The night air over Blackflame Ridge was thick with frost, but Li Fan's pulse burned hot as he examined the fresh tracks in the snow. The assassins he had faced earlier were gone — dragged away by unseen hands before he could extract answers. The ground bore no sign of struggle beyond the fight itself. Whoever had sent them did not want loose ends.
Wen Rourou crouched beside him, brushing snow from a broken arrowhead. "Ironfletch make," she murmured. "Eastern caravans use them… but so do mercenary guilds in five provinces."
Li Fan frowned. "Then it tells us nothing."
"Exactly," she said, slipping the shard into her sleeve. "It's meant to tell us nothing."
By morning, the rumors had spread further. In the markets of Emerald Haven, a painted storyteller performed to a rapt crowd:
> "…and there he stood, smiling as the lightning struck him, not once, but thrice! The heavens themselves recoil at his touch…"
Children gasped. Adults glanced around before leaning closer. Some shook their heads in disbelief, others nodded as if they had long suspected it.
Li Fan felt the weight of their stares when he passed. He'd faced enemies on battlefields, endured heavenly fire — but this was different. This was a slow poison, threading through the city's veins.
That night, he convened with Wei Shun and Stuart in the lantern-lit back room of the Quiet Crane Tea House.
Wei Shun slammed a scroll onto the table. "Three sects closed their gates to us this week. None gave a reason, but all repeated the same phrase: we cannot risk the wildan's wrath."
Stuart, usually calm, leaned forward. "This is no simple fearmongering. These stories are planted, repeated, and shaped to paint you as a danger to the realm. Someone is directing this — but they're careful. No names, no marks, nothing to follow."
Li Fan stared at the steam curling from his untouched tea. "Then we make them slip. No one can weave lies forever without pulling one thread too far."
Before they could speak further, a courier stumbled in, breathless. "Message from the northern watch," he gasped. "An entire patrol vanished. The survivors say… they saw your face."
Li Fan rose slowly. "Mine?"
The courier nodded, trembling. "They swore the attacker moved like you, fought like you. Said you carried your own shadow in your eyes."
Outside, a wind howled through the city streets. Somewhere in the darkness, Li Fan knew, an unseen hand was tightening the noose — but the hand remained faceless, the voice silent.
The trap was set. He just hadn't seen the shape of it yet.
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