The sharp clang of steel echoed through the narrow alleyways of Tianyu’s Forbidden City as Lian darted between shadow and lamplight. Rain slicked the cobblestones beneath her feet, each step measured yet urgent. Her breath came steady, controlled—a silent rhythm amid the chaos stirring behind her. Somewhere in the distance, a scream shattered the night, followed by the heavy, unyielding stomp of armored guards closing in.

Lian’s heart thudded, but she did not falter. Not now. Not ever.

Tonight, the empire was bleeding.

The Council, the empire’s revered and feared aristocracy, was under attack.

A single dagger thrown with ruthless precision had just struck down Lord Wei, one of the emperor’s closest advisors. The man had crumpled on the steps of the Grand Hall like a fallen statue, his crimson-stained robes fluttering in the cold wind. And as the echoes of his final gasp faded, a shudder rippled through the gilded chambers of power—fear had taken root.

But no one yet knew why.

Only one did.

Lian pressed herself flat against the damp brick wall, eyes scanning the dim corridor. Her hand gripped the hidden blade strapped beneath her sleeve, a weapon small but deadly. Behind her, the muffled shouts of palace guards grew louder; the hunt was on.

"Too predictable," she muttered under her breath, voice barely audible over the storm. Her mission had been simple: observe, gather intelligence, and report any threats against the Council. But this assassination, so brazen and expertly executed, meant something far darker was unfolding beneath the polished veneer of the empire.

Steeling her nerves, Lian slipped through a side exit, melting into the labyrinthine streets where steam vents hissed and mechanical gears clanked in the foggy air. Above her, great iron and brass towers crowned the city, their pistons and turbines pulsing like the heart of a living beast. Tianyu was a kingdom straddling two worlds — ancient traditions woven with the gleaming promise of steampunk innovation — and every step she took threaded her deeper into a tangled web of shadows.

**

Two days earlier.

The grand hall of the Imperial Palace shimmered beneath a thousand lanterns, ornate dragons curling in gold and jade along the lacquered pillars. Emperor Xian sat on his throne, a man worn by years but eyes sharp as a hawk’s. The room was filled with the murmurs of the Council, their faces masks of polished decorum concealing a cauldron of ambition and suspicion.

“Another attack, Your Majesty,” whispered a nervous aide, bowing low as he handed the emperor a sealed scroll. “Lord Wei’s death is confirmed.”

Xian’s fingers tightened around the scroll, knuckles white. The assassin’s mark—a dragon coiled around a broken sword—was stamped boldly in crimson wax. A signature meant to send a message.

“Why target Lord Wei? He was loyal to the throne,” Xian said, voice low but laced with steel.

“Loyalty is a fragile thing, sire,” said Chancellor Mei, an icy figure with calculating eyes. “The Council is fracturing. The generals whisper of rebellion. The people grow restless.”

The emperor’s gaze drifted to the stained glass windows where the steam-powered clockwork dragon circled endlessly, an eternal guardian watching over the city. “This empire cannot afford chaos. Not now.”

His breath was shallow. His body frail. But his mind burned with the fierce will to preserve Tianyu’s legacy.

**

Back in the twisting alleys, Lian adjusted her mask — a porcelain visage etched with delicate red and gold patterns — before slipping through a narrow gate into the heart of an aristocratic district. Tonight’s target was a gala hosted by Lady Fen, a rising power broker rumored to harbor sympathies for the rebels stirring in the provinces.

Lian’s fingers danced as she activated a small device hidden beneath her glove — a tiny clockwork spider that scurried silently along the polished wooden floor, feeding her real-time images. Eyes and ears where she could not be seen.

Infiltrating the gala was a delicate balance of deception and precision. Dressed in silks dyed the deep blue of twilight, she moved through clusters of nobles, each whisper a thread of potential treachery. The air was thick with perfume and whispered threats, the gleam of jeweled daggers half-hidden beneath embroidered sleeves.

Lian’s gaze locked on a man in a bronze mechanical arm — General Kai. His presence was magnetic, his charisma cloaked in menace. Rumors said he wielded not only steam-powered weapons but a ruthless ambition that could ignite civil war. Tonight, he was surveying the crowd with calculating eyes.

