The training yard was already alive when Jiang Ning stepped through the outer arch.
Evening had settled over the estate, the sky painted in deep blues and fading gold, the last warmth of the day clinging to the stone even as the air began to cool. Lanterns burned along the stone walls, their light casting long, wavering shadows across the packed earth, flickering each time a breeze drifted through the yard. The air smelled of sweat, oil, and trampled grass, familiar, grounding, the particular scent of a place that had seen years of work poured into it.
Knights were scattered across the yard.
A pair near the racks practiced gun drills with training pieces, cycling motions and footwork rather than firing, their movements crisp and repetitive. Others sparred with dulled steel, the steady clang of metal echoing in slow, deliberate rhythms, punctuated now and then by a grunt or a muttered correction.
Jiang didn't announce himself.
He didn't need to.
