Mo Yan

Mo Yan stared at the reflection in the polished bronze mirror, the red silk robe clinging to her frame, a vivid reminder of her promise. Her fingers hovered over the embroidered phoenix on her chest—an emblem of power, but to her it felt like a shackle.

She sat on the edge of the wedding bed, its crimson sheets pooling around her like blood. The delicate embroidery on the robes itched against her skin. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the veil—nerves, not fear. She didn't fear death but...

She was nervous.

She wasn't nervous because of Chen Yichen. No. Killing him would be the easy part. It was what might follow that turned her breath shallow.

The night before had been brewing doubt. Suspicion curled around her thoughts like smoke. Her grandmaster's plan was surely flawless—but this was her best friend's life on the line.

So, she crafted her own plan. Simple. Dangerous. Effective.

Kidnap Chen Xiao. Take his place. Eliminate Chen Yichen. Maybe gain an alienation as a bonus. But when she attempted to strike, his shadow moved. The plan had to change.

Just moments earlier, Ruoyan had wept into her shoulder—quiet, broken sobs that shattered Mo Yan, strengthening her resolve even further. Ten years of friendship, of sisterhood, weighed heavily on her heart. She owed her a life and this was the chance to repay that debt.

"I'm not afraid of killing him but..." she whispered to the wind.

Where is he? she thought, glancing at the lacquered door. Yichen was late. The man she intended to kill on his wedding night was making her wait.

She rose restlessly, crossing the chamber to the window. Outside, the night sky spilled open—stars glittering like frozen tears. Mo Yan's fingers curled on the windowsill as she looked up, her breath catching.

The stars were beautiful tonight. But beauty meant little to a woman on the edge of murder.

Her heart was calm, at peace, filled with acceptance. Killing him would be easy. She'd done worse. The true burden wasn't taking his life... it was knowing hers would have to follow.

Grandmaster must not be implicated. The plan cannot falter.

She was a shadow, and shadows do not leave footprints. If both she and Chen Yichen died tonight, it would be the cleanest ending. Her fingers brushed the hidden blades sewn into her sleeve. Her escape was never part of this mission.

She inhaled deeply, and the scent of the incense grew stronger—floral, with a bitter aftertaste. Oddly familiar.

Her eyes flicked to the burner.

A memory tickled the edge of her mind. That scent—something from the past twisted in time. She couldn't place it. Her gaze drifted back to the moon, large and luminous, spilling a pale blue glow through the window.

And then it rippled.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

The moon shimmered like disturbed water, and then—an eye.

Wide, glossy white. Iris slit and silver. Lashes long as whispers. The sky had become a watcher.

Mo Yan staggered backward, the breath catching in her throat. The eye twitched, scanning the heavens, searching—until it locked with her own.

Her pulse leapt. She slammed the window shut and pressed her back against the wall, her breaths uneven.

"I must be... too tired tonight," she murmured, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from her brow. Her fingers went to the edge of her veil, drawing it back.

In the mirror, her eyes were wide, mouth tight, shoulders squared. A bride dressed for vengeance.

She sat on the bed again, straight-backed, waiting.

"Let's just get this over with."

------

In a forest's belly, shadows crawled over the earth like fingers. A young girl moved among them, her bare feet silent on the mossy ground, one small hand clutching a bloodied rabbit with triumph in her eyes.

Zui Zhen was beaming.

"I caught it! I caught it myself!" she whispered, grinning as though her brothers could still hear her.

They couldn't.

They'd gone ahead. Or maybe behind. She didn't know anymore. The woods had changed while she wasn't looking—paths twisted, the sun dipped low, and her breath was starting to fog.

Still, pride burned in her chest. Her first bounty. At seven, she was no longer just the tag-along. Her brothers would hoist her on their shoulders tonight for sure.

But when she turned and turned again, the trees refused to open back into the trail. The confidence drained from her face.

"…Gege?" Her voice was barely a whisper now.

