When morning came, it arrived like a slap.
Birdsong pierced her skull, cruel in its cheer, and light trickled through the leaves overhead. Her back ached from the tree roots that had served as her bed. The red bridal silk she wore was crumpled and torn, streaked with ash and dirt. Her throat still carried the sting of smoke.
She groaned and sat up. The cursed sword lay across her lap, cold despite the warmth of the rising sun.
"You snore," the sword's voice announced without preamble.
She blinked, still foggy. "Excuse me?"
"You snore. Loudly. Like a dying ox. I could barely meditate over the noise."
"Wow," she said flatly. "My first critic, and it's a talking blade."
"You should be grateful I tolerate you at all."
She rubbed her temple. "Listen, if you're going to insult me every time I breathe, this is going to be a very long partnership."
"Partnership?" The sword's tone dripped with disdain. "Do not mistake yourself for my equal. You are a vessel. A sheath at best."
She gave the weapon a baleful glare. "Then you're a very chatty accessory."
The sword bristled with a low hum, vibrating in protest. She couldn't help it—she laughed, weak but genuine.
The Hunter's Net
Laughter didn't last long. A prickle ran down her spine, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. She froze.
From somewhere in the forest, voices drifted—low, harsh, deliberate. Men searching.
Her pulse stuttered. "They're already looking for me."
"Of course," the sword said smoothly. "The ritual was ruined. Your villain will not let his toy bride simply wander free."
She swallowed. In the story, the villain was meticulous. No mistakes, no loose ends. Which meant if his men caught her, she'd be finished before the plot even reached its infamous thirty chapters.
"Okay," she whispered, scanning the trees. "Think. Options. I can't outrun a hunting squad."
"Hide," the sword suggested. "Or fight. Those are the choices of prey."
She tightened her grip on the hilt. "Not prey. Not anymore."
"Big words for someone who can barely hold me upright."
Her jaw clenched. "Fine. Then teach me."
A Lesson in Survival
Silence. Then, a low chuckle. "So the worm has fangs."
"Don't flatter me. Just… instructions. Basic stuff. Swing, block, whatever keeps me alive."
The sword seemed to consider, then said, "Grip tighter. Your hands shake like reeds in a storm. Feel my edge. Let your qi move—ah, right. You have none worth speaking of."
"Gee, thanks."
"Still, I can lend you a fragment of mine. Enough to carve wood and flesh alike."
She hesitated. "Lend me? What's the catch?"
"Every gift has a price. But you'll discover that soon enough."
The ground crunched nearby. A masked disciple stepped into view, bronze face gleaming, sword drawn.
Her stomach lurched. No more time. She raised the cursed sword awkwardly, sweat slicking her palm.
The disciple lunged—fast, trained, merciless. Instinct screamed at her to duck. She swung blindly instead.
The black blade sang.
It cut through steel and bone in one sweep, splitting the man's sword in half and sending him crashing to the ground with a strangled cry. His blood sprayed across the leaves.
She gasped, staring at her trembling hands.
The sword purred. "Better. Do you see now? With me, you are no longer weak."
Her chest heaved. She hated the surge of exhilaration that flushed through her veins, hated how easy the strike had been.
But the disciple wasn't alone. More voices shouted in the distance.
She wiped the blood from her face and whispered, "We need to run."
"Now you sound like prey again," the sword teased.
"Shut up."
The Bond Tightens
They fled deeper into the woods, her breath ragged, every rustle in the undergrowth setting her nerves alight. By the time she stumbled into a ravine hidden by underbrush, her legs gave out. She collapsed against the damp earth, panting.
The sword's presence pulsed steady and smug inside her chest. But underneath that arrogance, she caught something else—faint, reluctant approval.
"You lasted longer than I expected."
She wiped dirt from her cheek. "High praise, coming from a cursed relic."
"Do not mistake my words for affection."
"Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't dream of it."
And yet… when her fingers shifted on the hilt, warmth flickered beneath the blade's surface. Not heat exactly, but something that seeped into her veins, threading into her heartbeat. She gasped softly.
The sword noticed. Its voice dropped, rougher now. "Our bond deepens. The more you draw on me, the more you tie yourself to my fate. There is no undoing this."
Her throat tightened. "You mean I'm stuck with you."
"Precisely."
She leaned her head back against the ravine wall, exhaustion dragging at her. "Great. Married to the villain's sword. My mother would be so proud."
The weapon gave a single, dark laugh.
A Dangerous Resolution
By nightfall, she had managed to scavenge a fireless camp—berries, rainwater caught in leaves, and a blanket of damp moss for a bed.
The cursed sword lay beside her, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. She studied it, heart heavy.
The novel's script was clear: Su Danyan dies, the villain ascends, and the sword bathes in endless blood. That was the path fate had written.
But she had already torn one page from that script.
She clenched her fists. "I won't just survive. I'll change this story. One way or another."
The sword hummed lazily, as though amused by her defiance. "Change fate? Hah. Mortals have tried. They all break."
"Then watch me," she said.
Her voice was quiet, but her pulse thrummed with the first spark of rebellion.
The cursed sword said nothing more. But its glow lingered against her skin, as if curious to see what kind of bride it had inherited.