Suddenly, the music shifted. A troupe of dancers began an intricate martial performance, their movements fluid yet razor-sharp — a reminder of Tianyu’s ancient traditions surviving beneath the clockwork age. Lian watched, admiring their discipline, the way each strike told a story of honor and vengeance. It was a language she knew well.

From the corner of her eye, a shadow detached itself from the crowd — a man cloaked in black, face hidden behind a mask carved to resemble a snarling tiger. Lian’s instincts screamed. The master assassin, Zhen, had arrived.

Her pulse quickened.

Zhen moved with silent grace, weaving through the guests like smoke, his hands deadly extensions of the blades concealed beneath his sleeves. Lian’s mind raced, weighing options. An outright confrontation would expose her cover — but allowing him to strike meant more blood spilled on the marble floors.

The night shattered in a flash of steel.

Zhen lunged at Lady Fen, a poisoned needle gleaming in his fist. Lian was faster.

With a leap, she intercepted the assassin, locking blades in a fierce clash that echoed through the hall. Sparks flew as their weapons met — Zhen’s cold precision against Lian’s fiery agility.

"Why do you protect the corrupt?" he hissed, voice low and cruel.

"Because chaos devours all," she snapped back, spinning to disarm him. "Even monsters."

Their fight was a dance of shadows and light, a storm of martial mastery blending with the hiss of steam vents and the clatter of clockwork machines. Guards rushed in, but Lian’s distraction gave Lady Fen enough time to escape.

In the end, Zhen vanished into the night, leaving behind only the chill of his threat.

**

Outside the palace walls, beneath the orange glow of lanterns, Lian paused, heart pounding.

The first attacks were no isolated acts of violence. They were pieces in a deadly puzzle.

The general, the master assassin, the fractured Council — all threads tangled in a web stretching toward a violent end.

Lian knew the empire stood on a knife’s edge, and her choices tonight would tip the balance.

Between loyalty and survival. Between order and chaos.

Between life and death.

The blades of the Council were unsheathed. And the game had just begun.

**

In the storm of an assassination attempt within the imperial court, Lian’s infiltration exposes the deadly stakes of a brewing conspiracy, introducing key players and igniting a web of political intrigue and martial peril that threatens the fragile empire.

______________________

Lian arrives at the capital and steps into the heart of political intrigue.

Hook: The first time Lian saw the Forbidden City from the air, it wasn't awe that gripped her—it was the weight of a mission that could tear the empire apart.

Steam hissed from the wings of the sky-junk as it descended, its bronze and jade plating shimmering under the waning sun. Below, the sprawling city of Luyan spread like a coiled dragon, ancient and powerful, its arteries of smoke and noise feeding into the golden heart—the Forbidden City.

Lian stood still, cloaked in a nondescript tunic, her hair bound under a merchant’s hood. No one on board knew her true identity. That was how it had to be. Her real name didn’t matter here. Only her mission.

The captain barked something to the dockhands, and the ramp clanged down. She disembarked, clutching a weathered satchel filled not with wares, but tools: lockpicks disguised as hairpins, vials of paralytic mist, coded documents, and a collapsible blade no longer than her forearm. Each step toward the city’s gates was a step into a lion’s den.

Inside the capital walls, life surged chaotically—vendors shouting, gears clanking, beggars groaning, banners flapping in the wind like battle standards. But beneath the surface, there was a tautness to the air. Whispers floated like dust. The recent attack on Minister Rong had shaken the court. No one admitted it aloud, but fear had rooted itself in the heart of Tianyu.

Lian slipped through the crowds, following the lantern-lit alleyways she had memorized as a child of the streets. She hadn’t returned in ten years. Not since the last time she had disobeyed an order. Her feet knew where to go—toward the South Sector, toward the house of shadows.

The door creaked open after a coded knock. “You’re late,” a voice murmured.

"You're old," she retorted with a half-smile.

"Still faster than you."

The man inside was Bao, her former handler, once a master spy himself before losing an eye in the Siege of Shulan. His workshop was lined with tools of deception: faces molded in wax, scrolls written in invisible ink, a disassembled automaton twitching with life on the table.

“Word reached me,” Bao said, motioning her inside. “The emperor sent you.”

Lian sat, her back to the wall. “You knew before I did.”

