By the time they reached the outer gates of Shunbei, the sun had begun its descent into the distant hills, casting the fortress town in a cloak of gold. The road curved around a low ridge and ended at twin stone towers guarding an arched gate, its iron teeth half-lowered.
Wenyan pulled Baoqin close to his side. "Stay beside me," he murmured. The girl nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide at the sight of guards in dark red robes and tall halberds standing watch.
Shunbei had changed since Wenyan's last visit. Once a quiet trade stop, now it hummed with the hidden tension of a place bracing for something unseen. Scholars still wandered with scrolls tucked into their sleeves, but their eyes darted more quickly. Merchants sold herbs and silk, but their voices were lowered, as if afraid to call too loudly. Even the wind seemed to move differently here—measured, restrained.
"Strange," Lianfang whispered. "This feels more like a city preparing for war than a town of scholars."
Wenyan nodded. "The silence speaks louder than shouting."
A thin man with a straw hat and a hooked nose greeted them near the inner gate. His robes were plain but clean, and he carried himself with the air of someone used to asking questions no one wanted to answer.
"You're not traders," he said, glancing at their worn clothes and Baoqin's travel-stained shoes.
"We're looking for a historian," Wenyan replied evenly. "One who studies bloodlines and ancient cults."
That drew a subtle flicker in the man's expression. "There's only one who fits that description. Madam Suyin. She's old now. Reclusive."
"We'll pay," Wenyan said.
The man considered, then turned. "Follow me. But speak softly in the scholar's quarter. The walls listen."
They followed him past curved roofs and jade-tiled walkways, through alleys that narrowed like secrets being hidden. The lanterns here were unlit, and stone lion guardians looked worn by more than just time.
Their destination was a house wrapped in silence—its door carved with an image of a qilin standing beneath a moon. The man knocked thrice, then twice more in quick rhythm. The door creaked open.
A woman emerged, hunched but alert, with silver hair wrapped in a scholar's knot and eyes as sharp as a hawk's. She studied them silently.
"You bring fire into a paper house," she said.
"We bring questions," Wenyan replied.
She looked past him, at Baoqin. And something in her gaze shifted. "Come inside."
The room was filled with books, maps, and ancient scrolls. A brazier crackled quietly in the corner, its smoke scented with sandalwood. As they sat on reed mats, Madam Suyin poured tea in deliberate silence. Only when they had sipped did she finally speak.
"That child carries a mark older than this dynasty," she said. "Older than the Ming. I've seen it only once before. And even then, it was spoken of only in riddles."
"You know what she is?" Wenyan asked.
"I know what she might be." Suyin turned her gaze to the fire. "The Celestial Order was not merely a cult. It was a vessel—a container for something powerful and half-forgotten. Some say the Order sealed the soul of the First Phoenix within a bloodline. A divine spark passed down through silence and shadows."
"And you think Baoqin…" Lianfang trailed off.
"Yes," Suyin said. "She may be its last ember."
A long silence followed. Wenyan's hand tightened around his tea cup.
"What would they do if they found her?" he asked.
Suyin didn't answer. She simply reached behind her and placed a scroll on the table—aged, brittle. She unrolled it to reveal an inked diagram: a child at the center, surrounded by robed figures with red eyes and hollow hearts. The title was written in old seal script: "The Ritual of Returning Flame."
"They would try to awaken it," she said. "Even if it burned her from the inside out."
Lianfang reached instinctively for Baoqin's shoulder, pulling the child into her arms. "That will never happen."
"But you must be quick," Suyin said. "Shunbei may be safe now, but spies drink in every whisper here. Stay one night. No longer."
Wenyan nodded. "What else can you tell us?"
Suyin studied him. "There's one last archive, hidden beneath the Temple of Hidden Spring. Many think it collapsed in a fire years ago. But the catacombs still breathe beneath it."
Wenyan looked to Lianfang. "That's where we go next."
As they prepared to leave, Madam Suyin placed a jade talisman in Baoqin's hand. "This belonged to a phoenix bearer before. It will keep your dreams guarded."
Baoqin clutched it tightly. For the first time in days, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Outside, the sky had turned a dusky rose, and a hush had fallen over Shunbei. As they walked back to their lodging, Wenyan touched Lianfang's arm.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?" she asked.
"For not letting me walk alone into this fire."
She smiled faintly, her voice almost a whisper. "We walk together now. No matter how deep the flame."