Chapter One: The Lantern and the Blade
The autumn wind carried the scent of damp earth and pine as it swept through the streets of Suzhou. Paper lanterns, painted with delicate brushstrokes of plum blossoms and calligraphy, swayed from the eaves of wooden houses. The canals reflected the golden glow of a thousand flickering lights, making the water look like melted amber.
Liu Wen, wrapped in a dark-blue robe embroidered with silver clouds, stood at the edge of the canal, his fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his dao. His face was shadowed by the wide brim of a bamboo hat, but his eyes were sharp—watchful. He was waiting.
The narrow street behind him was quiet, though the distant hum of a tea house carried over the wind. He could hear the occasional rattle of dice and the soft laughter of courtesans behind silk curtains. But beneath the surface of this peaceful night, he sensed something stirring—something unseen yet unmistakable.
A ripple spread across the canal. A boat, its hull black as ink, drifted toward him. A lone figure stood at its bow, dressed in white, their face hidden beneath a veiled hat. As the boat came closer, Liu Wen caught the scent of orchid oil. The figure raised a hand, and the boatman halted.
"You are late," Liu Wen said, his voice calm but firm.
The veiled figure chuckled softly. "You are early," they replied, stepping onto the stone path. Their voice was a woman's, smooth as jade. "That tells me you are impatient."
Liu Wen exhaled through his nose. "It tells you I am careful."
The woman reached into her sleeve and withdrew a scroll, bound in red silk. "Then you will be careful with this," she said, placing it in his hand. "It holds the names of those who must not see the winter."
Liu Wen hesitated only a moment before tucking the scroll into his robe. "And the payment?"
She turned slightly, tilting her head. "Inside the silk pavilion at dawn. Room six."
Liu Wen nodded, stepping back into the shadows. "Then we are done here."
The woman said nothing, only lifting her sleeve to her face as a cold breeze rustled through the willows. Then, without another word, she turned and stepped back onto the boat.
Liu Wen stayed until the vessel vanished beyond the stone bridge, its lantern a dim speck against the water. Then, with the scroll pressed against his chest, he turned and disappeared into the night.
The names inside would decide the fate of Suzhou before winter's first snow.
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How's that? I can expand on it or adjust it depending on the direction you want for your novel!