The trees didn't answer.

The cold came quickly. Her thin tunic clung to her arms, damp with mist. She could no longer feel her feet.

She walked—stumbled, really—until the moonlight slashed through the trees and lit up something crumpled beneath a gnarled trunk.

Zui Zhen froze.

A girl.

Pale as snow, hair dark green and matted, limbs limp like a discarded doll.

She crept forward, rabbit still gripped in one hand, fear warring with curiosity.

The girl didn't move.

Zui Zhen's knees hit the dirt beside her. Her tiny fingers pressed gently against the girl's neck, as she'd seen her aunt the village healer do once.

A faint flutter. A heartbeat.

Alive.

She looked around. The night seemed to press in tighter. Every shadow watched. Every rustle whispered danger.

Zui Zhen bit her lip, heart racing. She was small, hungry, and lost. But she couldn't leave the girl here.

"I can't… I can't just go."

She pulled off her own cloak and wrapped it around the girl's tiny shoulders. Her own body trembled instantly, cold biting her arms.

"I don't know who you are…" she whispered, brushing the girl's hair back with shaking fingers, "but I won't let the forest have you."

Zui Zhen knew everyone in Hanbei Village, so coming face-to-face with such an unfamiliar face was jarring. But her family had taught her to be kind.

"I can't leave her here…" Zui Zhen whispered again, her fingers trembling against the stranger's clammy skin. The forest's cold clawed at her joints, but she pressed harder, more insistent—anything to keep the girl's shallow breaths steady.

The rabbit slipped from her arms without a second thought, landing with a dull thump against the moss. She unwrapped the tattered cloth from her own shoulders and laid it over the girl. Her teeth chattered, but she didn't stop. She knelt and rubbed the girl's arms furiously, trying to force life into her limbs.

"Big brother said a hunter doesn't cry…" Her voice was barely audible over the wind. "She figures it out."

So she did.

She wrapped herself around the girl, curling her thin frame like a shield. Her fingers were raw. Her legs were numb. She hummed off-key melodies she half-remembered from her mother's lullabies, murmuring them against the girl's ear.

"Don't sleep too deep," she whispered through cracked lips. "You'll miss the moonlight."

Then—

A sound. Low. Deep.

A growl.

Zui Zhen stiffened. Her breath hitched as the trees ahead parted like curtains—and from them emerged a beast far too large for this world.

A tiger. No—the tiger.

Its coat gleamed like ink brushed in moonlight, each stripe glimmering with subtle iridescence. Muscles rippled beneath its skin with each step. Its eyes—golden, met hers.

Zui Zhen didn't scream. Couldn't. Her breath tied in her throat, chest heaving as if the world had stopped.

The tiger took a step forward.

Then another.

She wrapped her arms tighter around the stranger girl, pulling her in close, voice barely a wisp. "If you're going to eat us… please, just make it quick."

The tiger blinked once.

Then—CRACK.

The world bent. Trees shuddered and shifted. The air split like cloth being torn.

Suddenly, the tiger was beside her. She hadn't seen it move.

Its massive body blocked the wind. It bent its head to the girl and exhaled. A warm, almost reverent breath passed over the girl's face. A twitch—subtle, but real.

Zui Zhen gasped.

Branches curled unnaturally. The sky flickered. Moonlight stuttered. Time itself seemed to falter.

She staggered upright with the girl now slung weakly across her back. Her knees trembled. The tiger turned, slowly, its eyes urging her forward.

Then—

Snap. Shift. Jerk.

They weren't walking anymore.

The earth beneath her changed rhythmically, melting and reforming with every few heartbeats. Trails curved, uncurved, reversed. A fox crossed their path—then vanished into mist. A crow flew backwards. A lantern flickered in the trees, unanchored, floating.

The tiger was the only constant. Each flick of its tail twisted reality.

Zui Zhen's thoughts blurred. But she held on. She had to.

Then—

Light. Warmth. Voices.

The forest fell away.

