Glimpse

In the darkness of midnight, she began again.

The glow of her laptop lit the contours of her face like moonlight on a calm lake. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly. The events of the day played back in her mind, a silent reel of events.

"I think I see a path to continuation," she whispered, eyes fixed on the paragraph before her.

Tah!

The cane sliced through the air, a sharp whizz reverberating through the courtyard before it struck flesh with a sickening crack. It echoed, loud and unforgiving, leaving a weight in the air that settled heavily on those watching making them flinch, some instinctively clutching their own arms. But the boy taking the beating didn't move. His jaw clenched, breath held tight in his lungs, as he counted silently. One stroke. Two. Three. His eyes, blank, stared ahead. This wasn't new. This pain. This punishment.

It was a ritual.

The routine—was too familiar to scream about anymore.

Far from the sting of the cane, Chen Xiao's mind wandered—drawn instead to the verses he had exchanged with her earlier that night.

The duel of couplets had seemed innocent enough. A play of wit and poetry before an audience of nobles and scholars. But beneath the syllables and metaphors, something deeper stirred—a private language only he and Shen Yueqing truly understood.

Their words lingered in his mind like ghostly ink:

He spoke first:

"Before the wild goose brings word, my heart's in disarray—What aim, my lord, led you to cross this pass my way?"

She had replied, her voice soft like moonlight slipping through cloud:

"The river flows east by nature's command,I wear the night to evade Heaven's brand.Let not your soul be a guest in dream's land—Mountains rise only where hearts turn to sand."

His breath caught. Was she hiding? Or simply evading him?

"Paper lanterns drift—perhaps an eye's glance—Yet cannot pierce the cold behind your stance," he returned, feeling the sting of rejection between his own lines.

She didn't hesitate:

"I sail by sword, not for lack of care—But mist and waves permit no sail laid bare."

There it was. Final. Impeccable. Like the wall between them.

Each line had weighed more than the lashings. Every syllable etched into his ribs like scars.

The pain now was not physical. It was the sting of clarity.

From that exchange, he had learned two truths—one he dreaded, one he couldn't ignore.

First, he was in love with Shen Yueqing, despite the betrayal it implied toward the memory of his late wife.

Second, Shen Yueqing, for all her clumsiness and mystery, was no commoner. Her words hinted at nobility, a hidden pedigree behind those sorrowful eyes.

But why had she chosen him? Why speak in riddles laced with veiled affection? Did she ever see him as more than a pawn? Did he mean anything more to her than utility?

These questions burned hotter than the stripes on his back.

And yet, a deeper betrayal stirred—a quiet guilt. For in allowing his heart to stir for another, was he not dishonoring the memory of his dead wife?

So the storm raged on within.

And the whip outside became a mercy.

"Enough!"

A deep smooth voice cut through the night. 

A young man stepped forward robes trailing behind him like storm clouds.

It was Chen Yichen.

"I'm sorry, Didi." His voice was soft, his eyes weighted with something. "Your big brother couldn't protect you."

There was emotion in his words, but the warmth of old memories had long since turned brittle. A performance, perhaps—or guilt with claws.

He knelt beside Chen Xiao, grimacing as he inspected the bruises.

Glancing over his shoulder, he called out, "Someone help him up—"

Before his command fully left his lips, Yu Ya was already there.

She moved like lightning, her blade-scarred hand slipping beneath Chen Xiao's arm.

"No need to trouble others, Master Chen," she said, voice clipped. "This young master is my burden alone."

Yichen didn't reply at first. His face tightened with frustration, but he stepped back. Leaning closer to Chen Xiao, he murmured low enough only he could hear.

"I begged father to reduce your punishment," he said. "You should reflect. I'll send some medicine to ease the pain."

Chen Xiao only nodded, watching Yichen with unreadable eyes. Once, that man had been his hero—his anchor. Now, his kindness felt hollow. A mask. A calculated play. He was the one who had whispered into their father's ear, orchestrating his downfall while pretending to defend him.

Where had it gone wrong? Chen Xiao wondered. The brother who once taught him to fly kites, who shielded him from storms, now dealt knives behind closed doors—and called it brotherhood.

