The air around the Grand Pavilion shimmered faintly with morning heat, as though even the wind hesitated to draw too close to the man who ruled from within it. The mountain that housed Protector Ba Zi's seat of power was both fortress and shrine, its slopes carved into terraces of black stone and crimson banners.

Each banner bore the imperial sigil — the roaring sun of the North — but woven beneath the imperial gold threads were symbols of Ba Zi's own lineage: a coiled serpent of fire devouring a mountain.

From afar, it was a symbol of loyalty. Up close, it whispered of ambition.

As Adviser Xiao Long stepped into the inner courtyard of the Pavilion, he was momentarily arrested by its splendor. The air here felt impossibly pure — almost deceptive — carrying the scent of jasmine and pine that concealed the weight of iron and ash underneath. Flowers bloomed unnaturally vibrant beneath the mountain sun, tended by silent servants dressed in gold-trimmed black.

'The surroundings smell so fresh and pure,' Xiao thought, inhaling deeply, though unease coiled in his chest. 'Even paradise can grow roots in poisoned soil.'

Marble statues lined the walkway — heroes of old, generals immortalized in their final victories. Yet in the eyes of those carved visages, one could almost see the agony of dying for another man's glory.

At the courtyard's edge, by the gateway to the main hall, stood a figure that instantly commanded the eye. Clad in tempered steel, his armor engraved with dragons and storm motifs, Captain Mu Zhang, commander of the Imperial Guard, loomed like a sentinel carved from iron itself.

Xiao's breath caught. He had met the man once before — briefly, in the Northern outpost of Baihe — yet the impression had never faded.

'It really is Captain Zhang.'

The man was larger than most, his frame sculpted through decades of martial discipline. The air itself seemed to tighten around him, his mere presence bending space with the weight of cultivated might. His eyes were sharp, the pale gray of tempered steel, and they missed nothing.

The crimson cloak draped across his back rippled lightly in the mountain breeze. Upon its edge was embroidered the ancient maxim of the imperial army: "Through duty, eternity."

Xiao Long bowed deeply, voice carefully measured. "Captain Mu Zhang, I bring urgent news from Crescent Moon City. The city lies in turmoil — the Liu clan has escaped the encirclement. I seek an immediate audience with Lord Ba Zi."

For a heartbeat, Mu Zhang said nothing. He studied the trembling adviser with a gaze that weighed not words, but truth. Finally, his low baritone cut through the silence.

"You have come to the right place, messenger." His tone carried no warmth, but neither did it hold disdain. It was the voice of a man for whom obedience was as natural as breath. "Lord Ba Zi is aware of the matter. He awaits your report."

He turned on his heel with fluid precision, every motion controlled, honed. "Follow me."

Xiao obeyed without a word, his sandals whispering across the polished onyx floor.

The main hall of the Pavilion was a grand cathedral of flame and shadow. Pillars of obsidian carved with coiling dragons rose into an arched ceiling painted with the imagery of celestial conquest. The artistry was exquisite — but the stories it told were grim. Gods kneeling before mortals. Empires reduced to dust beneath the sweep of a burning saber.

At the far end, enthroned upon a dais of black jade, sat Lord Ba Zi, the Protector of the Northern Provinces.

His figure was formidable, a mountain carved into human shape. Even seated, he exuded a power that could bend wills and break armies. His eyes were narrow, molten like cooled magma, his skin weathered bronze from years beneath battlefield suns. Draped over his shoulders was a robe of red and sable, the inner lining glinting with gold-threaded runes.

He was polishing his saber.

Each movement was deliberate — the rag gliding across the blade's surface in smooth circles — but Xiao noticed the faint heat radiating from the weapon, as if even resting, it yearned to draw blood.

Ba Zi did not look up when they entered. His voice carried through the hall, low and unhurried. "So… Crescent Moon burns again."

The adviser immediately fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cold marble. "Lord Ba Zi, forgive my intrusion. The turmoil grows worse with each passing hour. The Wu clan's enforcers cannot maintain control — the markets riot, the miners strike, and whispers of rebellion spread faster than rumor can quench them."

A pause.

Ba Zi's hand stilled upon the saber's hilt. "And the cause?"

"The escape of the Liu clan, my lord," Xiao said, trembling. "They vanished through a spatial fissure during the siege. Not even the Wu's diviners could track the coordinates of their teleportation. Many fear they've found a hidden refuge — perhaps within a realm beyond our reach."

