Chapter 1: Snowy Night Return to Nara

The winter night in Nara was unnervingly silent. Snowflakes fell like needles, weaving a dense, wet chill into the air, ticking against bare branches with a soft rustle, as if a thousand secrets were whispering. Miyamoto小雪 pulled the hood of her cloak lower, burying herself completely in the deep gray shadow. She slipped into the crowd of night watchmen, her steps so light they barely kissed the snow.

Her fingers brushed the rusted wooden tag at her waist by habit, the rough wood grain digging into her skin, sending a tiny sting of pain. It was the last proof of her status as a descendant of the criminal registry, and the only memento she’d pried from the cold pile of bodies fifteen years ago when the fleet went down. In these chaotic times, this tag was both a shackle and a talisman.

The auction house blazed with light, the warm yellow glow diffusing through the swirling snow into a dizziness-inducing golden halo. The light looked warm, but it actually sealed off all warmth and cold, splitting the world in two.小雪 held her breath, her gaze cutting through the surging crowd to lock onto the dim Bronze Seal in the display case.

It sat quietly on the velvet pad. It shouldn’t have been there, let alone being bid on like some ordinary antiques.小雪’s fingers trembled slightly inside her sleeve, a physiological response to prolonged tension, not fear.

She had once been famous as a cryptographer, her fingertips dancing on the keyboard in the most elegant way possible. Now, she was just a de-registered vagrant, and no one knew why she had traveled thousands of miles back to this snow-covered grave of her past.

The Bronze Seal emitted a cold aura from behind the glass, the ancient runes on its face twisting into a sinister cold light, like a whisper dormant for fifteen years trying to break through the glass and wake up.

She remembered the delirious murmurs rolling from her father’s dying throat, the image of the cargo ship that never docked shattering in the thick fog, and the faces of the compatriots who turned to powder in the deep sea, becoming blurry and pale in the depths of her memory. Tonight was about revenge, and it was about an end.

Outside the auction house, the snow had piled up to knee-deep, wind whipping snowflakes against her face, stinging sharply.小雪 moved to the side door, using the heavy shadow cast by the building to get closer to the Bronze Seal, which was displayed separately on a pedestal. When she observed it up close, her pupils contracted sharply.

The hidden patterns on the seal’s face weren’t decorative; they were a precisely calculated cipher array. Those twisted lines coincided exactly with the secret code found in the sunken ship’s cabin back then. This was the crucial evidence, the key to unraveling the truth behind the illegal Maritime Syndicate operations, and the dagger aimed at the heart of the conspiracy.

Just as she tried to record the details of the hidden patterns with special rubbing paper, a dull thud broke the silence the moment the paper touched the Bronze Seal.

Thud.

A licensed merchant next to the pedestal suddenly collapsed, his body knocking over a nearby vase. The shattering sound was particularly piercing in the snowy night. The blood spurted from his throat blooming a glaring red on the snow, spreading rapidly like grotesque flowers.小雪 didn’t scream; her body instinctively recoiled, her heart pounding against her ribs like a drum. She crouched down, risking everything to reach toward the dead man’s hand.

That stiff hand was gripping something tight, the knuckles white from the force, veins bulging. She gently pried open the rigid fingers, and a yellowed Old Ship Ticket slid into her palm. The familiar number and issuance point on the back of the ticket hit her like a bolt of lightning, her blood freezing instantly.

This was the boarding credential from back then, and printed right on it was her own fingerprint. Why was the dead man gripping her credential? Was it to accuse her, or to warn her?

Don’t let your hands shake, Ms. Miyamoto. A clear female voice came from the shadows. Kana Ono emerged from the snow curtain, hugging a thick book of scriptures, moving slowly. She wore plain-colored kimono, her hem dusted with fine snowflakes, her eyes vigilant, as if guarding some untouchable secret.

I’m the scribe here, and a rubbings appraiser. You touched something you shouldn’t have.小雪 straightened up, quickly tucking the ship ticket into her sleeve, her voice cold as ice. I only look at evidence; I don’t care about status. The hidden patterns behind this Bronze Seal hide the coordinates of the shipwreck from fifteen years ago.

Kana frowned slightly, a warning hiding in her tone. Some truths are hidden because they can destroy the existing order. If you force them open, you’ll only summon deeper vortexes.

小雪 stared at her, her gaze sharp. Order? If order is built on lies, it’s a murder in itself. I took fifteen years to find this key; I’m not letting it disappear again.

Back off, all of you. A steady, repressed voice echoed. Seijiro Kitamura stood in the middle of the snow path, gripping a katana that hadn’t been drawn. As the headmaster of the swordsmanship dojo, he radiated a suffocating restraint and authority, the wrapping rope on the hilt pressing deep white marks into his palm.