They stood just outside Hanbei village, firelight casting long, familiar shadows. Her brothers' voices rose in alarm.

"Zui Zhen!"

"She's back!"

"Get the healer! Now!"

Arms lifted her. Hands took the stranger girl.

"I found her," Zui Zhen mumbled. "The tiger brought us…"

But no one listened.

Behind her, the forest rustled softly. She turned her head just enough to see—

The tiger was gone.

------

The girl—barely conscious when Zui Zhen had found her—was nursed back to health in the village. Her fever broke on the third night, and by the fourth, she could walk again, though her steps were light as snow on pine. No one knew her name. She barely spoke, often just stared out at the trees as if waiting for them to open and take her back.

But Zui Zhen didn't give up.

The village was small, tucked between imposing mountains and thinning forests, and food had grown scarce that winter. A mouth more to feed wasn't a simple matter. Still, Zui Zhen argued for her, pleaded even.

That quiet girl was eventually given a mat in Zui Zhen's family hut—a rowdy place filled with laughing, loud older brothers who bickered over every bone in the stew pot. For the first time, Zui Zhen had some one her own age her own gender in her world of men.

At first, the girl kept her silence. Zui Zhen caught her flinching at sudden sounds, shrinking at shadows, trembling during thunder.

But then came the day she laughed.

Zui Zhen had tried to imitate a rooster—complete with flapping arms and a staggered strut—and the girl had giggled, hands over her mouth like she'd just committed a crime. It was a small thing. But it was the thing.

A name followed. Sang Zhu.

From that moment, they were inseparable—two shadows in the same sun.

Zui Zhen would talk endlessly as they climbed trees, skinned hares, and built tiny forts from bark and snow.

"I'm going to join the army one day," she said proudly one evening, poking at the fire with a stick. "Not just a soldier, though. A general. A great one. Like the ones in the old stories. The kind people sing about after battles."

Sang Zhu burst out laughing, soft almost melodic. "You? A general?"

Zui Zhen frowned. "What? You don't think I can do it?"

"I just… I didn't know girls could do that."

Zui Zhen grinned, puffing her chest out. "Well, I can. I'll prove it. You'll see."

And then Sang Zhu, after a long pause, whispered her own dream.

"I want to find my sister," she said. Her voice was almost lost in the crackling of the fire. "She ran away. I remember her voice… I still remember how gentle and caring she was. I know she is somewhere out there."

Zui Zhen leaned forward, gently took her hand. Hers was warm, firm, cracked with dirt and bark. "Then we'll find her."

Sang Zhu looked at her, blinking like she hadn't expected anyone to say that.

"I promise," Zui Zhen said. "And until then… let me be your jie."

"But… you're younger than me," Sang Zhu replied.

Zui Zhen grinned. "Doesn't matter. I may not be gentle like her, but I'm tougher. I'll keep you safe. Always."

Sang Zhu didn't smile this time. But her fingers tightened around Zui Zhen's.

But not all promises are meant to be kept.

The raid came with no warning—only the smell of smoke and the rush of heat waking Zui Zhen in the dark.

A scream tore through the village. Then another.

Outside, the sky burned orange. Fire gnawed at rooftops. Shadows darted through the smoke—elegant, swift, dressed in ink-dark robes and masked like spirits. The lotus emblem shimmered on their backs—petals curling like claws.

Black Lotus.

Zui Zhen had heard the stories, whispered by the older boys who claimed to know war.

They take girls. Train them to kill. Break them until they don't remember where they came from.

And tonight, they had come for her village.

She ran, barefoot and breathless, through the chaos—dodging sparks, hurdling over collapsed beams.

"SANG ZHU!" she shouted, her voice cracking.

She found her in the village square, helping a younger child limp toward the woods.

"Zhen!" Sang Zhu called. "Go! Hide!"

"No! We stay together!" Zui Zhen grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the path. "We promised, remember?!"

