The crescent moon hung low like a sliver of sharpened silver, casting a ghostly glow across the rooftops of Linxi Town. Zilong stood silently atop the highest pagoda, his pale wedgewood robe blending into the night. A gentle wind rustled his long brown hair as he narrowed his eyes toward the misty forest that bordered the eastern ridge.

He was waiting.

Zilong was no mere assassin. He was a blade in the service of shadows, trained by the Silent Pavilion, a now-vanished sect that once protected emperors and slaughtered rebels. His mission tonight was clear: eliminate the courier carrying secrets to the rival warlord across the valley. But there was a complication—one that had haunted his past and now returned with vengeance on silk feet.

A soft metallic chime echoed through the bamboo trees.

Zilong turned his head slowly.

Out from the shadows emerged a figure in flowing blue robes, his steps impossibly light as if he danced upon air. A katana shimmered faintly at his back. His pale eyes held no fear—only the cold intensity of a predator.

“Ling,” Zilong said under his breath.

The two stood motionless for a moment, measuring each other not with sight, but with intuition honed by countless kills.

Ling was Zilong’s equal—and perhaps his only rival in skill. Trained by the Azure Monastery, Ling was known as the "Cyan Finch" Where Zilong struck from shadow with precision, Ling moved like wind and silence—fluid, relentless, poetic in motion.

“I knew you’d come,” Ling finally spoke, voice calm as a moonlit lake. “You always follow the blood trail.” Zilong’s grip tightened on his spear-like blade. “And you always guard the dying cause. Why are you here, Ling?”