This is under government jurisdiction; no one is allowed to conduct private inspections. By the rules, your behavior here now is a provocation of order.

小雪 sneered, not taking a step back, but a flash of killing intent crossed her eyes. Rules are epitaphs for the dead; the living need the truth. If you block my path, I’ll crush you and your sword right over me.

A glint of cold flashed in Seijiro’s eyes; his grip on the hilt tightened, knuckles cracking. I’m only responsible for sealing the scene, not for your life or death. But if you take another step, you bear the consequences. The two faced off in the snowy night, the collision of rules and evidence colder than the wind and snow. The air around them seemed to freeze, only the snowflakes falling silently, covering the bloodstains on the ground that were gradually coagulating.

Why the standoff? Masaaki Horiuchi walked leisurely from the side alley, holding an oil-paper umbrella. Water droplets slipped off the umbrella, hitting the snow with tiny ripples. He wore fine merchant attire, wearing an unimpeachable professional smile on his face, but his eyes were as sharp as a hunting falcon, scanning everything around him.

I’m the accountant for the Maritime Syndicate, in charge of the flow records for this shipment. This Bronze Seal went through legitimate customs channels. It’s just that… there was some friction in the intermediate links.

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the body on the ground, his tone light but hiding killing intent. The dead talk a lot, but the living know how to wash the black ledgers clean. Miss Miyamoto, you think you’re chasing the truth, but you’re actually just playing draughts on someone else’s chessboard.

小雪 narrowed her eyes, seeing through the虚实 in his words. Legitimate channels? If it were legitimate, why do the wounds on the dead man’s throat show specific blunt-force trauma? That’s not a normal sword cut.

You’re right, but it wasn’t a martial artist’s work. Aya Ono held a thin autopsy knife, crouching beside the body, her movements detailed and brave. As the coroner’s assistant at the Machibugyojo, she was focused on observing the wound, her nose almost touching the cold corpse.

The cut is smooth, with tiny saw-toothed tearing at the edges. This is the technique of a specially trained pulse-cutter. The killer knows human anatomy well, killing with one strike and leaving no sign of struggle.

She looked up at小雪, curiosity in her eyes. Miss Miyamoto, the ship ticket in the dead man’s hand is yours, isn’t it? This proves you weren’t just a bystander, but a witness to the events back then.

A chill ran through小雪’s heart; she subconsciously gripped the ship ticket in her sleeve. Aya’s judgment hit the mark; this wasn’t just an exposure of identity, but pushing小雪 into the eye of the storm. The surrounding gazes grew sharp, Masaaki’s umbrella tip tilted slightly, and Seijiro’s breathing became heavy.

小雪 took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She pulled the Old Ship Ticket from her sleeve and carefully examined the hidden markings on the back by the faint moonlight. Kana stood nearby, whispering a hint. Look, under the ink here, there’s another layer of coordinates.

The hidden patterns had been tampered with, pointing not to the wreck’s waters, but to the underground secret chamber of The Ancient Temple.小雪’s fingers lightly caressed the ticket’s surface; the cryptographer’s intuition let her instantly decipher the hidden sequence. It was the code for a key, used to open the secret chamber deep within The Ancient Temple where the original ledgers were hidden.

Masaaki cursed quietly from the distant shadows. Damn, she can actually decipher it…. His fingers gripped his palm hard from inside his sleeve, the blood color draining instantly. Seijiro maintained the standoff posture, his sword still sheathed, but his aura was extremely tense, like a fully drawn bow.

小雪 understood that time was short. Masaaki’s surveillance and Seijiro’s blockade were all to stop her from getting the key evidence. A bell sounded from the direction of The Ancient Temple, dull and long, pounding against her restless heart.

Follow me. Kana lowered her voice, turned first, and disappeared into the shadow of the temple’s back door.小雪 glanced at Seijiro, then at Masaaki’s figure in the distance, without a shred of hesitation. She stepped over the body in the snow, her shoe tips stepping into the unfused snow, her steps light and firm.

Seijiro didn’t stop her, just coldly spurted three words: You’re crazy.小雪 didn’t turn back, just the corner of her mouth curled into a cold arc, a disdain for her desperate fate. The wind and snow became fiercer, covering her departing footprints, and covering the storm that was about to erupt in The Ancient Temple’s underground palace.

She gripped the rubbing of the Bronze Seal and the fate-deciding Old Ship Ticket in her hand, stepping into the unknown abyss. Behind her was the entanglement of the living and the dead; ahead of her was the boundary between truth and destruction.