The Silk Court glittered under the lamplight like a mirage, its red-lacquered gates adorned with carved phoenixes and gold-threaded banners swaying in the night breeze. Music spilled from within, the gentle plucking of a pipa, the soft hum of flutes, luring the city’s wealthy and powerful into its shadowed halls.

Liang Zhen and Lady Mei Lian approached on foot. Swords were hidden beneath their cloaks, but their steps were measured, controlled. Here, appearances mattered as much as steel.

Inside, the air was warm and thick with the scent of jasmine. Silk screens painted with mountain scenes divided the rooms, and robed attendants moved silently with trays of wine and steaming dishes. Laughter drifted from private chambers, masking the whispers that truly made the Silk Court dangerous.

Mei’s gaze swept the room, her expression calm, almost detached. Liang knew that behind that look she was measuring everything, exits, shadows, the subtle flicker of eyes that watched too closely.

They were greeted by Madam Huo, the Silk Court’s keeper, a woman draped in crimson silk and pearls that shimmered like frost under candlelight. “Master Liang,” she said, her voice a soft purr. “And the Lady Mei Lian. It has been too long.”

“Business keeps me away,” Liang replied with a faint bow. “We seek information.”

“Information has a price.” Her eyes glittered. “And in this place, the currency is not always coin.”

They followed her through a maze of silk and shadow to a secluded chamber. A low table was set with wine, untouched. Madam Huo gestured for them to sit.

“What do you know of the Black Lotus?” Mei asked directly.

Madam Huo’s smile barely moved. “Old ghosts. Dangerous ones. I’ve heard whispers that they have returned, for something precious.” Her gaze lingered on Liang. “A sword, perhaps?”

Liang’s expression didn’t change, but his hand tensed on his knee. “Where?”

She leaned forward. “Two nights from now, at the Lantern Festival, a masked courier will pass through Lantern Alley. They say the package will be heavily guarded, and that its buyer is not from Hanxia at all.”

Before Liang could press further, a shadow shifted outside the silk screen. Mei’s eyes darted toward it. Without a word, she rose and slid her hand to her sword.

A flicker of movement, then the silk split as a black-clad figure lunged into the room, blade aimed for Madam Huo’s throat.

Liang moved first, intercepting the strike. Steel rang against steel, the force shattering a porcelain vase. Mei was already at his side, her eyes sharp as the intruder slipped back into the hallway.

They gave chase, weaving through the Silk Court’s corridors. The attacker was fast, but not fast enough to lose Mei’s gaze, a gaze that never wavered, never faltered, even when the assassin vaulted out a side window into the alley beyond.

By the time they reached the street, the shadow was gone.

Mei turned to Liang, rain starting to fall again in thin, cold threads. “That was no warning,” she said. “They know we’re coming.”

And in her silent gaze, he read what she didn’t say aloud, the hunt was no longer just for the sword. It was for survival.