The air was too quiet for morning. Not even the sparrows dared to chatter.

  Zhao Wei blinked the sleep from her eyes, heart still thudding from the dream she wouldn’t dare put into words. Lanfen was gone from her perch, likely off tormenting the kitchen staff again, and the faint smell of cinnamon steamed buns crept through the cracks of her window. That should’ve been comforting. But today, everything felt... tilted.

  Someone had left a note. Folded once, tucked beneath the porcelain cup on her desk.

  "Red strings fray where foxes play. Come to the eastern courtyard at dusk. Wear silence like armor."

  No signature. But she knew the ink, a blend of lotus ash and spider lily, used only by one person.

  Feng Ren.

  Feng Ren was not punctual. He was, however, theatrical.

  Zhao Wei arrived early, cloaked in black linen with her hair tied in a low knot. The eastern courtyard was empty save for the broken statue of the first Spirit Chancellor and an overgrown maze of plum trees. Every branch whispered.

  When he arrived, it was with a fox mask in hand and a peach in the other, biting into it like this was a festival.

  "You’re late," Zhao Wei said.

  "I like to be anticipated," Feng Ren replied, juice dripping from his chin. "Also, I got distracted by a squirrel fight. Very intense. Tail biting."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You summoned me with an ominous riddle. For this?"

  He leaned against the statue, tossing the mask to her. "Not just that. Consider it a peace offering. And a warning."

  Zhao Wei caught the fox mask, brushing its worn edge. It had belonged to someone she once knew. Someone she used to be.

  "You remember more now, don’t you?" Feng Ren asked. His voice shifted, became quieter. Almost gentle.

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  She hesitated.

  "Fragments," she said. "Smells. Blood. A crown."

  "And me?"

  She looked at him. Really looked. His eyes were the same. Clever. Sad. Dangerous.

  "I remember trusting you," she said.

  Feng Ren exhaled slowly, like it hurt. "Then forget again. Trust is a noose here."

  Meanwhile, word of the Spirit Mirror's "malfunction" had spread like wildfire through the Academy. Some called it an omen. Others, a sign of divine testing.

  Lin Yuan was unconvinced.

  He stood in the archives, books stacked like walls around him. He hadn’t slept. Scrolls lay open, maps, spirit lineage charts, war records over a century old.

  One name kept circling back.

  Wei Ning.

  Supposedly died in a betrayal that cracked the Flame Clan in half. A woman feared for her ruthless tactics and famed for never having bonded with a spirit beast. Just like...

  "No," he whispered. "It can’t be."

  But the coincidence was too sharp. Like a blade placed precisely between ribs.

  Back in the courtyard, Zhao Wei crouched beneath the statue, tracing the inscription with her fingers. "To see beyond, you must burn what blinds."

  She remembered carving that.

  She stood. "Tell me why you really brought me here."

  Feng Ren tossed the peach pit over his shoulder. "There’s a gathering tonight. A secret one. The kind where masks aren't just for show."

  Her eyes narrowed. "The Serpent's Ring?"

  He smiled. "You do remember."

  "They're still alive?"

  "Alive? They're thriving. They've made friends in high places. And they know you're here."

  The air seemed to still. Even the wind listened.

  "Then I’ll go," Zhao Wei said.

  Feng Ren reached out and gently adjusted the mask in her hand. "Not as Zhao Wei. As the ghost they fear. As Wei Ning."

  That night, the moon hid behind clouds.

  Zhao Wei moved like shadow. The fox mask was warm on her face, as though it remembered her breath from another life. She passed guards with breath held, heart steady, slipping through cracks in the palace walls like ink through parchment.

  The Serpent's gathering was in the underground catacombs beneath the academy's Hall of Rites, a place forbidden to students, sacred to ghosts.

  She counted thirteen masked figures around a fire.

  "We are gathered," one said. "For blood. For secrets. For the fall of empires."

  Zhao Wei stepped into the light.

  "Then start with mine."

  Gasps. One mask tilted. A voice whispered, "Wei Ning...?"

  She pulled the fox mask free.

  "Surprised? Good. That means you're afraid."

  From the shadows, a dagger flew.

  She caught it.

  "Next one won’t miss," she said coolly, flipping the blade.

  But someone clapped.

  A tall figure stepped forward, serpent mask gleaming.

  "You do make an entrance."

  She recognized the voice. She had killed him once.

  "Tian Ruo," she said. "You're bolder dead than you ever were alive."

  "And you," he said, "are still arrogant. But clever. We could use you again."

  Zhao Wei smiled.

  "I'm not here to join," she said. "I'm here to end it."