Yu Ya supported him to his chambers.

Back in his room, she dressed his wounds in silence. Her hands, meant for killing, were now gentle. The scent of crushed herbs filled the air.

"I'll stay until the pain settles," she said softly.

But Chen Xiao barely heard her. His mind drifted back again to the couplets, to Shen Yueqing's eyes, to the weight of her final line:

"Mist and waves permit no sail laid bare."

Sleep refused him.

The pain was dulled, but his thoughts were not. His heart twisted in too many directions to find rest.

He slipped into his robe and stepped outside.

The night was cool, the air thick with mist. He walked—no direction, no aim—his body moving because his heart could not.

His robes trailed behind him through the quiet streets, the city asleep around him. The night air brushed cool against his face. His feet wandered as if detached from his body, guided only by the chaos within.

That was when he heard it.

"Are you troubled... suffering?"

The voice was soft. Pure.

He turned to find a boy no older than nine, dressed in simple monk's robes. His bald head glowed under the moonlight, and there was a stillness to him that felt... not quite human.

Chen Xiao blinked. "What…?"

The boy's gaze was unwavering. "I see you are a person with a great destiny," he said. "But…"

He tilted his head slightly, as if peering into Chen Xiao's soul.

"…you are still trapped. Would you like to be liberated?"

Chen Xiao gave a dry, bitter chuckle. "Liberated?" he echoed, his voice low with exhaustion. "That sounds lovely. But no offense, kid—you seem a bit too young to be handing out salvation."

The boy smiled faintly. "As I thought. You humans see only the surface. The illusion of youth. The illusion of age. The illusion of form."

Chen Xiao raised an eyebrow. "And you're not human?"

"Oh, I am," the boy replied softly, "but I walk the path toward Nirvana. Toward liberation."

He said it like one might speak of walking home after a long day.

Chen Xiao stared, his skepticism slipping beneath the weight of his fatigue and pain. "It's late. Why don't I walk you home?" he said, more to change the subject than anything else.

The boy smiled again, this time more broadly. "Mountain."

"…Mountain?"

"Yes," the boy nodded. "That is my home. Would you like to sit with me there?"

Chen Xiao glanced around the quiet city street. "Kid, we're in the heart of the city. The nearest mountain is a half-day's journey away."

"Time and space are illusions too," the boy said gently. "Perhaps you've already walked it."

Before Chen Xiao could respond, the boy nodded toward the space around them. "Look."

Chen Xiao turned his head.

His breath caught.

The paved road vanished beneath his feet. Stone gave way to grass. Walls dissolved like mist.

Suddenly, he stood before an immense stone statue—an ancient figure in a meditative pose, towering against a sky streaked with stars. The air smelled of incense and pine. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance. A tea table sat between him and the child, steam rising from a delicate porcelain pot.

"W-What… is this?" Chen Xiao asked, his voice shaking.

The boy had already sat down cross-legged on a woven mat, a small table with a porcelain teapot and two cups now before him.

"Sit," he said gently. "I'll explain."

Chen Xiao hesitated, then, despite himself, lowered his body onto the mat.

The warmth from the teacup seeped into his hands. The tea's aroma was floral, calming.

He narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Who are you?"

"I've had many names. I no longer hold attachment to any of them," the boy replied, pouring tea slow and delicately. " Kid works fine. That's what I am in this life, after all."

"Are you… an immortal? A god?"

The boy paused in his pour.

"In a way," he said, "but no more so than you. Or any other conscious being."

"You are human?"

"Of course. This life, and many before it."

Chen Xiao stared at him, trying to decipher the impossibility.

"But how is any of this possible?"

"Because I can see past the illusions of this world," the boy said. "The same illusions you are shackled to."

Chen Xiao set the cup down, his hands trembling slightly. "Illusions?"

"Yes. Everything you believe—your pain, your identity, your grief, even your memories—they are not false, but they are impermanent. They are attachments. And attachments… are the root of suffering."

"You speak of suffering as if it's something that can be discarded," Chen Xiao said bitterly. "It's part of being human."

"No," the boy replied, "it is part of being attached to being human."

