THE VEILED GENERAL

The Empty Room

Rain began before sunrise.

By noon, the imperial palace was wrapped in a gray mist.

Water streamed from the curved roofs and fell from the stone dragons guarding the palace gates. The gardens had lost their usual brightness beneath the clouds, and servants hurried along the covered walkways with their sleeves pulled over their hands.

Nobody was celebrating.

Nobody was relaxed.

Since the incident at the banquet, the palace had become a place of suspicion.

Guards stood at every entrance.

Servants were questioned twice before being allowed through certain corridors.

Even members of the imperial household were no longer permitted to wander freely.

And somewhere beyond those walls, General Han was still missing.

No body had been found.

No message had arrived.

No one knew whether he was alive.

His daughter refused to accept the worst.

Han Liyue had not slept.

She stood inside a temporary guest chamber, still wearing the same dark military robe from the previous night.

Her long hair had come loose from its braid. Several strands clung to her cheek, damp from the rain.

A map covered the table before her.

She had marked every place connected to her father's disappearance.

The prison.

The eastern gate.

The hunting grounds.

The river.

The abandoned pavilion.

Nothing connected.

That was what frightened her.

Liyue stared at the map until her eyes hurt.

"My father doesn't disappear."

Her voice was quiet.

"People make him disappear."

Yin stood by the window.

He had been silent for several minutes.

"You're certain?"

Liyue looked at him.

"I've known him my entire life."

She pointed toward the map.

"He is stubborn. Loud. Reckless. He once rode into an enemy camp because someone told him they had stolen his horse."

Yin's mouth twitched.

"What happened?"

"He got his horse back."

"Of course he did."

Liyue almost smiled.

Then the smile vanished.

"But he doesn't simply vanish."

Yin looked at her.

"You think someone took him."

"I know someone did."

"What makes you so certain?"

Liyue reached beneath the table.

She pulled out a folded piece of cloth.

It was dark with dried blood.

"My father's cloak."

Yin's expression hardened.

"Where did you find it?"

"Near the river."

He took it carefully.

There was a tear along the shoulder.

A dark stain covered the lower edge.

Yin examined it.

"His blood?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

Liyue shook her head.

"I don't know."

Yin looked at her.

"That's why you're still searching."

She nodded.

"I need proof."

The door opened.

Shuishui entered.

She wore a muted blue-green hanfu with embroidered white reeds along the sleeves. Her hair was arranged simply, held by a jade hairpin rather than the elaborate ornaments favored by most women in the inner court.

She stopped when she saw the cloak.

"What happened?"

Liyue looked at her.

"We found this."

Shuishui approached.

She didn't touch it immediately.

Instead, she studied the tear.

"Where?"

"Near the river."

Shuishui crouched beside the table.

She examined the edge of the fabric.

"This wasn't torn during a fight."

Liyue frowned.

"How do you know?"

"Look."

Shuishui pointed.

"The fibers are pulled outward."

She traced the edge with one finger.

"If someone had grabbed him here, the tear would run in the opposite direction."

Yin looked down.

"Then what caused it?"

"Something caught on it."

"Like a branch?"

"Possibly."

Liyue stared at her.

"So my father may not have been attacked there."

"Maybe."

Shuishui stood.

"And there's something else."

She pointed at the mud on the bottom of the cloak.

"Your father was running."

Liyue's expression changed.

"How do you know?"

"The mud is splashed higher on the back than the front."

Yin stepped closer.

"He was moving quickly."

"Yes."

"From someone?"

"Or toward someone."

Silence.

That possibility changed everything.

They went to the river.

Rain had turned the ground into mud.

Soldiers had already searched the area, but Shuishui immediately noticed how poorly they had done it.

She crouched near the riverbank.

"Nobody searched here."

Liyue looked confused.

"Why?"

Shuishui pointed toward the reeds.

"The water washed away most footprints, but not all of them."

There were marks beneath the wet grass.

Three sets of footprints.

One large.

One smaller.

One almost completely erased.

Yin crouched beside her.

"Three people."

"At least."

Liyue's eyes narrowed.

"Could one be my father?"

"Yes."

"And the other two?"

Shuishui shook her head.

"We don't know."

They followed the tracks.

One set led toward the abandoned hunting pavilion.

Another went toward the forest.

The third simply stopped.

Not faded.

Not washed away.

Stopped.

Shuishui stared at it.

"That's strange."

Yin crouched.

"Why?"

"Someone stood here."

"For how long?"

"Long enough for the rain to wash away the surrounding prints."

He looked at her.

"And then?"

"They left by another route."

Liyue glanced around.

"There are no other footprints."

"Exactly."

Inside the abandoned pavilion, the air smelled of wet wood.

Yin entered first.

Liyue followed.

Shuishui remained near the doorway.

Something caught her eye.

A small carving on one of the wooden pillars.

