I did not reply, raising my hand in farewell as her cloud sped away. She would be safe, I assured myself, as I strode to my room. Shuxiao was astute, she had many friends in the palace, and Liwei would watch out for her. Though as I lay in bed, her question lingered in my mind, my last thought before I drifted off to sleep: How had Master Haoran heard of our osmanthus? Most of our guests did not trouble themselves to walk through the forest, and I had not offered to show it to them.

THUD. THUD. THUD. A silvery rustle followed like the tinkling of a wind chime. Rhythmic but muffled, as though it came from far away.

My eyes flew open, blinking in the dark. From the deep quiet it was either late at night or far too early in the morning. Had I imagined those sounds? Perhaps I should have drunk some of Master Haoran’s wine, my slumber might have been as restful as the nights before.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I jerked upright in bed, straining my ears to listen. This was real, like something solid being struck. And what was that rustling that trailed after like a persistent echo? Tossing aside the covers, I strode to the open window, inhaling the cool air laced with a delicate sweetness. The sky was dark, the ground infused with moonlight. In the distance, the laurel towered, its branches swaying as though assaulted by the wind—yet the osmanthus trees remained still.

Fear slithered through me, cold and hard. My fingers shook as I pulled a robe over my inner garments, knotting it around my waist. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bow, and climbed out through the window. My gaze was pinned on the quivering laurel, my feet flying over the ground—stumbling, almost falling over. Once, twice, thrice, those strange knocks sounded again, sending the tree into agonized spasms. Just before the clearing I halted, my grip tightening around my bow.

A man stood beside the laurel, with his back to me. The aura that rippled from him was thick and opaque, like congealed grease. There was an odd familiarity about it, my senses prickling in warning. A glint snared my attention, moonlight catching the silver curve of an axe blade, a green tassel swinging from its bamboo handle. It swept down, striking the laurel, the metal splintering the bark. Something dark trickled from the woodcutter’s palm onto the tree—was it blood? Had he wounded himself? But then the tree shuddered violently, pale leaves rustling as a seed fell to the ground, glittering as a fallen star.

I drew a blazing arrow and stepped out from the shadows, my heart pounding to a frantic beat. As the man swung around, a sharp breath slid between my teeth as I swiftly trained the arrow at his head.

Master Gang.