Noisy shouts and pungent scents assaulted Lan Zhuoran, Yin Feiyan, and Gao Tianrong as they threaded the crowded market square. Stalls overlapped in a patchwork of fabrics, fruits, makeshift weaponry, and secondhand garments. Hawkers barked prices, urchins darted beneath carts, and battered soldiers eyed potential thieves. The city's turmoil reflected here, a microcosm of desperation and resilience.
Feiyan kept her hood low to conceal her splinted arm and the relic's bulge. The press of bodies made her anxious, her side aching where she'd taken a glancing strike weeks ago. But curiosity about the city's state spurred her forward. She overheard fragments of conversation: rumors of warlords, pleas for cheaper rice, laments of loved ones lost to roaming mercenaries.
Gao Tianrong eased past a blacksmith's stall, glancing at an array of crude blades. He paused, overhearing two men in hushed talk: "Council's locked down… Jade Hall sealed… ministers disagree on war strategy…"—words that aligned with what the teahouse server had mentioned.
Lan Zhuoran beckoned Feiyan to a spice vendor's stall. The vendor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, eyed them with subdued sympathy. "You look new here," she said softly. "Need something?"
Feiyan offered a small coin. "Just some salt or dried herbs. And… any news about the Jade Hall or official announcements? We're travelers."
The vendor weighed their meager coin. "Salt's expensive nowadays," she murmured, handing over a tiny pouch. Then her gaze flicked side to side. "As for official business… the council's split by infighting, they say. Soldiers from different factions roam the streets. The Jade Hall? Heavily guarded. No one gets close unless they're recognized delegates or part of the Emperor's retinue—what's left of it."
Feiyan's shoulders sagged. "Then how does one meet a minister or advisor?"
The vendor shrugged, passing a handful of dried mint. "Some folks say you need personal connections or bribes. Others slip in at night through old passages, if you know which guard to pay off. But it's risky. The capital's turned into a battlefield of politics."
Gao Tianrong rejoined them, holding a small pouch of blacksmith nails—an excuse for eavesdropping. "Let's move on," he said quietly.
They wove deeper into the market, settling near a faded shrine where weary pilgrims lit incense sticks. Lan Zhuoran quietly recounted the spice vendor's information: infiltration or bribes seemed the only way to reach the Jade Hall. Feiyan winced. "We have limited coin. And even if we get inside, how do we ensure the council welcomes us?"
Gao Tianrong scanned the throng. "We need a credible contact—someone who vouches for us. Or a secret route that leads directly to the more sympathetic ministers."
As they debated, a commotion arose near the market's edge. A squad of uniformed soldiers—armor bearing the phoenix crest—burst through the crowd, clearing stalls to form a perimeter. Behind them strode a figure in ornate robes, flanked by guards. The merchant stalls parted in hushed awe or fear.
Feiyan's heart lurched. Was this an official from the palace? The robed figure, a stern-faced man with silver-streaked hair, stepped onto a small platform. Soldiers barked at onlookers to keep distance. A hush spread.
"My name is Minister Rong, envoy of the Emperor's court," the man announced, voice carrying through the hush. "Hear this: By decree of the throne, all able-bodied citizens are requested to enlist in the city's defense. War presses at our gates. Failure to comply invites suspicion of treason. We must unite to protect the capital."
Anxious murmurs rippled through the crowd. Gao Tianrong's fingers tightened on his bow. Lan Zhuoran felt Feiyan tense beside him. Forced conscription? With war on the horizon, the capital demanded every resource, every fighter.
Minister Rong continued, "Those who volunteer will receive rations and a place within the city walls. Those who refuse may be turned away or placed under watch. The Emperor's will is clear."
Then, with curt efficiency, he signaled the soldiers, who began distributing hastily written notices. A tide of confusion and alarm swept the market. Some looked resigned to fight, others aghast at forced service. Feiyan's stomach churned; if they didn't volunteer, might they be marked as traitors? But if they joined, how would they keep the relic safe?
Lan Zhuoran guided them into a side alley, hearts hammering. "We can't publicly enlist. That'd put us under constant scrutiny—and we'd risk the relic being discovered."
Gao Tianrong nodded, voice grim. "But refusing might brand us as outsiders or spies. This complicates everything."
Feiyan pressed a hand to her splint, mind racing. "Is there a way to volunteer quietly, then slip away once inside the higher districts? Or do we keep hiding in the lower wards?"
A cacophony of voices rose behind them, citizens rushing to read the notices, soldiers barking orders. Tension crackled in the air like a lightning storm about to break. The trio exchanged a volley of worried glances, each realization hitting with the force of a hammer: the city wouldn't remain passive for long.
In the swirling chaos, they had to make a choice. If war pressed near the gates, the council's time—and perhaps the empire's—was running out. Feiyan inhaled, gaze fierce. "We'll find a way. Let's slip back to the teahouse, rethink our approach. No rash moves without a plan."
Lan Zhuoran nodded, gently steering her through the agitated crowd. Gao Tianrong guarded their flank. Step by careful step, they retreated from the rising storm of conscription, the relic secured beneath Feiyan's cloak, hope flickering against the city's darkening horizon.