looped around the guard's throat before he could lift his head. His eyes snapped open...wide, disbelieving. Panic sputtered in his Pulse, wind bursting weakly from his palms as instinct fought a battle his mind never understood.
But the line cut deeper.
No Cry.
No Wind.
No Time.
His knees buckled.
Jin Yue eased him onto the floor so gently that the man's body might have been mistaken for someone who simply collapsed from drunken exhaustion.
But he was already turning.
The second guard sat deeper in the corridor, posted on a stool just outside the storage area where Shen Ling was held. He picked at his teeth with a sliver of bamboo, muttering under his breath about poor pay and long shifts. He didn't glance up.
He didn't sense the shift in air.
He didn't feel the shadow passing behind him.
Jin Yue's bare foot glided silently across the wooden planks. His movements were so controlled they barely stirred the lantern smoke. When the guard leaned forward to crack his knuckles...
Jin Yue struck.
The fishing line kissed the guard's throat, the movement so fast the lantern flame barely flickered. A sharp choke died inside the man's throat, swallowed whole by the drunken applause rising from the hall below.
The guard spasmed once.
Twice.
Then stilled.
Jin Yue didn't let the body fall.He held it upright for a moment longer, letting the man's Pulse fade, waiting until the silence settled just right.
Only then did the fishing rod in his hand stir.
A faint tremor ran along the wooden spine...soft as a breath, cold as moonlit water...as threads of Wind Pulse leaked from the dying man's core. The invisible currents drifted upward, drawn irresistibly toward the rod's tip.
The air quivered.
The Wind Pulse curled like mist, sinking into the rod's grain as though returning to a forgotten home.
The guard's body slackened, empty, the last spark of elemental power drained away.
Only after the final whisper of wind vanished did Jin Yue lower the corpse gently to the ground.
Both bodies were dragged toward the inner storage closet...a dark, rarely used room that smelled of dust and moth-eaten cloth. He stacked them carefully, removed anything that might jingle, then shut the door and bolted it from the inside.
No one would find them until morning at the earliest.
The brothel remained blissfully unaware, the music downstairs swelling into another drunken cheer.
Jin Yue exhaled quietly.
Now only one man remained.
Uncle Zhang.
He turned down the corridor, passing lanterns that flickered like judgmental eyes. At the far end, a faint glow seeped through a half-open door...warm and steady, unlike the dim lanterns in the hall.
His room.
Jin Yue approached, steps soundless, breaths slow. His heart didn't race. His hands didn't shake. Assassination was not glory to him...nor sport. It was a necessity. A duty. A promise made in silence to a child who prayed for a miracle.
Shen Mu.
This was for him.
A muffled belch drifted from the open room.
Inside, Uncle Zhang sat at a low table...counting silver coins, stacking them into neat piles that glimmered beneath candlelight. His face was round, oily, flushed from wine. The smell of sweat clung to him like rot. He hummed an off-key tune, completely unaware that the shadow in the doorway was already unmaking his future.
Jin Yue didn't go in yet.
Not until he had memorized the room...its exits, blind spots, reflections in polished lacquerware. He counted Zhang's breaths, the pauses between each swallow of wine, the rhythm of his shifting weight.
Then he stepped back.
Not yet.
Not until Shen Ling was safe.
He returned to the corridor, each step measured. At the wooden door beside the guards' old post, he pressed his ear to the surface.
The silence was broken only by faint, ragged breathing.
Shen Ling.
Alive.
Barely.
Her feverish breath ghosted through the crack, trembling like paper in wind.
Jin Yue's brows drew together.
He could not enter yet.
Not while Zhang still lived.
Not while danger still breathed in this place.
He rested two fingers against the door.
A small gesture.
A silent promise.
Then he straightened and turned back toward Zhang's room.
Tonight, a monster would fall.
And only when the brothel's rot was severed at the root…
only when the final breath of Uncle Zhang faded into silence…
would Jin Yue return to break this door open.
He took his first step toward the man's death...
And the lantern light trembled as if anticipating the violence to come.