The festival stretched into its final days, the capital glittering brighter each night — but under its brilliance, shadows grew darker.
It happened on a quiet afternoon, just as Xiao Lin was returning from the training grounds.
He was walking alone, a light sweat on his skin, his silver hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. Around his neck, the delicate fox-shaped jade pendant swayed with each step — the one Sheng Long had carved for him as a symbol of his hard work.
Hidden beneath his robe, tucked safely against his heart, was another gift — a small dragon-shaped pendant, entwined protectively by a silver fox. A symbol Xiao Lin had shyly given to Sheng Long in return, carved by his own hands.
Even remembering the moment when they had exchanged pendants made Xiao Lin's heart flutter strangely.
The path he walked was strangely empty.
Too empty.
Xiao Lin tensed, instincts prickling.
Too late.
From the rooftops, dark figures dropped down.
Blades flashed.
Poison gleamed.
Xiao Lin barely twisted aside from the first attack, his training kicking in. A thin arc of foxfire burst from his fingertips, forcing one attacker to leap back. But they kept coming, coordinated and ruthless.
Panic clawed at him.
Where—?!
As a blade arced for his throat, something slammed into the attacker with bone-crunching force.
Sheng Long.
The Marshal stood before Xiao Lin, sword in hand, a storm of power radiating from him. The dragon pendant at Sheng Long's throat shimmered as if sensing its master's rage.
"Stay behind me," Sheng Long commanded in a voice like rolling thunder.
He made quick work of the assassins, fighting with brutal precision. Within minutes, the attackers lay groaning and unconscious — or dead — across the courtyard.
Xiao Lin clutched his fox pendant tightly, heart pounding.
Sheng Long approached the last semi-conscious assassin, boot pressing down hard on the man's chest.
"Who sent you?" he demanded.
The man sneered bloodily — and before Sheng Long could intervene, he bit down hard on a hidden capsule. Within seconds, he lay lifeless.
"Suicide," Sheng Long muttered grimly. "Well-trained."
Yan Shuo sprinted up, breathless. His eyes narrowed when he saw the scene. "Marshal, what—"
"Assassins," Sheng Long said shortly. "Targeting Xiao Lin."
That chilled the blood in everyone's veins.
After an urgent investigation, whispers surfaced: a shadowy trail leading back toward the royal palace, and more disturbingly, toward Princess An Li herself.
Sheng Long made a swift, ruthless decision.
"I'll get closer to An Li," he said, voice hard and controlled. "If she's connected to the traitors working with the Zerg, I'll find proof."
Xiao Lin felt the words like a blade slipping between his ribs.
He knew the Marshal's actions were necessary. Rationally, he agreed.
Emotionally, it burned.
Watching Sheng Long — his Sheng Long — bow politely, smile, and endure the simpering attention of Princess An Li felt unbearable.
Xiao Lin hid it well at first.
Or so he thought.
Yan Shuo noticed almost immediately.
One evening, catching Xiao Lin glowering miserably across the training yard, Shuo couldn't resist dragging him aside.
"You look like you're ready to set the Marshal on fire," Shuo said dryly.
Xiao Lin flushed, mortified. "I-I am not!"
"Sure you aren't," Shuo snorted. "Come on, kid. You're so obvious it's painful."
Xiao Lin twisted the fox pendant between his fingers. "But... it's foolish. I shouldn't feel this way."
"It's not foolish," Shuo said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It means you care."
Xiao Lin's head drooped. "...He's so far above me. I'm just—"
"You're you," Shuo said firmly. "And if you think the Marshal doesn't notice you, you're an idiot."
Xiao Lin blinked, startled.
Shuo grinned wickedly. "You're the only one he gave a pendant to, aren't you? And you gave him one in return. That's not nothing."
Xiao Lin touched the hidden dragon pendant at his chest, feeling the way it was carefully wrapped with the fox — as if the fox was guarding the dragon.
Unknowingly, his lips curved into a soft smile.
Still… trouble was stirring beyond just Princess An Li.
Xiao Lin's beauty — his otherworldly looks, his grace — hadn't gone unnoticed among the nobility.
A few bold young lords began to circle, looking for excuses to approach him. One, the arrogant son of a prominent duke, dared to brush Xiao Lin's sleeve under the pretense of "correcting his form" during training.
Xiao Lin, too pure and focused, barely noticed.
Sheng Long noticed.
The Marshal's eyes darkened like a brewing storm.
The next "demonstration" left the young lord flying into the air and sprawling flat on his back, moaning in pain.
Yan Shuo and several soldiers cheered.
Later that night, Sheng Long scowled and muttered under his breath while Xiao Lin sat nearby, oblivious, polishing his training sword.
The dragon at Sheng Long's neck and the fox at Xiao Lin's glowed faintly in the lamplight — two pendants, quietly resonating together.
The Marshal didn't yet have the words to describe what he felt.
And Xiao Lin didn't yet dare to hope.
But already, their fates were tangled beyond undoing.
And soon, the storm would break.