By the second morning, our names were already echoing through the corridors of the Crimson Court.
“The bonded pair who survived the elixir.”
“The walking omen.”
“The proof that Shuangxin was not a myth.”

No one said it to our faces, of course. They only stared… too long, too quietly.

Kang Ya Zhen’s summons came before dawn. She waited in the upper pavilion, the mist outside dyed red by the lanterns still burning from the night before.

“Lord Wen is assigning you to my protection detail,” she said, not looking up from the scroll she was signing. “Congratulations. You’re officially my shadows.”

Ji Ming folded his arms. “We were already protecting you.”

“Now you’ll do it publicly,” she replied. “It’s a gesture of loyalty, or theater, depending on who’s watching.”

“Who is watching?” I asked.

Her eyes lifted to mine. “Everyone.” 

Our duties began at sunrise, escorting her through court sessions, accompanying her to banquets, and standing guard during diplomatic audiences. Every room we entered was a stage dressed in silk and suspicion.

I began to notice the details others missed. The servants who carried tea without drinking it. The musicians whose instruments had talismans etched into their lacquer. The scent of ink and metal lingering where no scrolls were written.

Even Ya Zhen seemed different within these walls, less commanding, and more careful. When we were alone, she no longer smiled.

“The court keeps records on everyone,” she said one evening, folding her fan closed. “Every conversation, every look. The walls have eyes, and sometimes… they listen.”

She set a tiny paper charm beside my cup. “For your room,” she said. “It will muffle most sound. Not perfectly, but enough.”

I stared at it, then at her, and asked, “Why are you helping us?”

Her expression softened just slightly. “Because the Crimson Court eats everything, even those who feed it. I’d rather not be on the menu.”

Later that night, Ji Ming stood by the balcony overlooking the canal, watching the reflections of the lanterns.

“They’ll use us,” he said quietly. “Wen. Ya Zhen. Maybe even our own sects.”

I joined him, my fingers brushing the cold railing. “They already are.”

He turned his head slightly. “Then what do we do?”

The moonlight caught the faint silver thread that always appeared between us now, invisible to most eyes, but I could feel it hum. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

“We listen,” I said, determinedly. “And when the Court stops whispering, that’s when we run.”