“I hear everything. You’ll need these.” He slid her a pair of lacquered lenses. “Spectacles, for a blind scribe. Disguise starts tomorrow. The Council convenes at dawn.”

“Anything new?”

Bao’s smile faded. “Another body. This time Lady Meilin’s steward. Throat slit. Clean work. Zhen’s mark.”

The name sent a chill across her shoulders. Zhen. The ghost. The blade. His style was unmistakable—no wasted motion, no witnesses. If he was involved, this wasn’t just about scaring the Council. This was a chess match, and someone had just sacrificed a rook.

She glanced at a map on the wall. Red pins marked known Council residences, guard patrols, and military movements. A single black pin stood out—near the central temple complex.

“What’s that?”

Bao hesitated. “Where the steward died. But the temple guards saw nothing. No footprints, no blood trail. Zhen vanished.”

Lian stood. “Then that’s where I’ll go tonight.”

“You’ll need backup.”

“I’ll need silence.”

Bao sighed. “One day, your pride will kill you.”

“No,” she replied, slipping the lenses over her eyes. “My pride keeps me alive.”

**

Night in the Forbidden City wrapped its corridors in shadow and oil-lantern glow. Lian moved like wind, silent between watchtowers, slipping through bamboo gardens and temple thresholds.

The temple courtyard was empty. Statues of bronze dragons loomed on either side, steam vents curling around their jaws like breath. She crouched behind a pillar and waited. Minutes passed. Then—

Click.

A pressure plate shifted under her foot. Too late.

From above, a flash of motion. She rolled, and a blade hissed past her cheek. Her hand moved instinctively, drawing her collapsible blade. Another figure dropped into the courtyard—masked, cloaked, and deathly silent.

The clash was brief, vicious. Steel met steel, each blow surgical. Lian twisted, ducked, kicked. Her opponent moved like water, fluid and merciless. A parry. A lock. She aimed for the throat—but he vanished mid-step.

Gone. Just like that.

A sound echoed—faint applause. Lian spun.

On the rooftop, a figure stood in silhouette, clapping slowly. The moon glinted off the edge of a curved blade at his hip.

“You’re not ready,” the voice said.

Zhen.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she threw a vial to the ground. Smoke erupted, cloaking the temple in a swirling mist. When it cleared, the rooftop was empty.

**

Back in Bao’s sanctuary, she tore off the spectacles and sat breathing heavily.

“He was there.”

Bao nodded, grim. “Zhen never leaves a fight unfinished.”

Lian looked at her arm. A shallow cut bled through her sleeve. A gift. A warning. A message.

“We're running out of time,” she muttered.

“And we don't even know the full board yet,” Bao replied.

Lian stood, her eyes hardened now. “Tomorrow I become the scribe. I sit among the Council. I learn who’s playing this game. And then—”

Her voice dropped.

“I cut the strings.”

**

The next morning, the Forbidden Hall buzzed with tension. Robed aristocrats arrived in their steam-powered palanquins, each surrounded by personal guards. The council chamber gleamed with lacquered wood, golden panels, and mechanical flowers that opened with the sunrise.

Lian, disguised as a blind scribe named Rui, stood by the ceremonial scroll desk, ink-brush poised. No one noticed her. Perfect.

One by one, the councilors took their seats. Lord Jiang, ever pious, crossed himself before speaking. Lady Qiao muttered to her assistant, eyes twitching with paranoia. General Kai strode in last, his boots echoing like war drums.

Lian didn’t blink.

Kai’s presence was magnetic. Regal in military blacks, medals glinting on his chest, he nodded politely to the others, but his eyes scanned the room like a hawk.

Then—he looked directly at her.

A second too long.

She lowered her gaze.

Had he recognized her? No. Couldn’t be. She wore the scent of sage oil, a subtle disguise only Bao knew. But still—he had looked.

The council meeting began. Talk of trade, of unrest in the western provinces, of food shortages and rising tensions.

Then, Lord Sheng spoke.

“I propose we authorize martial patrols across the lower wards. These assassinations must be contained.”

Kai nodded. “I second that. The people crave order. We must provide it.”

Lady Qiao shook her head. “Order through fear is not order—it is tyranny.”

Kai's smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You speak of fear, but I speak of protection.”

A pause.

Lian noted the shift in tone. A fracture in the Council’s unity. And Kai—he was steering it. Guiding fear into loyalty.

