Chapter 2: Shadows in the Forbidden City

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.