She wiped away the dirt.

A symbol appeared.

A wolf.

Liyue stepped closer.

"That's Beiyuan."

Shuishui frowned.

"Why would someone carve a Beiyuan symbol here?"

Liyue touched it.

"My father used this symbol."

Yin looked at her.

"Your father?"

"He used it to mark temporary military meeting points."

Shuishui looked around.

"So he came here willingly."

Liyue shook her head.

"Not necessarily."

"Why?"

"My father would never leave a mark this obvious."

Yin's eyes narrowed.

"Then someone wanted us to believe he did."

Nobody spoke.

The rain hammered against the roof.

Shuishui walked toward the table.

There was nothing on it.

She checked beneath it.

Nothing.

Then she looked at the floor.

A single floorboard was slightly raised.

She crouched.

"Liyue."

Liyue hurried over.

Together they lifted it.

A narrow compartment had been carved beneath the floor.

Inside was a small wooden box.

Yin opened it.

Empty.

Except for one thing.

A thread of black silk.

Liyue stared.

"What is that?"

Shuishui picked it up.

"Someone's clothing."

Yin examined it.

"Could be anyone."

"Yes."

Shuishui looked toward the doorway.

"But whoever left it here didn't leave by accident."

She held the thread toward the light.

There was a tiny embroidered pattern.

A silver crescent.

Liyue's expression changed.

"I know that symbol."

Yin looked at her.

"Where?"

"Beiyuan."

She hesitated.

"It's used by the royal intelligence division."

The room went silent.

Shuishui's eyes narrowed.

"Then someone from Beiyuan was here."

Liyue stared at the thread.

"My father was taken by someone from my own kingdom?"

"That's what the evidence suggests."

Liyue looked furious.

"No."

She closed her fist.

"Someone wants us to think that."

Shuishui looked at her.

"Why?"

"Because whoever took my father knew exactly what evidence would be found."

Yin slowly nodded.

"Someone is controlling the investigation."

They returned to Zhao before sunset.

But the mystery only became worse.

A palace guard reported that someone had entered the imperial archives during the previous night.

Nothing appeared stolen.

That was the strange part.

Until Shuishui asked one question.

"What section?"

The guard answered.

"The historical records."

Yin immediately went there.

The archive smelled of dust and old paper.

Rows of shelves stretched into darkness.

The chief archivist unlocked the restricted section.

He stopped.

One shelf was empty.

Yin walked toward it.

"What was here?"

The archivist swallowed.

"The original peace agreement between Zhao and Beiyuan."

Liyue's face hardened.

"Someone stole it."

"Yes."

"When?"

"We don't know."

Yin turned.

"Who has access?"

"The emperor."

"The imperial secretary?"

"Yes."

"The crown archives?"

"Yes."

"Anyone else?"

The archivist hesitated.

"There is one person."

"Who?"

"The previous emperor."

Silence.

Yin's expression changed.

"My father?"

The archivist nodded.

"His private seal was used to open this section."

Yin stared at the empty shelf.

"But he's dead."

The archivist lowered his head.

"Yes."

Nobody spoke.

Then Shuishui noticed something on the floor.

A single piece of paper.

She picked it up.

It wasn't part of the peace agreement.

It was a list.

Names.

Dozens of them.

Officials.

Generals.

Servants.

Merchants.

And beside several names was a single red mark.

Yin read the first few.

His expression darkened.

"These people..."

"What?"

"They all disappeared before the second war."

Shuishui looked at the list.

"Then someone was keeping track of them."

Liyue stepped closer.

"Why?"

Nobody had an answer.

Then Yin noticed something at the bottom of the page.

One final name.

He stared.

His face went completely still.

Shuishui looked at him.

"Who?"

Yin folded the paper.

"Nobody."

She frowned.

"Yin."

"I'm handling it."

He walked away.

Shuishui watched him leave.

Something about his expression bothered her.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something closer to recognition.

But she didn't follow him.

Not yet.

That night, Yin returned to his private chambers.

He locked the door.

Then unfolded the list.

His eyes returned to the final name.

Prince Yin.

Beside it was a red mark.

And beneath his name, written in an unfamiliar hand, were four words.

"Born before the agreement."

Yin stared at the sentence.

His breathing slowed.

He read it again.

Then again.

A knock came at the door.

He immediately folded the paper.

"Who?"

"Me."

Zhao Li.

Yin opened the door.

His elder brother stood outside alone.

The emperor looked at him.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Zhao Li asked quietly,

"Where did you find that?"

Yin's blood ran cold.

"You knew about it?"

Zhao Li didn't answer.

Instead, he looked toward the folded paper in Yin's hand.

And for the first time since returning from war—

the emperor looked genuinely afraid.

Not of an enemy.

Not of Beiyuan.

Not of an assassin.

Of the truth.