The words landed heavy.

The silence that followed was long.

Then Chen Xiao exhaled. "Alright. You keep using this word—liberation. What am I being liberated from exactly?"

"From the cycle of samsara."

Chen Xiao frowned. "Samsara…?"

"The endless turning. Life, death, rebirth. Desire, pain, decay. Again and again."

"…So you're saying reincarnation is real?"

The boy smiled again, eyes calm. "Of course."

Chen Xiao swallowed, unsure how to argue.

"Then how old are you?"

"I stopped counting. Perhaps over a thousand years."

"And you… found me. Why?"

The boy poured the last of the tea. "As I said. I was drawn to you. The storm in your soul. The weight you carry."

Chen Xiao lowered his gaze.

"So… you dragged me into this illusion?"

"This space," the boy corrected. "It is shaped by understanding, not bricks."

"Then tell me. When you say mountain, what do you mean?"

"A word," the boy said. "A concept. A mountain exists only because you believe it does. But at its heart, it is empty—just like all things."

"You mean… it's not real?"

"It is impermanent," the boy said. "As are rivers. Trees. Even names. Even pain. Understanding this emptiness is the path to liberation."

"You're a strange child," Chen Xiao muttered.

"And you are a suffering man," the boy replied gently.

Chen Xiao rose to his feet. "I think I'll leave now."

"If you insist on continuing through samsara, I won't stop you," the boy said. "But… consider this."

He reached into the folds of his robe and handed Chen Xiao a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside was a book—worn, handwritten.

Chen Xiao opened the cover:

"The Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path."

"What is this?" he asked.

"The first step," the boy said quietly."... to liberation."

--------

The clash of steel shattered the silence of night, echoing through the narrow alleyway like a war drum in the heart of the city. Sparks bloomed in the dark with every strike, illuminating two cloaked figures locked in a furious dance over a single prize:

Chen Xiao.

His unconscious body was slung over the shoulder of a nimble masked woman. Her silhouette was sleek and lethal, movements fluid like running water—yet her burden weighed on her steps.

Across from her, Yu Ya planted her boots firmly, eyes blazing like storm-lit skies. Her blade shimmered with inner qi, humming in the air between them.

"Put him down," Yu Ya growled, her voice heavy with rage and disbelief. "Now."

A curved dagger spun into the masked woman's hand, catching the moonlight with a predatory gleam. "His fate no longer belongs to you."

Yu Ya didn't answer. Her reply came in the form of a sudden, searing strike—a horizontal slash, fast enough to blur.

The masked woman parried just in time, the impact ringing out like thunder. She kicked off the alley wall, flipping over Yu Ya's head in a streak of motion. But as she landed, she staggered—the weight of Chen Xiao and the unrelenting force of Yu Ya's strikes clearly taking their toll.

Yu Ya turned swiftly, slashing upward. He blade kissed the hem of her opponent's cloak—tssrip—leaving a tear that fluttered like a black flag.

The woman crouched low, her breath strained. Her eyes—sharp and intelligent—flashed from behind her veil. "You're wasting your time. I won't harm him."

Yu Ya's stance remained poised, blade pointed. "You steal him under darkness, masked and nameless, and expect me to believe that?"

A beat of silence.

"Then try and stop me."

The two surged at once.

Steel screamed again. Qi flared like miniature storms clashing in the dark.

"Your master's fate no longer belongs to you," she said, her voice smooth but cold, like wind over a frozen lake. "Let me pass."

Yu Ya's lip curled. "You sound awfully sure of yourself for someone fleeing with a half-dead man like stolen grain."

She struck again.

The attacker dropped Chen Xiao with care—surprisingly gentle—then met Yu Ya's blow with her curved dagger, twisting her wrist to deflect and lashing out with an elbow to Yu Ya's side.

Yu Ya staggered, pain bursting through her ribs, but she turned it into fuel. She gritted her teeth and drove her knee upward into the woman's midsection.

A thud.

The masked woman faltered, breath escaping in a sharp hiss. But she didn't fall. Instead, she countered—low and fast—with a sweeping leg that nearly unseated Yu Ya.

