The phoenix-iron blade tore through my chest—Chaoge's sobs in my ears. "Qingluan!" Her voice broke like thin porcelain. "Don't—no—" "Chaoge." I tried to laugh. The laugh came as a rasp. "You have to run." Fengwu stood over us with blood on his sleeve and nothing like mercy in his face. "Run? You speak of running when you clung to the Red-Dan Pearl like a child to a toy," he said. "You chose this path. The pearl pays its price." "Shut up." My hand found Chaoge's wrist and held it. "You lied. You promised you'd help—" "Promises are cheap out here," Fengwu said. He looked at Chaoge as if she were an inconvenient interruption. "I did what I had to." Chaoge's fingers tightened. She had always been warm. Now they trembled. "Fengwu, please, listen—" "She's dying," I said. "Don't stand there and watch me die." Fengwu stepped back, like my sentence was a carved thing. "Zuo Qingluan, fall gracefully. The Citadel won’t care either way. Your pride alone brought you here." "Then tell them my pride keeps Chaoge breathing." My voice failed me. I heard only the river and the clatter of armor. The battlefield smelled of iron and boiled herbs. Night lanterns swung like false suns. Chaoge pressed her forehead to my palm. "I promised I'd keep you," she whispered. "You always said we would—no matter what." "I lied," I said. Tears burned and I let