Chapter 115: Chapter 115: Under the Sun
Beneath a sky cloaked in charcoal mist, Ge Dao’s boots met the earth with slow, deliberate steps. He approached the lone tent pitched at the far-western edge of the caravan grounds—its hide fabric drawn taut against wooden stakes, fluttering faintly in the wind like a breath held too long. This part of the encampment, long known as a haven for transients and swords-for-hire, now stood in eerie stillness, deserted like a battlefield stripped of corpses.
Ge Dao paused before the tent’s entrance. His hand lingered above the flap, hesitation coiling around his fingers. The wind whispered low through the canvas seams. ~ There was a weight in the air, dense with secrets and warnings unspoken. He could feel it pressing down on his shoulders.
This is the place, he thought. The snake coils within.
The name of Li Zhao was never uttered without caution. Among whispering tongues around campfires, the man was said to be equal parts scholar and spider—one who spun lies with the ease of ink across parchment, who smiled while placing knives in backs. Vicious, elusive, clever beyond comfort.
Ge Dao drew a slow breath, muttering beneath his breath, "A scorpion does not change its sting just because it wears a scholar’s robe." Then he lifted the flap and stepped inside.
The interior was dim, lit only by a single oil lamp that cast trembling shadows across the worn canvas walls. A scroll hung behind the occupant, its calligraphy stark and precise—verses from some forgotten classic extolling silence and the sword. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and dried ink.
At a small lacquered table near the center of the tent sat Li Zhao, clad in simple scholar’s robes of pale ash-grey, his sleeves rolled back slightly as he read. He did not look up immediately—merely turned the page of his book with a languid finger, then raised his head with a slow, foxlike smile.
"Ah, Ge Dao, you’ve arrived." His voice was smooth, cultivated, with the undertone of a man who enjoyed secrets far more than he should. "Please, do sit. The air grows stale with silence, and I find company... invigorating."
Ge Dao’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He stepped across the floor, letting his boots crunch softly on the woven reed mats. ~ With wary grace, he seated himself opposite Li Zhao. His back straight, his hand never far from the dagger at his hip.
"I have brought something of utmost importance from Master Wu," Ge Dao said, his tone stern as tempered iron. "He has drawn a likeness—the face of the man who barred our messenger from the city wall."
Li Zhao’s smile stretched wider. His fingers interlaced as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in feline interest. "How very thoughtful of Master Wu. Always so diligent in matters of faces and gates." He gestured languidly. "I am eager to assist in any way I can."
Ge Dao’s eyes narrowed. He studied Li Zhao’s face—the calm amusement, the too-smooth expressions. "Spare me the performance," he said. "You are known by many names, but none of them suggest honesty. Try no tricks, Li Zhao. I am not some witless errand boy."
Li Zhao placed a hand upon his chest in mock offense, lips parting in a soft gasp. "By the heavens, such harsh words so early in the day. Have I truly earned such ire?" He leaned back, his eyes glinting. "My heart aches to be so misunderstood."
Ge Dao said nothing, letting the silence settle like snow between them. He pulled the rolled parchment from within his robe and laid it upon the table, but did not yet release it. "Here," he said coldly. "But know this—I shall watch every twitch of your fingers. If you lie, even in breath, I shall know."
Only then did he release the parchment. Li Zhao’s fingers were delicate as he unfurled it, spreading it flat upon the table. His eyes flicked over the sketch with a calculating gleam. His lips did not move, but his pupils danced from line to line.
Ge Dao’s eyes never left him.
After a time, Li Zhao gently rolled it back up and placed it on the lacquered surface. He folded his hands, expression turning solemn. "This is... interesting. Yes, I believe I have seen this man, though not often. He is no simple guard."
"Then speak plainly," Ge Dao pressed. "We are past riddles."
Li Zhao inclined his head slightly. "As you wish. I believe he is connected to the Iron Thorn Syndicate. They’ve many fingers in the city now. If your messenger was turned away, it may not have been by the will of the gatekeepers, but by coin far heavier than law."
Ge Dao stared at him, weighing the words like gold against dirt. Li Zhao’s tone carried conviction, but that meant little from a man who could lie while bleeding truth.
"I warn you again," Ge Dao said slowly, "if any of this is falsehood, it will not be your tongue that pays the price—but your eyes. Master Wu’s patience wanes."
Li Zhao chuckled softly, tapping the side of his cup. "Rest assured, I have no desire to betray the good Master Wu. I’ve seen what becomes of those who do." He sipped from a cup that had sat unnoticed until now. The steam rose in silent spirals. ~
Ge Dao stood then, adjusting the sleeves of his outer robe. "Very well. I will hold you to your word. But remember—should you play false, no tent nor title will hide you."
As he turned to leave, Li Zhao’s voice halted him at the threshold. "One more thing, Ge Dao. Be wary within Crescent Moon city. Wolves wear many pelts, and not all knives are held in hand."
Ge Dao paused, his eyes catching a glimpse of the scroll behind Li Zhao once more. Silence sharpens the sword, it read.
Without a word, he exited the tent.
The western edge of the camp met him with wind and a silence unnatural. He walked with heavy steps, eyes scanning the surroundings. The tents, though still pitched, looked abandoned, as though their occupants had vanished mid-breath. No guards, no laughter, no scent of cooking fires. Only wind and the creak of taut ropes. ~
Strange... he thought. The western camp was never quiet. Not when mercenaries and drifters swarmed it like ants to sugar.
He passed a stacked pile of firewood, untouched. A dice cup rolled in the dirt, its contents spilled—abandoned mid-game. Ge Dao frowned deeply.
Something has shifted, he thought. Something unseen coils beneath this stillness.
He gripped the drawing within his robe tighter and pressed on, heart pounding with the rhythm of encroaching events.