Ba Zi leaned back upon his throne, his expression unreadable. "Li Wei."

The name rolled from his lips like the toll of a war drum.

"The boy grows thorns."

He set the saber aside and stood, towering over both men. The silks of his robe rustled like distant thunder. "I warned the Wu patriarch not to underestimate that youth. A serpent cornered will strike even the lion's paw."

"Indeed, my lord," Mu Zhang interjected respectfully. "But the patriarch insists they are tracking residual qi traces in the south. If their readings are correct, the Liu might have entered one of the abandoned subrealms left from the ancient celestial wars."

Ba Zi's lips curved in a humorless smile. "A fine place for ghosts to rest — or to plot."

He began to pace slowly across the hall, his boots echoing against the stone. "Tell me, Adviser Xiao… what of the city's morale? Are the merchants still paying their taxes? The temples still offering prayers in my name?"

"The merchants… have grown fearful, my lord. Many whisper that the heavens favor the Liu, that their disappearance was divine providence. Even the temple of the Seven Flames hesitated to chant your praises this morning."

Ba Zi's laughter was a low rumble that shook the chamber. "Ha! Heavens? Providence?" He turned sharply, eyes blazing. "The heavens favor no one. They are blind — and men like me carve their own favor with steel and fire."

He strode toward the great balcony overlooking the northern plains. From here, the entire province stretched beneath him — rivers like molten silver, forests whispering secrets older than empires. "Crescent Moon forgets that peace is a gift bought with blood. Perhaps it is time to remind them who pays the price."

Mu Zhang stepped forward, lowering his head. "Shall I mobilize the imperial guard, my lord?"

Ba Zi's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the morning sun bled crimson through the mist. "Not yet. Fear without fire grows complacent. But fear with spectacle…" He turned, his grin cold. "That endures."

He gestured for Xiao to rise. "You will return to Crescent Moon City. Tell the Wu patriarch that I approve his request for reinforcements. However…" His tone sharpened. "I expect half the red jade cache as tribute for my support."

Xiao froze. "Half, my lord?"

"Half," Ba Zi repeated softly. "And tell him that should I hear another whisper of unrest, I will send not soldiers — but executioners. One for each street that dares to murmur the name Liu."

The adviser swallowed hard, his legs trembling. "Y-Yes, my lord. I will convey your words without delay."

But Ba Zi was not done. He descended the steps, closing the distance between them in two strides. "Do not mistake this for mercy, Adviser Xiao," he said, his voice low but scorching. "Mercy is a blade's dull edge — it still cuts, only slower."

He stopped inches from Xiao, the faint heat of his aura pressing down like the sun itself. "The Wu clan owes me their dynasty. Remind them that debts uncollected rot into defiance."

"Yes, Lord Ba Zi."

The older man nodded faintly and turned back toward Mu Zhang. "You will accompany the messenger to the city. Ensure that the tribute is secured and that no one—no one—attempts to hoard jade behind my back."

Mu Zhang saluted crisply, his cloak flaring. "By your command."

Ba Zi's eyes drifted toward the horizon again. "Good. And if you encounter Li Wei…" His voice darkened, carrying the weight of a silent storm. "Do not kill him outright. Bring me his body breathing. I wish to see whether the spirit that defied gods still trembles when faced with a mortal hand."

That night, the Grand Pavilion stood wreathed in torchlight, its towers gleaming like the fangs of some colossal beast. Within his private chambers, Ba Zi sat before a table strewn with scrolls, letters, and old maps of Crescent Moon City.

The flicker of firelight danced across his face as he whispered, "The Liu return to shadow, the Wu lose their leash, and the emperor's eye grows dim with age. The board shifts, and only those who dare strike first will rule the next dawn."

He unsheathed his saber once more, running a finger along the edge until it drew blood. The weapon's hue deepened, glowing faintly red in the gloom.

"Balance," he murmured, echoing Li Wei's distant words though he did not know them. "Balance demands dominion."

The night wind carried his laughter across the mountain — low, cruel, and steady — the laughter of a man who mistook the world's suffering for order.

Below, in the city far beneath the clouds, Crescent Moon burned with unrest, and the name Li Wei spread like wildfire in whispered prayers and fearful curses.

And high above, Ba Zi watched from his throne of flame, smiling as the first embers of war began to rise once more.

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