18 · Duel in the Garden, Echoes of a Lost Token

The night was deep and silent. A pale moon hung high, casting its cold silver light upon the eaves of Dayan's Military Intelligence Hall.

Hidden in the shadows, Mo Yan held her breath, listening intently to the voices within.

"The northern frontier has stirred for months now," came Xiao Zhengyu's low, contemplative voice. "Suspicious movements have been reported from multiple outposts. If we do not act preemptively, we risk unforeseen upheaval."

"Your Highness, has the court decided whether to mobilize troops?" a general inquired.

At the head of the table, Xiao Zhongyan remained calm, his voice composed. "The time has not yet come. Let us observe a little longer."

Mo Yan furrowed her brows. His evasive response—was it simply caution, or did he harbor a hidden motive?

Just as she strained to catch more, a heavy silence fell inside the chamber—then, suddenly, a blade of killing intent sliced through the darkness, honing in on her position.

"Who's there!"

Xiao Zhengyu's voice boomed like thunder. His sword tore through the air, aimed straight at the shadows where Mo Yan hid.

Her heart clenched. In a flash, she leapt backward, her robes fluttering as she vaulted over the windowsill and vanished onto the roof like a gust of wind.

"Stop right there!"

Xiao Zhengyu gave chase without hesitation. His blade gleamed cold under moonlight, and the rooftop erupted into a deadly clash.

Swords collided. Sparks flew.

Mo Yan moved like a wraith—agile and swift. But Xiao Zhengyu was relentless, pressing forward with unyielding ferocity, forcing her to retreat step by step.

She pivoted sharply and sped toward the imperial gardens.

There, silver frost blanketed the flowerbeds, petals trembled in the night breeze, and fragrance hung faint in the air.

As she landed lightly amidst the blossoms, a cold edge grazed her waist—Xiao Zhengyu's sword had caught up.

The two resumed their battle beneath the shadowed trees. Blades clashed, sword auras howled, and fallen leaves danced wildly around them.

Xiao Zhengyu's eyes narrowed. He studied the figure before him, clad in black.

It wasn't their first encounter.

On the night the military blueprints vanished, he had fought this same shadow atop the palace roof. He remembered the icy, resolute eyes. The graceful yet deadly movements. It was unmistakably the same opponent.

Now, they met again—and he was determined to uncover the truth.

His strikes came swift as thunder, each blow faster than the last. Mo Yan dodged with fluid grace, her sleeves fluttering like silk in the wind. She countered only when necessary, never engaging him head-on.

But in the flurry of blades, a peculiar sensation stirred in Xiao Zhengyu's chest—familiarity.

There was something in this figure's rhythm, the angle of movement, the very air around her. He had seen this before—somewhere.

Then, it happened.

As she spun away, a glimmer of white flashed at her waist—barely visible in the dim light.

His eyes sharpened. Seizing the moment, he extended his fingers mid-strike and, with practiced ease, slipped the glowing object into his palm.

Mo Yan retreated into the darkness, unaware of the feather-light touch that had brushed her waist.

Her eyes gleamed. She knew it was time to vanish. No more sparring.

And in the blink of an eye, she was gone—swallowed by the night, leaving no trace.

Only when the garden was silent again did Xiao Zhengyu lower his gaze, his fingers tightening around the item he had snatched.

It was a jade pendant—smooth, cool, and faintly luminous under the moonlight.

As he turned it over, his pupils contracted.

On one side was a carved tiger sigil—a symbol of command. On the other, two mandarin ducks playfully entwined.

The top of the pendant was adorned with a finely embroidered red-gold thread. And at the very bottom, delicately etched, was a single character: Yao.

A tremor passed through him. Memory, long buried, surged like a tide.

—A spring day outside Xinghua Village, in a quiet pavilion.

—Almond blossoms drifted through the breeze, carpeting the stone path in pink and white.

—A ten-year-old Xiao Zhengyu held a jade pendant in his hands, his face full of impatient reluctance.

He extended the pendant to a little girl across from him.

The girl—young Shen Ruoyao—tilted her head with a puzzled smile. Her round eyes blinked, then brightened with delight. She took the pendant, carefully running her fingers over its smooth curves.

For a moment, she was silent. Then she broke into a beaming grin, clutching the gift tightly as though it were a priceless treasure.

Petals swirled down around them, framing her radiant smile and his half-hearted scowl. Time, in that instant, stood still.

The memory ended as abruptly as it came. Xiao Zhengyu's brows furrowed deeply. His fingers curled tighter around the pendant.

He had a matching piece—etched with the character Yu.

Yet the pendant now in his hand… should have been lost with its owner.

An owner long presumed dead.

Then how… how did this pendant end up in the possession of a cloaked spy?

Wind swept through the flowers, shadows rippling in its wake.

Xiao Zhengyu stood alone beneath the moon, staring at the jade in his palm, drowning in questions with no answers.