She scribbled discreetly in invisible ink. Phrases. Glances. Positions.

Then came the moment that made her blood chill.

A servant entered with a sealed letter. She handed it to the emperor’s steward, who, trembling, passed it to Lord Jiang.

He opened it. Read it. Paled.

“What is it?” Lady Qiao asked.

Lord Jiang swallowed. “A message. Written in blood.”

Gasps around the room.

He read aloud:

“One falls each moon. The dragon's head is next.”

Silence. Heavy. Unmoving.

Kai stood slowly. “Then let them come,” he said, placing his hand on his sword. “We are not prey.”

But Lian knew.

The real wolves were already inside.

**

As the Council disbanded and the steam-palanquins rolled away, Lian remained in the shadows. Her pulse thundered.

That night, another figure would die.

And she had no idea who.

But one thing was certain—the Council was bleeding from within.

And she had just walked into its heart.

______________________

The ink was still drying on the emperor’s seal when Lian slipped the scroll into the hidden compartment of her sleeve. The coolness of the stone floor seeped through her slippers as she bowed before the frail figure of Emperor Xian, cloaked in shadows more than silk.

“You understand the delicacy of this task,” he murmured, his voice thin as parchment but sharp as a blade. “There is no one I can trust among the Council.”

“I will find who lies behind the attacks, Your Majesty,” Lian replied, her tone calm, hiding the tight coil of dread in her chest.

The emperor’s lips twitched—something between a smile and resignation. “Be swift, Lady Lian. The storm is already here.”

Outside the secret chamber, the cold morning air bit her skin like needles. Tianyu’s capital, Guangjin, pulsed with tension. Even in the early hour, steam-powered carriages rattled over the cobbled streets, their brass engines whistling as nobles were ferried to the day’s political dramas. Clouds of soot mixed with incense from nearby shrines, veiling the city in a fog of contradiction—ancient and modern, sacred and corrupt.

Lian descended through a servant’s corridor, vanishing into the city like a whisper. Her mission had begun.

**

The body of Councilor Wen was still warm when Lian arrived at the scene, masquerading as a healer. The guards, pale and sweating, let her through the paper-screen door without question. Inside, the room reeked of iron and chrysanthemum oil.

The dead man’s eyes stared at the painted ceiling, his throat a dark smile of blood. Lian crouched beside him, her mind methodically stripping the scene of sentiment.

“No forced entry,” she noted under her breath. “Clean cut. Surgical. No panic. No struggle.”

She slid a gloved hand beneath the robes, finding a faint trace of powder—black lotus, a rare poison harvested in the Western marshlands. Deadly in small doses, and a signature of the Hidden Blades—a shadow guild once thought extinct.

Her heart skipped.

If the Hidden Blades were active again, the situation was worse than the emperor feared.

She stood and bowed to the attending guards. “He is beyond healing. Burn sandalwood incense to purify the space. I must speak with the council physician.”

They obeyed without question.

**

The imperial archives were buried beneath the Ministry of Records, a maze of ancient tomes and new steam-powered catalogues. Lian knew her way by heart. She slipped inside in her archivist’s disguise—her hair tied in a severe knot, glasses perched on her nose, and a slight stoop to her posture.

She moved quickly through the index scrolls until she found what she sought: a dossier labeled “ZHEN — Unknown Origin — Former Affiliations: Dissolved Guilds.”

The ink on the parchment was old but damning. Zhen. The name surfaced like poison. A master of stealth, deception, and death. Once second-in-command of the Hidden Blades, now a ghost whispered about in the alleys of rebel cities. If he was involved, it explained the precision of the attacks.

But what was his goal?

And more importantly—who was giving him orders?

She slid the scroll into her coat just as she heard boots echoing down the hall.

“Someone’s in the restricted wing!” a voice barked.

Without hesitation, Lian ducked into the shaft of a defunct ventilation pipe, climbing the narrow iron rungs two steps at a time. The sound of steam hissed below as the guards entered, then faded as she climbed toward the roof access.

Outside, night had fallen. She watched as the city’s thousand lanterns flickered to life, forming a constellation of gold across the imperial skyline. Somewhere down there, Zhen was moving. Planning. Striking.

She wouldn’t let him win.

