The bridal procession halted near the border of the nomadic lands, where the night was at its darkest.
It was the hour when the dead were said to wander the earth—when evil lurked, waiting in the folds of darkness.

But Han Ruo did not believe in ghosts.
If spirits truly existed, his father or brother would have appeared to him long ago, guiding his path.
Through the years, he had learned that it was not the dead one should fear—but the living: greedy, restless, and bloodthirsty.

The wind howled over the barren plains, rattling the tent ropes and making the horses twitch their ears.
One horse neighed sharply, stepping back in alarm.
A soldier rushed forward to tighten the reins, but the fear in the animal’s eyes was unmistakable—
as though the darkness had reached its heart long before it reached the men.

Chen Bo rode closer to the General, his gaze lost somewhere in the star-scattered sky.
But his thoughts wandered far beyond the night—to the uncertainty of dawn.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” he asked, his voice unsteady in a way Han Ruo rarely heard.

The General’s attire was that of a common soldier, blending easily among his men.
No insignia, no rank, no trace of command—only quiet steel beneath the surface.
His expression was stoic, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed the storm within.

He had planned to send Chen Bo alone to escort the bride, but something—instinct, or perhaps experience—had warned him otherwise.
He was certain the procession would be ambushed.
If that happened, he needed to witness it himself—to demand answers later.
He would not send his men into fire for a woman he did not even know.

In a clipped voice, he ordered,
“Make sure everyone keeps their mouths shut. Remember—on this journey, you are the one in command. I am merely your soldier. Act like it.”

Chen Bo’s face darkened; faint displeasure flickered across his lips, but he did not argue.
He simply nodded and spurred his horse forward.

From afar, the howl of wolves echoed—long and thin, slicing through the wind like a blade.
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
The flickering lantern light cast warped, shifting shadows—faces that seemed to twist and sneer.

Han Ruo’s eyes hardened as he looked into the night.
The unease was growing heavier by the minute.
Something was wrong.
He could feel it in the air, in the silence that pressed against his chest.
The woman would try to run. He was certain of it.
His instincts never lied.

Something was going to happen.