They parted, circling, eyes locked. Breaths shallow. Muscles coiled.

Yu Ya's sword gleamed faintly in the moonlight. "You're not just some thief. Who sent you?"

"That's a question for someone who'll live long enough to matter."

Yu Ya's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll just beat the answer out of you."

This time, they collided like two storms. Hands, feet, elbows—flesh and steel blurring in a whirlwind of violence. The masked woman fought like a tigress, her dagger short but deadly, aimed to kill. Every movement was honed and brutal.

Yu Ya met her head-on, calm and methodical. Her strikes weren't flashy, they were clean—disciplined. A soldier's efficiency. A protector's resolve.

Steel scraped leather. The masked woman hissed as Yu Ya's blade sliced along her ribs, a dark stain blooming on her side.

"You're bleeding," Yu Ya said evenly, lifting her sword.

"Barely a scratch," the woman replied through clenched teeth.

"You're stronger than I thought."

"You haven't seen half of it."

Yu Ya surged forward, feinting high, then cutting low—but her opponent flipped back, evading, landing near Chen Xiao's body. She reached for him.

Yu Ya didn't think. She rammed her shoulder into the woman's side with a grunt, sending her crashing into a stack of crates. Wood splintered under the impact.

The masked woman rolled to her knees—and threw something.

Fwoosh!

Smoke exploded around them, thick and choking. Yu Ya coughed and shifted her stance, blade raised, eyes narrowed against the grey veil.

Step… stone… left.

She moved, struck blindly—and felt her sword meet resistance.

A cry tore through the fog.

When it cleared, the masked woman stood at the edge of the alley, clutching her bleeding shoulder. Her voice was bitter. "You're sharper than you look."

"You're too loud," Yu Ya replied coldly. "You've lost your edge."

"I've lost nothing." The woman exhaled, eyes blazing. "But this wasn't my night."

She glanced down at Chen Xiao, her gaze lingering too long.

"You care for him," she said, almost softly. "More than you admit."

Yu Ya didn't flinch. "Touch him again and you won't leave with just a bleeding shoulder."

Silence.

Then, the masked woman took a step back, then another—and flipped up the wall in a flurry of motion, vanishing onto the rooftops.

"This isn't over!" her voice echoed.

Yu Ya's reply came like a blade drawn in silence: "No. It isn't."

She turned, dropping to one knee beside Chen Xiao. He stirred faintly, lashes fluttering like leaves in wind.

"You sleep while the world conspires against you," she murmured, brushing damp hair from his brow. "But I will keep you safe… even if it kills me."

She slid her arms beneath him, lifting him with care, and turned down the alley—just as dawn began to edge the rooftops with pale light.

Then—a shift in the wind. A presence.

Yu Ya froze.

From above, a figure descended like a falling petal. Her robes shimmered with dark silver lotus embroidery, veiled face glowing faintly in the breaking light.

Yu Ya's breath caught.

"Master…" she whispered, falling to one knee. Her voice trembled, a child's reverence beneath a warrior's shell.

The woman stepped forward, gaze softening as it rested on Chen Xiao.

"You've done well, Yu Ya."

Yu Ya swallowed. "Are you… are you returning to the Chen family?"

The woman smiled faintly. "That life is gone. That mask—'Xia Qingluo'—has served its purpose."

"But that woman... she'll try to take him."

"She can try," the master replied coolly. "But I have bigger concerns than petty jealousies. The Black Lotus will rise again. And I will take back everything she stole."

Yu Ya hesitated. "But…"

The woman's tone cut like silk over steel. "Focus. What of the mission?"

"The prince favors her. There will be results soon."

A nod. "Good. I'm glad to see you've learned more than just how to fight."

Yu Ya lowered her gaze. "Will you be making an appearance?"

A pause.

"We'll see," the woman said simply. "For now, take the young master. Protect him in my place. I… can no longer be his 'Qingluo.'"

"But—"

The wind stirred.

She was gone.

Yu Ya knelt there for a long moment, holding Chen Xiao close. The quiet wrapped around her like a second skin.

"I won't fail you," she whispered to the dissipating night. "Not you… and not him."