在一个普通的清晨，我本该像其他官员一样，准备着一天的工作。然而，当我的马车缓缓驶入军营时，一股股寒意突然从四面八方涌来。
“将军，您为何独自前来？” guard averted his eyes as he asked, his tone carrying an undercurrent of unease.
“I am here to report,” I replied, my voice steady but tinged with something else entirely. The guard hesitated for too long before nodding in silent acknowledgment.
As the sun rose higher, the traces of a shadowy past began to unfurl beneath our feet. In a corner of the compound, a stack of parchment lay unread. It was written in a script far removed from my own, and its contents defied translation.
“Who brought this?” I asked, drawing a knife from my belt.
“A humble scribe,” the guard placed it on the ground before me, “found it in the quarters of our commander.”
My heart raced as I unfold the parchment. What I held in my hands was no ordinary scroll—it was a map, a message, and a warning all in one.
The script revealed nothing of what had transpired, but its weight left no doubt in my mind: this was not just any parchment. It was a cipher, a code that could only be cracked by the sharpest minds. And at its core, there was a name—a name etched deep into its folds.
My heart leaped as I realized what it meant. This was more than an ordinary mission—it was an orders from above. Orders that demanded silence, demand compliance, demand _exit_.
And so, with my crew by my side now, I set out into the night. The roads were quiet save for the crack of a horse’s whip and the distant cry of a bell. My heart pounding in my ears, I made my way through enemy territory, each step silent, each mark unseen.
But as midnight approached, a single word burned through my thoughts: _rest_. This was the key—a rest from what had been nothing but relentless pressure. A chance to breathe, to finally find peace in the shadows.
Yet when dawn came, and I returned to camp, there was nothing but silence—or rather, the absence of everything I had ever known.
For in that moment, I understood why they called it _影子小说_. It was not just a story hidden away—it was a warning, a dagger hung high over our heads. And if even one of us should dare to question the orders from above, they would be met with more silence than sound.
The parchment fell silent at my side as we set out again into the night—a journey that would take us through treacherous terrain and shadowy corners, where every step was a risk. But in the end, it was only then I realized what the orders had truly demanded: a life of _rest_, a silence born not from fear but from duty.
For as I packed my things and prepared to leave, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Commander,” a voice drawled, “time for your watch.”
I glanced up just in time to see the scribe’s face. It was the same guard, his expression unreadable now. With one word, he told me it was time for _me_.
And so, I turned my back on the orders that had demanded rest, and set off into the night—one more step further into darkness, where only silence would reign.