Shadows at Dawn
First light glinted off the jade pavilions as Liu and Lili crossed the stone bridge once more. The garden—silent but for distant birdcalls—felt different at dawn: every shadow seemed alive, every wind-stirred leaf whispering secrets.
Lili clutched the small lacquered box Liu had pressed into her hand the evening before. Its rich scarlet surface bore the Jiāng family crest: two dragons intertwined above a scarlet phoenix. She had not dared open it yet.
They found their way to the pavilion by the lotus pond. Liu sat on the ledge, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun. "You can open it now," he said softly.
Lili's fingers shook as she untied the silk cord. She lifted the lid, revealing a delicate silver hairpin shaped like a phoenix feather—an heirloom from her mother's side, lost for years. Tears sparkled in her eyes. "How did you—?"
Before Liu could answer, a cold breeze cut through. Lili looked up: the garden's entrance gate was unlatched.
"He shouldn't be here," she whispered.
Liu rose, moving to stand behind her. "Stay close."
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones. Lili's heart pounded as the figure stepped into the clearing—tall, broad-shouldered, cloak trailing the ground.
"Lili," a voice said so softly it could have been the wind.
She froze. Liu reached for her hand, but found only air. The figure paused at the pavilion's edge, sunlight glinting off a blade strapped to his hip.
"You belong with me," he continued, and the morning light caught the dragon crest on his ring.
Lili's breath caught. "Bàba?"
The figure did not answer.
A single petal drifted down between them. Lili watched it fall.
Then the gate slammed shut.
Lili's scream died in her throat as Liu grabbed her arm.
He looked from the box to the shadowed form. "What did he want?"
Lili shook her head. The hairpin slipped from her fingers and struck the stone floor with a hollow clink.
Liu caught her wrist as she reached down.
Together they stared at the fallen heirloom.
And into the silent garden gate.