The bamboo grove reeked of scorched earth and molten metal. Lin Hao's nostrils flared as the flaming arrow's residual heat baked clay soil into ceramic shards beneath his boots. Four Treabytes' talons tightened on his shoulder, the parrot's vocal cords emitting subsonic pulses that made nearby bamboo leaves vibrate like rattlesnake tails.

  "Time's up." The androgynous figure's gloved hand caressed the poison vial, its viscous contents bubbling with the sulfurous stench of concentrated nightshade. "Shall we test your pain threshold?"

  Lin Hao's tongue brushed the suicide capsule's emergency release tab. Through Wolfspider's infrared vision, he counted seven mercenaries shifting positions—their bootprints oozing black mud that smelled of fermented sewage. The one-eyed driver lunged forward, his augmented muscles releasing the greasy odor of overheated synth-flesh.

  Thwip!

  The flaming arrow struck with the crackle of ignited phosphorus, its shaft vibrating at a pitch that made dental fillings ache. Flames spread across damp foliage in unnatural geometric patterns, releasing smoke that stung eyes with the acrid tang of alchemical accelerants.

  The androgynous figure recoiled, lace collar smoldering as he hissed through filed teeth. "Interloper!" His perfume—clove and decaying roses—clashed violently with the burning bamboo's sweet carbonization.

  Lin Hao's blade remained steady, though his knuckles whitened at the scent memory triggered by the arrow's fletching: smelted iron ore and pine resin. Four Treabytes launched skyward, wings slicing through smoke columns that coiled like phantom serpents.

  "Show yourself!" Lin Hao's demand echoed through the grove, answered only by the drip-drip of sap falling onto superheated rocks. Wolfspider scuttled up a charred bamboo stalk, its ice-venom glands detecting residual body heat patterns leading northwest.

  The retreating mercenaries left trails of synthetic sweat and fear pheromones. Lin Hao's borrowed mare snorted, its coat glistening with nervous perspiration that smelled of salt and saddle soap. As hooves clattered against cobblestones, the wind carried distant notes of a steel-stringed instrument being tuned—three octaves below human hearing range.

  03:47 – Northern Capital Streets

  Oil lanterns cast jaundiced light across shuttered storefronts. Lin Hao's mare avoided steaming manure piles with instinctual precision, its ears twitching at the click-clack of wooden pattens following eight blocks behind. Through Kung Fu Fly's compound eyes, he observed the pursuer's reflection in a rain barrel—a masked figure whose breathing rhythm matched the gait of someone carrying 78kg of muscle and weaponry.

  The private estate's gates loomed ahead, carved from bloodwood that oozed sap with the coppery scent of fresh wounds. Torchlight revealed Qin Yu's hulking silhouette, his bear-fur cloak reeking of charcoal-roasted nuts and cheap ale.

  "Brother Lin! You're late." Qin Yu's palm strike against Lin Hao's shoulder released fermented barley breath and the musk of unwashed gambeson. "Fourth Prince's already three caskets deep in Snowpeak Vintage."

  Lin Hao's smile felt stiff as he noted the archery calluses on Qin Yu's right hand—freshly scrubbed, but still retaining gunpowder residue. Through Four Treabytes' ultraviolet vision, he detected faint radiation trails leading to the estate's eastern wing, where someone had recently handled enriched uranium arrowheads.

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  04:12 – Juyuan Pavilion Gardens

  The masked figure observed from a rooftop, his composite bow's riser cooling with faint tsss sounds. Wolfspider's venom glands registered the unique mineral content of his bootprints—identical to the arrow's ferrule alloy. As midnight bells tolled, the archer's gloved finger traced the Dragonfang Sword's silhouette against banquet hall windows, his breathing synchronizing perfectly with Lin Hao's measured sips of poisoned wine.

  The game of shadows deepened.

  Revelry Under Moonlight

  The courtyard smelled of charred oakwood and sizzling fish oil. Lin Hao's fingers brushed against the grill's iron grate, its surface still warm from previous feasts. Moonlight pooled on the stone tiles like liquid mercury, reflecting off wine cups filled with rice liquor that stung the nostrils with its fermented sharpness.

  Lei Meng's laughter boomed across the pavilion, his bear-like frame dwarfing the delicate rosewood chair. "You missed the roast duck earlier," he rumbled, breath carrying the burnt-caramel aroma of aged baijiu. His composite bow leaned against a pillar, its hemp string faintly humming with residual tension.

  Qin Yu sniffed the air, his fox-fur collar bristling as he detected the citrusy tang of lemon leaves burning beneath grilled fish. "The princess has refined tastes," he teased, watching Yan Hong delicately pluck a fishbone from between pearly teeth.

  A cool breeze swept through magnolia trees, scattering petals that stuck to the sticky rice wine spilled on the stone table. Lin Hao's knife flashed, filleting a freshly caught Azurefin trout—its scales emitted faint bioluminescence as they hit the grill, sizzling with the salty tang of pond algae.

  "Careful," Princess Yan Xin warned, her silk sleeve brushing Lin Hao's arm as she added charcoal. The contact left a smudge of ash smelling of pine resin and something floral—perhaps the osmanthus oil perfuming her hair.

  Lei Meng's massive hand crushed a walnut with a crack that startled nesting sparrows. "Better than palace banquets," he declared, spraying shell fragments that pinged against wine vessels. His calloused fingers—still reeking of sulfur from earlier arrow fletching—reached for another bottle.

  The fish skin bubbled golden-brown, releasing smoke that made Gu Yunle's eyes water. "Hurry up!" the glutton whined, saliva dripping onto a jade plate carved with phoenix motifs. His stomach growled like a caged beast, harmonizing with the distant plop of fish breaching the pond's surface.

  Lin Hao's nostrils flared as he detected subtle anomalies—the princess's quickened pulse when their hands brushed, the faint gunpowder residue beneath Qin Yu's manicured nails. Four Treabytes perched on a lantern post, ultraviolet vision tracking Lei Meng's micro-expressions each time the composite bow was mentioned.

  23:47 – Courtyard Feast

  Fireflies danced around the grill's orange embers, their bioluminescence competing with the moon's cold glare. Lin Hao flipped a fish with practiced ease, its crispy skin crackling like autumn leaves underfoot. The scent of caramelized scales mixed with Princess Yan Xin's nervous perspiration—honeysweet with undertones of iron.

  "Try this." She offered a lotus leaf parcel containing glutinous rice stained purple by berry juice. Her fingertips trembled slightly, leaving smears of rice starch that glistened under lantern light.

  Qin Yu's goblet clinked against Lin Hao's. "To surviving assassination attempts," he toasted, the wine's acidity cutting through fatty fish oils coating their palates. His pupils dilated imperceptibly when mentioning the dead minister—a reaction Wolfspider's venom glands registered as adrenaline surge.

  Lei Meng belched, the sound echoing across the pond. "Better than that swill at the eastern barracks," he slurred, though his pouring hand remained steady. Through the baijiu's ethanol haze, Lin Hao noted the archer's boots—still caked with mud from the bamboo grove, the soil's mineral composition matching arrow impact sites.

  As midnight approached, the party's laughter grew louder, masking the snick of a blade being whetted in shadowed corridors. Kung Fu Fly's wings buzzed near the princess's ear, detecting trace radiation from uranium-laced arrowheads in Lei Meng's quiver. The game of masks continued beneath the oblivious stars.