This time, he reached for her. And she did not know...
Xu Lian sat in the dim temple, surrounded by the scent of old parchment and the weight of forgotten histories. The aged wooden shelves stretched toward the ceiling, stuffed with scrolls whose edges curled with time, their ink faded but still legible under the flickering light of the lantern beside her. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, disturbed only by the soft scratch of her fingers unrolling another brittle scroll.
The candlelight cast long shadows over the carved stone table where she sat, her chin propped up on her hand as she read. The scrolls spoke of celestial wars, divine betrayals, and an ancient sect swallowed by time. Some names were erased, others marked with cryptic symbols, but the echoes of the past felt alive between the lines.
She traced one name with her fingertip. It felt familiar. Too familiar.
Her eyes grew heavier as she read on, the words blurring together into an indistinct haze. She fought the creeping drowsiness, but exhaustion, thick and inescapable, wove itself around her like an unseen hand. Her fingers slipped from the edge of the scroll, her head dipping forward.
Sleep claimed her before she realized it, her body draped over the desk, the parchment crinkling beneath her cheek.
The late afternoon had been peaceful, the temple grounds steeped in the lingering warmth of tea and quiet conversation. The courtyard stones, once kissed by the golden light of the sun, had begun to cool beneath the encroaching shade of the mountains. A breeze, gentle and unhurried, rustled through the ancient cypress trees, their gnarled branches whispering secrets only they could understand. It was the kind of stillness that settled deep into the bones, lulling one into a false sense of security, as if nothing beyond the temple walls could disturb the sanctuary within.
But as the hours stretched on, something shifted. The wind no longer carried the crisp scent of pine and earth but something heavier, charged, unsettled. Clouds gathered on the horizon, thick and swollen with an unspoken promise, their bellies bruised with shades of deep violet and steel gray. The light dimmed unnaturally fast, the weight of the sky pressing down in a way that made the very air feel tighter. Even the birds had gone silent, their absence more unsettling than their presence had ever been. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath, waiting for something unseen to step forth from the darkened sky.
A faint crackle of electricity prickled against the skin, an unplaceable sensation that set the hairs on one's arms on end. The temple grounds, once serene, now felt poised on the edge of something unseen, an anticipation that seeped into the very stones beneath their feet. The lanterns flickered, though no wind had touched them, and the shadows stretched longer than they should have. It was a darkness that wasn’t just the absence of light, but something more, something alive. The night had not yet fallen, but the world had already surrendered to it.
She was a little girl again.
The scent of simmering broth and freshly steamed buns filled the small home, wrapping her in a warmth that made her chest ache with comfort. The golden glow of the oil lamps flickered against the wooden beams, casting gentle light over the modest room.
Her mother hummed softly as she worked by the stove, her delicate hands skillfully kneading dough for dumplings. A pot bubbled nearby, the scent of ginger and star anise curling through the air. Xu Lian sat on the woven mat, playing with straw dolls she had fashioned herself, their tiny figures bent in mock battles and whispered adventures.
A soft breeze from the open window carried the distant sound of temple bells. Outside, the sky was painted in the warm hues of twilight, the first stars beginning to twinkle like scattered pearls.
It was home. It was safe.
“Lian’er, don’t play too close to the fire,” her mother chided gently, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.
Xu Lian laughed, adjusting the little straw warrior in her hands. “He’s fighting the bad guys, Mother.”
“Oh? Is he winning?”
“Of course! He’s the strongest in the world!” she declared, lifting him up triumphantly.
Her mother chuckled, shaking her head as she wiped flour from her hands onto her apron.
Then… something changed.
The warm hues of evening darkened to a deep, oppressive gray. The golden glow of the lamps flickered… and then dimmed.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the wooden shutters. The scent of dinner, once rich and inviting, turned thick and cloying, a scent Xu Lian couldn’t quite place, like something overripe, something wrong.
Her mother had stopped cooking.
She stood motionless by the open window, her hands limp at her sides. The soft smile was gone. Her expression was empty, her gaze lost in the darkness beyond the house.
Xu Lian felt unease prick at her skin. She clutched the straw doll tighter and crawled toward her mother, tugging at the edge of her blue linen dress.
“Mother? What’s wrong?”
No response.
The wind howled through the open window, carrying whispers that sent shivers down Xu Lian’s spine.
“Mother?” she asked again, voice smaller now.
A droplet of something thick and black dripped from her mother’s hairline, trailing down her forehead. Another followed. Then another.
The liquid oozed slowly, viscous and ink-like, sliding down her cheeks and pooling along her lips. It soaked into the blue linen of her dress, staining it like ink bleeding through parchment.
Xu Lian’s breath hitched.
Her mother’s skin, once warm and soft, began to darken. The flesh sagged, peeling away in places, revealing the rotten decay beneath. Her lips cracked open, but when she tried to speak, something fell from her mouth.
A tongue. Blackened. Rotten.
Xu Lian stumbled back with a strangled cry.
Her mother turned to face her fully now, her once-lovely features slack and grotesque. Hollowed-out eyes stared, empty and endless. Her skeletal hands twitched before reaching forward, fingers curled like claws.
