Five hundred gold coins could buy a three-story walled estate in Cloudford Town, but to a martial artist facing the living shackle, gold was merely chemical fuel waiting to be burned.
Outside the thick brick walls of the private compound, the wild nine-bell alarm echoed across the snowy rooftops of Cangzhou. Distant shouts, the clatter of horse hooves over frozen cobblestones, and the wailing of frightened civilians drifted through the freezing night air. The entire country capital was entering a state of wartime panic. The northern sky burned dull orange from the red phosphorus signals launched from the castle walls.
Earlier that evening, Cheng Shan had returned from the grain basin with dark intelligence.
“The northern post road is jammed with four thousand refugee carts,” Cheng Shan had reported, his voice hollow as he shook the snow from his heavy woolen cloak. “The Red River palisades were overrun at midday. Shaman-King Helan Sha’s wolf riders crossed the ice on flat-bottom sledges. He set fire to the outer barracks before the guard post could lower the drop-gate. General Yan Wuji has declared martial law across the entire prefecture. Any merchant caught hoarding grain is being hanged from the city gates, and every martial examinee is being mobilized under penalty of execution.”
