Along the border of Northern Di and Great Yan, a severe drought had descended with sparse rainfall. Cracked earth stretched for miles, rivers ran dry, and wild grass withered. Starving refugees gathered in desperate clusters, kneeling before regional offices, pleading for aid—only to be driven away time and again.
In one of the Great Yan border provinces, Prefect Cheng Yan colluded with Northern Di nobles to embezzle relief grain. Supplies meant for the famine-stricken were instead sold at exorbitant prices to merchants—or worse, smuggled to Western Rong in exchange for weapons. The destitute were left to wander and starve, while the court remained oblivious to the brewing unrest.
"My lord, the refugees are crossing the borders in waves. If we don't act soon, this could spark a full-scale rebellion," a steward warned in hushed tones.
Cheng Yan snorted, casting a dismissive glance at the crowd of desperate peasants outside his window. "Rebellion? What's a few more dead peasants? If they stir up trouble, chase them off."
Just then, a clerk burst into the hall, face pale. "Reporting in, my lord—the imperial court has sent someone to inspect the granaries!"
Cheng Yan's expression froze, eyes narrowing. "Who?"
"It's... His Highness, the Third Prince, Xiao Zhengyu."
Cheng Yan's fingers clenched around his wine cup, eyes flashing with alarm.
Late that night, the granary on the border was heavily guarded, dozens of soldiers patrolling with torches. Through the flickering firelight, sacks of grain could be seen piled high.
A figure moved silently through the shadows, agile and stealthy, crouched along the eaves, eyes focused keenly on the movement below.
Clad in lightweight black armor, she moved with the precision of a hawk. She had come under secret orders to investigate collusion between Northern Di officials and corrupt Great Yan authorities. To her surprise, the grain wasn't even in the military storehouses—it had been secretly relocated. She had tracked it for days, and tonight was the moment to uncover the truth.
Holding her breath, she leapt lightly onto the granary rooftop, preparing to slip inside.
But just as she was about to move, a faint rustle—fabric brushing against wind—alerted her.
Her eyes narrowed, body twisting midair as a flash of steel sliced toward her.
Mo Yan spun on her toes, dodging the strike, and countered with a swift palm aimed at her assailant's wrist.
The attacker parried effortlessly and retreated, eyes sharp and cold.
The two stood off under the moonlight, tension crackling in the air.
Mo Yan studied him—his sword technique was fast and forceful, his internal strength profound. Clearly not a common fighter. For him to intercept her here, he had to be someone of significance.
He, too, observed her closely.
Her movements were fluid, her breath steady, her swordsmanship bore the mark of lethal precision—trained for swift, fatal strikes.
After a moment of silence, the man spoke first, voice low and steady. "Who are you?"
Mo Yan didn't answer. Her peripheral vision caught something inside the granary—a strange mark on the floor.
A Western Rong military seal.
Her heart skipped. So the grain was indeed destined for Western Rong.
Thoughts raced. She turned without a word, retreating swiftly into the darkness.
Xiao Zhengyu launched forward, trying to stop her—but Mo Yan suddenly flung a handful of small, pearl-like stones from her sleeve.
"Watch out—" Xiao Zhengyu leapt back just in time.
In that brief moment, Mo Yan disappeared into the night.
Xiao Zhengyu remained on the rooftop, gaze dark and thoughtful.
Inside a long-abandoned relay station outside the city, Mo Yan uncurled her palm, revealing a silk scroll hidden in her sleeve.
She had seized it during her escape—it detailed a transaction between Cheng Yan and Northern Di nobles.
"Western Rong... so they're involved too," she murmured, mind racing.
But her thoughts kept returning to that man.
He had been strong—too strong for an ordinary guard. And he cared deeply about the corruption. Was he investigating too?
"If he is," she thought, "maybe he could be useful..."
Then she shook her head and smiled bitterly. Foolish idea.
Elsewhere, Xiao Zhengyu returned to the garrison, expression grave.
His lieutenant, Zhang Zexiang, stepped forward. "Your Highness, any progress tonight?"
Xiao Zhengyu nodded slightly. "We've secured evidence of corruption... but also encountered a rather intriguing opponent."
"Enemy or ally?" Zhang raised a brow.
Xiao Zhengyu's eyes were unreadable. "Too soon to tell."
The stranger's swordplay had been decisive, ruthless—but not hostile. They hadn't fought to kill.
"Who is he?"
That question lingered in Xiao Zhengyu's mind.
The next day, with solid evidence in hand, Xiao Zhengyu publicly exposed Cheng Yan's crimes and ordered him escorted back to the capital for trial.
Yet when he reviewed the case files, his expression darkened.
The transaction documents from the warehouse were missing.
"What?" Zhang Zexiang exclaimed. "Someone got to them first!"
Xiao Zhengyu fell silent, the image of the masked figure flashing through his mind.
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Interesting…"
Far away, Mo Yan had already begun her journey back to the Northern Di Prime Minister's residence, scroll in hand.
Neither of them knew—
This dark battle sparked by corruption had only just begun.