Xu Lian’s heart slammed against her ribs as she scrambled backward, but those bony hands latched onto her wrist. The touch burned, cold and dry, the pull of something unnatural sinking into her skin.
She screamed.
Pain flared through her arm where the skeletal grip tightened, but suddenly, a warmth burst across her chest.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The jade amulet she wore flared with heat, pulsing with light.
The world around her twisted, the grotesque vision of her mother dissolving into a blur of darkness.
Everything spun. The air felt thin, suffocating.
Then, nothing.
The air inside the temple had grown unnaturally still, thick with something unseen yet tangible, pressing against his senses like the first stirrings of a storm. Outside, the world had not yet succumbed to night, but it had already surrendered to shadow. The last traces of daylight clung weakly to the horizon, swallowed by the rolling clouds that had gathered in unnatural silence. There was no wind, no rustling leaves, no call of distant night birds. Even the air itself felt suspended, as if the heavens and the earth were holding their breath in unison.
Mo Chen stood near the entrance, his gaze distant, sharp as a blade against the darkening sky. He had felt this before, this shifting weight, this slow, inevitable turn of something unseen. His fingers twitched at his side, tracing the hilt of his sword as if expecting it to be needed. The memory was too fresh, too sharp. The day the 噬魄妖 had first come for her, tearing through the forest like relentless hounds, their hunger palpable in the very air. He had known then, just as he knew now, something was changing.
Lost in thought, he was mapping the possibilities, the dangers that could be threading their way toward them even now, when he heard it.
A sharp cry, muffled but filled with unmistakable distress.
His head snapped toward her instantly, the tension in his spine coiling like a drawn bowstring. She had fallen asleep over the scrolls, her body draped over the stone table, face half-buried in parchment. But now, her breath came in ragged gasps, her fingers twitching against the desk, her body tense and trembling in the flickering lantern light. Another whimper escaped her lips, soft but filled with something raw, something broken.
And then she jerked. Violently.
Mo Chen was at her side in an instant.
Xu Lian awoke with a gasp, her body jerking violently as hands gripped her shoulders.
She barely had time to process where she was before she felt herself being shaken, roughly, unrelentingly.
“Wake up!”
Mo Chen’s voice was sharp, taut with something she had never heard from him before.
Her vision swam as she blinked up at him. His grip on her arms was too tight, his fingers pressing into her skin.
He was leaning over her, his usual composure shattered, his dark eyes sharp with concern.
Real concern.
“Xu Lian,” he called again, his tone edged with frustration.
She sucked in a ragged breath, still caught between the nightmare and reality. Her skin was damp with sweat, her heartbeat wild.
For a moment, she could only stare at him, dazed. He had never touched her so forcefully before, never looked at her like that.
“Mo Chen…” Her voice came out hoarse.
He exhaled sharply, loosening his grip but not letting go. His gaze swept over her, assessing, searching for something unseen.
“What happened?” she asked weakly.
Mo Chen was silent for a long moment. Then, with a rare flicker of hesitation, he said;
“You wouldn’t wake up.”
Zhen Wei sat perched atop a jagged cliffside, his bright robes a striking contrast to the shadowed expanse of the 归墟山脉 below. His long, white hair rippled in the high-altitude wind, a few stray strands teasing against his cheek as he took another slow, thoughtful swig from his wine gourd. He had felt the shift almost instantly, like a thread being plucked from the great tapestry of existence, sending ripples across the realm.
Something sinister had reached out, again.
It was subtle, a creeping presence stretching across the void like skeletal fingers, grasping toward the girl. No one mortal knew who she was, but darkness had an instinct for sensing light, for smelling weakness before it fully bloomed into strength. Xu Lian was still vulnerable, an ember of what she had once been, her celestial core buried deep beneath mortal fragility. And whatever force had poisoned her mother, whatever had nearly claimed her life before, was stirring again.
“Hmm,” he mused, swirling the wine in his gourd. “Now wouldn’t that be a shame?”
He flicked open his fan, the celestial inscriptions glowing faintly against the lacquered surface. A display of power, a show of necessity, yes, this would be a good time as any to introduce himself to their little tale. With a single wave, the air around him shimmered, folding like ripples across a still pond as the illusion took form.
幻影帷幕 (Huàn Yǐng Wéi Mù) , The Phantom Veil.
Shadows twisted in the distant forest beyond the temple, taking shape into the creatures of nightmare. Three beasts emerged from the swirling mirage, snarling and writhing with unholy hunger.
The first was a 魇蠊 (Yǎn Lián) ; the Nightmare Roach, a hulking, skittering abomination with an armored carapace that gleamed like black onyx. Its legs were twisted and segmented, too many for a creature of its size, its mandibles clicking hungrily as if tasting the air. Its bulbous eyes, the color of smoldering embers, darted in erratic motions, seeking prey.
The second, slithering beside it, was the 索魂蛇 (Suǒ Hún Shé) ; the Soul-Seizing Serpent, a snake-like wraith with a body half-formed from drifting, insubstantial shadows. It moved without touching the ground, its ghostly body rippling through the air like ink bleeding into water. The mere presence of the serpent made the air hum with suppressed wails, whispers of souls long devoured.
