The journey to Red Valley was long and bitter.
Snow coated the narrow mountain passes in sheets of silence, muffling the world into stillness. The deeper they traveled, the more the trees leaned inward, as though trying to shield something hidden in the valley below.
Ye Qingran walked ahead, the scroll carefully tucked into her robes. Zhi Lan followed with growing wariness, her hand resting on the small bundle of herbs tied to her sash. Neither woman spoke much—silence had become their companion, and silence would greet them at their destination.
According to the scroll, the Songstress of Red Valley was marked as "Alive." No name. No clan. Just that haunting symbol of an open eye beside her title.
"She might be a survivor," Zhi Lan whispered during one of their rare rests. "But what kind of life could she have lived all this time, hidden from the empire?"
Qingran didn't answer. She knew better than most—some lives weren't lived. They were endured.
By the third day, they reached the entrance to Red Valley.
A thin mist clung to the ground, and wild plum trees bloomed unseasonably along the cliff edges. Below lay a cluster of old wooden homes, half-covered in frost. There were no guards, no carriages, no signs of trade.
But Qingran could hear it before she saw it:
A voice.
A song.
Low. Breathless. Made of broken syllables and half-remembered melodies.
Not beautiful in the way courtesan music was—this one was cracked, haunted, like the echo of a lullaby sung to a dying child.
Zhi Lan's eyes widened. "Is that…?"
Qingran nodded. "That's her."
They followed the voice into the lower edge of the valley, past collapsed homes and faded prayer scrolls.
The singer sat atop a worn stone bench beneath a gnarled willow tree. She wore white robes, stained and yellowed with age. Her eyes were closed, but not with peace—her lids were scarred, burned shut.
A crimson blindfold covered them now.
She cradled an ancient stringed guqin in her lap, plucking the strings with hands so thin, they looked like they might snap.
When the song ended, the wind did not stir. Not a leaf moved. Even time seemed to hold its breath.
The woman lifted her face slightly. "You've come."
Zhi Lan stepped back. "She can't see."
"She doesn't need to," Qingran murmured. "She remembers."
The songstress turned her face toward Qingran. Her lips moved without sound, then stopped. She gave a slow nod, as if confirming something.
"I waited," she said. Her voice was dry silk, unpolished. "Every winter, I wondered if the one from the grave would come."
Qingran stepped closer. "You were on the list. You survived."
"I died," the woman said softly. "But my body kept breathing. That is not survival. That is a curse."
Qingran knelt before her. "Then let me give you something more. A purpose. A voice again. A way to end this."
The songstress tilted her head.
"The empire stole my name. If I sing in full again, my voice will shake the pillars of the court. The Sound Sect—they feared what I could do. That's why they sealed my voice and burned my eyes."
Zhi Lan's breath caught. "You were a spiritual cultivator—one of the last Sound Mages."
Qingran bowed her head. "We don't ask you to fight. Just to remember. To help us find the others."
The blind woman smiled faintly. "Oh, child… I already have."
She lifted her hand and pointed behind the willow tree. A long, narrow box was hidden beneath the snow-covered roots.
Inside was a sealed ink scroll—older than the one Qingran found beneath the grave.
[Memory Echo Scroll: Hidden List (Unmarked Women)]
Names of erased women who were never officially recorded in the Empire's archives. Harem rejects, servants, slaves, daughters born without titles… forgotten even in death.
Qingran's hands shook as she touched the scroll.
There were at least sixty names on this one. Women with no clan. No status. No tombs.
Yet someone remembered them.
Zhi Lan whispered, "She's kept this hidden all these years... waiting."
The Songstress stood—slowly, unsteadily.
"My voice cannot reach the capital from here," she said, fingers trembling as they hovered above her guqin. "But if you carry me… I will sing again when it matters most."
Qingran looked up at her. "Then let us be your legs. Your eyes. Your vengeance."
They left Red Valley that night.
The blind Songstress walked between them, her steps sure despite her sightless eyes.
But neither Qingran nor Zhi Lan noticed the figure watching from the high cliffs above.
A man cloaked in ash-colored robes, a mask of bone over half his face.
He whispered into the night, "So the flame breathes again…"
And vanished before the wind could taste his scent.