But the Black Lotus were fast. Silent. Three of them dropped from the rooftops like falling leaves—circling them with practiced ease.

Zui Zhen snarled, snatching a smoldering branch from the ground like a sword.

"Run," she whispered to Sang Zhu. "I'll hold them off."

But Sang Zhu stepped in front of her.

"No."

"What are you—"

"I won't let them take you."

The assassins moved—one reached forward, swift as lightning—but Sang Zhu didn't flinch. Her voice rang out, steady and sharp:

"She's sick. Useless. Too weak to train."

The woman paused. Tilted her masked head.

Zui Zhen tried to shove Sang Zhu behind her, but two arms gripped her, pulling her back.

Sang Zhu turned, locking eyes with her one last time.

"I made a promise too," she whispered. "Let me keep it."

Zui Zhen screamed as Sang Zhu was dragged into the smoke—fighting, kicking, gone.

The fire devoured the square behind her. The Black Lotus disappeared like ghosts.

And Zui Zhen—bloody, breathless, burning with rage and guilt—was left staring into a sky lit by flames.

The promise had been broken.

But her vow… had only just begun.

"I will keep my promise this time, Sang Zhu," Mo Yan whispered, the name cradling itself in the silence like a long-forgotten vow.

Her breath was faint, uneven. Her skin felt cold. The silk of the bridal bedding clung to her like a shroud, and her heart beat not with dread.

Her eyelids fluttered open to darkness, soft candlelight flickering against the red drapes that hung around the bridal chamber. But the warmth in the room was false.

Then—

"Are you awake?"

A low voice, deep and smooth rolled through the room.

Mo Yan's body snapped to alert. She reached instinctively beneath the folds of her sleeve, searching for the hilts of her twin daggers—

Gone.

"Are you looking for these?"

She turned her head toward the voice. There he stood—Chen Yichen, robed in black and crimson, his form half-shadowed beneath the soft golden glow of the lanterns. In one hand, he casually twirled her daggers, their polished hilts catching candlelight.

"Lovely pair," he murmured. "And the craftsmanship… exquisite. I suppose it matches the ambitions of their owner."

Mo Yan sat up too fast, and the moment she did, something sharp twisted in her gut. Her blood surged, but her qi—it didn't answer.

A hot spurt of blood filled her mouth. She choked it down.

Poison.

Her eyes darted to the food tray untouched on the table. The wine. She hadn't sipped a drop. Her lips parted, but silence—and then the scent hit her again. That incense.

Too sweet. Now she remembered.

She coughed, the metallic tang coating her tongue. Her limbs were heavy, like stone soaked in river mud.

"Don't bother," Chen Yichen said, stepping closer. His tone was almost... tender. Like a father scolding a child who didn't yet understand the rules. "Your qi is sealed. Your body's meridians are a mess. The martial form you're so proud of? It's well you know... You're little more than a doll now."

Mo Yan's hand twitched.

"So," he said, almost lightly, "where is my real bride? Or... is this your true face?"

Mo Yan's hand instinctively flew to her cheek.

The Thousand Face Demon Art—undone. Her carefully crafted illusion, stripped. She could feel it now—her real skin, her real features exposed. Her entire body felt wrong, like a puppet with cut strings.

"What do you want?" she croaked. Her voice was iron, even now. She needed time.

Chen Yichen smiled faintly. "Not much," he said. "Just… safety."

She narrowed her eyes. "Safety? From what?"

He took a step closer. "You know what I mean."

"Enlighten me."

His tone sharpened like a blade unsheathed. "From your kind."

Mo Yan blinked. "My kind?" She gave a weak chuckle. "You mean… humans?"

"No," he said, flat and firm. "I mean monsters."

Her lips curled. "Me? A monster? Come on. Look at this face."

"I am," he said. "That's the problem. You wear beauty like a mask. But beneath? Lies."

"And yet you married me." Her smile was jagged now. "What does that say about you?"

He didn't answer right away. When he did, it was quieter, darker.