And the last, the most grotesque, was the 裂颚猿 (Liè è Yuán) ; the Rending Jaw Ape, a monstrous, malformed primate covered in patchy, matted fur. Its arms were disproportionately long, knuckles dragging against the earth, but it was the mouth, no, mouths, that made it hideous. A second, jagged-toothed maw split its stomach, heaving open with a sickening wet snap as it let out a guttural, unholy screech.
They prowled at the temple’s outskirts, their bodies half-mirage, half-tangible, illusions born from the flick of Zhen Wei’s fan, but just real enough to be convincing.
With a graceful descent, Zhen Wei landed on the temple grounds, his feet barely making a sound against the stone. His robes barely settled before he raised his fan again, the celestial script along its ribs glowing faintly in the dim light.
With a single flick, the demons howled, then shattered.
Their forms unraveled into threads of darkness, spiraling into nothingness as if they had never existed at all. The echoes of their monstrous cries faded into the wind, leaving only the faint hum of residual energy in the air.
As the last flickers of his spell dissipated, Zhen Wei exhaled dramatically, snapping his fan shut and tucking it into his sleeve with a satisfied nod.
Perfect timing.
Just as he dusted off his sleeves, the temple doors creaked open.
Mo Chen emerged first, his gaze already sharp with suspicion. He had sensed something off, Zhen Wei could see it in his stance, in the slight tension in his fingers, hovering just near the hilt of his sword. Xu Lian followed close behind, her steps still unsteady, her expression groggy with remnants of lingering fear.
Zhen Wei smiled broadly, stepping forward with an elegant bow, his long sleeves trailing with practiced grace.
“Well, well,” he mused, voice dripping with easy charm. “It seems my timing is impeccable.”
Neither of them responded immediately.
Mo Chen’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze assessing him in an instant. Ah, a wary one. Good. It would make things all the more interesting.
“I trust I did not startle you?” Zhen Wei continued smoothly, straightening with a casual, almost lazy ease. “I was merely passing through when I caught the scent of something foul lingering in the air. Demonic filth, really. I had to deal with them before they sullied such a sacred place.”
His eyes flicked toward Xu Lian then, and for the briefest moment, his expression softened.
“Quite fortunate, isn’t it?”
Xu Lian blinked, still clearly shaken from her dream, but she managed a wary nod. “You… defeated them?”
Zhen Wei smiled again, tilting his head just slightly. “Oh, they were nothing. Hardly worth the effort, but these things have a way of showing up at the worst times.”
Mo Chen remained silent, his posture rigid. He didn’t buy it. Not yet.
Zhen Wei turned his gaze back to him, eyes glimmering with a knowing amusement. “You must be Mo Chen, the wandering sword cultivator.” A pause. “And you, ” He turned back to Xu Lian, his expression unreadable. “Ah, but I have heard nothing of you.”
A lie. But one well-played.
She hesitated, then introduced herself carefully.
“Xu Lian.”
He nodded as if committing it to memory, then stepped back, hands clasped behind his back. “A pleasure. I am Zhen Wei, a cultivator from distant lands, chasing a rather troublesome demonic spirit.”
Convenient, indeed.
The oppressive weight that had settled over the temple, thick and stifling, seemed to dissolve the moment Zhen Wei arrived. Just as Xu Lian’s nightmare had broken the instant she opened her eyes, so too did the lingering darkness in the air unravel, retreating into the unseen corners of the world. The sky, once suffocated by bruised storm clouds, seemed to shake off its restless slumber, stretching open into something lighter, something aware. The wind, which had lain dormant, ruffled through the trees again, whispering through the temple eaves as though exhaling after holding its breath for too long.
Where moments ago the stone walls had seemed cold, the lanterns flickering uncertainly against the weight of unseen shadows, now the light shone brighter. The flame within them no longer wavered with hesitation but burned steady and warm, as if reassured. Even the temple grounds, ancient and unmoving, seemed to settle, no longer braced for something lurking just beyond sight. It was subtle, but undeniable, the very air felt easier, the tension that had wound through the stone and wood unwinding thread by thread.
Zhen Wei, oblivious or simply too amused to acknowledge the shift he had caused, merely smiled as he tucked his fan back into his sleeve. "Ah," he sighed contentedly, tilting his head toward the sky. "What a lovely evening this has turned out to be."
Mo Chen said nothing, but his eyes flicked toward the horizon, where those storm clouds, thick and ominous just moments ago, were now breaking apart, their heavy bellies rolling back into the distance as though chased away. The world had been holding its breath, and now, with Zhen Wei’s arrival, it exhaled.
personal, Zhen Wei’s illusions are getting flashy, and Mo Chen’s sword is probably getting impatient. What’s lurking in the shadows? Why does Xu Lian’s amulet glow like that? And just how many demons can Zhen Wei fan-slap into oblivion before someone asks him to chill? Stay tuned—things are about to get even messier.
?? Themes I Write: Xianxia | Wuxia | Cultivation | Poetic Tragedy | Immortality & Fate
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