The night after the Lantern Festival, rain swept across Hanxia again, pounding the roof of the small teahouse where Liang Zhen and Lady Mei had taken refuge. The air inside was warm with steam and the scent of jasmine leaves, but neither of them touched the tea cooling on the table.

Liang sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the wooden floorboards. “We were close,” he said finally. “Close enough to see it. Close enough to fail.”

Mei’s gaze stayed fixed on him. “The girl on the roof, you think she’s involved?”

“She was chasing the courier, not protecting them,” Liang said. “But she didn’t look surprised to see us.”

Mei leaned back, folding her arms. “You trust your instincts too much sometimes.”

“And you trust yours too little.”

For a moment, only the rain filled the space between them. Then Mei’s voice softened. “Liang… you’ve been carrying this oath to Elder Yun for years. But if the Moonshadow has already passed hands, we might be too late. You could walk away now.”

Liang looked up sharply. “I gave my word. And a swordsman’s word is worth more than his life.”

Mei didn’t argue further, but her eyes lingered on him, eyes that held more than just concern for the sword.

Before Liang could speak again, the teahouse door slid open. A hooded figure stepped in, dripping water onto the mat. The owner greeted them, but the figure ignored him, walking straight toward Liang’s table.

From beneath the hood came a voice, low, urgent. “They’re moving the sword tonight.”

Liang’s hand went to his blade. “Who are you?”

The hood dropped back to reveal a young man with a thin scar along his jaw. “Name’s Ren. I work the docks. I’ve been moving crates for people I shouldn’t ask questions about. But I saw what was inside this one, a blade wrapped in black silk. They called it Moonshadow.”

Mei exchanged a glance with Liang. “Where?”

“Warehouse Thirty-Seven,” Ren said. “By the east pier. You’ve got maybe an hour before it’s gone.”

Liang stood immediately. “Show us.”

The storm lashed harder as they followed Ren through the twisting streets toward the docks. Lanterns swayed on tall poles, their light warped by the rain. The air smelled of salt and fish and danger.

They reached the pier just as a covered cart rolled up to the warehouse. Two guards in black stood by the door.

Ren pointed. “That’s them.”

Liang drew his sword in a single motion, and Mei followed, her blade catching the lantern light. They moved fast, cutting down the guards before they could cry out. Inside, the warehouse smelled of wet wood and sea brine. Crates were stacked high, shadows dancing between them.

In the center of the floor, on a low table, lay the oilcloth-wrapped sword.

Liang stepped toward it, and the air shifted. From the darkness above, a figure dropped, landing between him and the table. The porcelain mask gleamed in the dim light.

The courier.

Without a word, they attacked. Liang parried, the clash of steel echoing in the cavernous space. The masked fighter was precise, fluid, every strike meant to wound, not kill, as if they were testing him.

Mei circled to flank, but another shadow moved, a second fighter stepped from the crates, blades in both hands. She met them head-on, her strikes fast and brutal.

Liang finally broke through the courier’s guard, knocking the blade aside and shoving them back toward the table. He reached for Moonshadow

The courier flicked something from their sleeve. A smoke pellet hit the ground, exploding into a choking cloud.

When the air cleared, the table was empty.

The Moonshadow was gone. Again.

Liang stood still for a long moment, rain dripping from the warehouse roof onto his shoulders. Mei approached, breathing hard, her blade nicked from the fight.

“They’re making fools of us,” she said.

Liang’s voice was low, steady, but there was iron in it. “Not for long. Whoever they are, they’ve broken more than an oath. They’ve broken my promise.”