**

Later that night, in the servant quarters of the Orchid Pavilion—a pleasure house favored by councilors—Lian sat cross-legged beside a drunk noble, his tongue loosened by rice wine.

“Councilor Yu fears the general,” he whispered, his breath heavy with sour plum. “Says Kai has been building alliances... among the guards... the provincial lords. Dangerous talk. But who listens to a drunk?”

Lian smiled, pouring him another cup. “I do.”

The noble passed out mid-toast.

Slipping away, Lian donned her cloak and left through the rear alley, her thoughts churning. General Kai again. Too many whispers, too much smoke not to hide a fire.

She would have to approach him—carefully. He was not only powerful; he was unpredictable.

And worse—he had once been her teacher.

**

The next day, the imperial garden bloomed under autumn light. The scent of pine and jasmine wafted on the breeze as Lian, now disguised as a visiting noblewoman, made her way toward the training pavilion where Kai was instructing the palace guards.

She watched him from the shadows.

His movements were precise, lethal—his blade cut through the air like it commanded the wind. There was elegance in his violence, the kind only years of mastery could forge. The guards fell back respectfully as he ended the demonstration.

“Still watching from the trees, Lian?” he called without turning.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t made a sound.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” he added, finally facing her.

She stepped forward, face calm, voice smooth. “You haven’t lost your instincts.”

“Nor you your talent for intrusion,” he replied with a thin smile. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what you’re hiding.”

He laughed. “Straight to the point. Refreshing.”

He signaled for his guards to leave.

Once alone, he folded his arms. “Let me guess. You think I orchestrated the attacks. That I’m plotting to dethrone the emperor. That old story.”

“You tell me.”

He took a step forward. “Be careful, Lian. Accusations come with consequences. Even for you.”

She met his gaze. “And silence comes with blood.”

Something flickered behind his eyes—pride? Admiration? Regret?

But he said nothing.

**

That night, a message arrived in Lian’s room, slid under her door in the shape of a paper crane.

She unfolded it carefully.

“He watches you now. The next strike will leave no witnesses. — Z”

She clenched the paper, heart pounding. The time for observation was ending.

She had to act.

**

Three nights later, a banquet was held in the Crystal Hall to honor the emperor’s birthday. Nobles and councilors arrived in embroidered robes, their mechanical escorts humming with polished gears. Music played, wine flowed, laughter echoed—but tension brewed beneath every smile.

Lian slipped through the crowd, her eyes sharp beneath her silver mask.

Across the hall, she spotted Councilor Mei, speaking quietly to a man she recognized—an arms dealer linked to Kai’s faction. She moved to intercept, but before she could close the distance—

A scream shattered the air.

One of the lanterns exploded, sending shrapnel and fire across the dais. Chaos erupted. Screams, smoke, panicked shouts.

Lian drew her blade, eyes scanning for the source.

And then she saw him.

Zhen.

Standing amidst the confusion, calm as stone, blood on his hands, mask gleaming like obsidian.

He looked directly at her. Bowed slightly.

Then vanished into the smoke.

**

Lian ran after him, heart thundering. Through corridors, past stunned guests and fallen guards, she chased the shadow.

He was fast. But not faster than her.

They reached the southern terrace where steam pipes hissed and vents blew sulfurous gas into the night air.

He turned at last.

“You’re good, Lian,” he said, voice like silk over steel. “But not good enough.”

“I’m not here to impress you.”

They clashed.

Blades met with a shriek of steel. Sparks flew. Every move was death narrowly missed. Lian ducked a spinning kick, swept low, struck—but Zhen blocked and countered, his strikes almost too fast to follow.

“You’ve improved,” he said, chuckling between blows. “Kai trained you well.”

“Why are you working for him?”

He paused, just for a moment.

“I’m not,” he whispered.

Then he leapt from the terrace, vanishing into the shadows below.

**

Lian stood there, chest heaving, the truth ringing in her ears.

If Zhen wasn’t working for Kai...

Then who was behind all this?

And how many layers of betrayal had yet to be revealed?

The answers lay deeper than she feared.

And time was running out.

**

Lian begins her secret investigation by examining the latest murder, uncovering traces of a legendary assassin, and confronting her former mentor, General Kai—only to realize the conspiracy may go beyond him.

**

End of Chapter 3

____________________