Darkness pressed in like tar, thick and suffocating, smothering every shred of Kawashima Sakurako's consciousness. She felt herself drifting in the void, her ears haunted by the cries of an infant. The sound came and went, near and far, like a dull blade carving into her heart again and again.
Suddenly, a crimson fissure split open beneath her feet, and she plunged into a scene all too familiar—
A frigid laboratory. Cultivation pods glowing faintly with green light. Inside one pod floated a curled-up infant, submerged in pale liquid, his black, abyss-like pupils locked on her. His skin was paper-white, and from the cherry blossom birthmark behind his ear seeped dark-red beads of blood. The blood traced down the glass wall, writhing into the word Mother in Japanese script.
"You killed me."
The baby's lips never moved, yet the words reverberated from every direction, crushing down on her.
Sakurako staggered backward, colliding with a wall of flesh. It was Kawashima Fukuichiro, clad in his immaculate suit, his figure gleaming coldly in the shadows. But his face was fragmented into countless shards, each reflecting a different expression—mocking, cruel, tender, loving.
"Tools of the Empire have no need for feelings."
All the shards spoke at once, the soundwaves splitting her eardrums until blood trickled from them.
Her heart clenched as if crushed by an invisible hand, her breath ragged and shallow. She tried to run, but the darkness wrapped around her like chains, holding her fast. The infant's crying sharpened into a piercing shriek, while the shards of Fukuichiro closed in, ready to devour her whole.
Just as despair consumed her, the white jade Pixiu pendant on her chest burst forth with a gentle radiance. From the glow leapt a spirit beast, its entire body pure as snow, eyes molten gold, a cinnabar rune blazing on its brow, flowing with Daoist sigils.
The beast's body was lithe and majestic, fur gleaming like fresh-fallen snow. Its limbs were powerfully built, every step shaking the void itself. Its tail swept like that of a dragon, exuding an aura of dominance.
"Abomination!" the Pixiu roared, thunderous, its claws rending the darkness into ribbons. Thousands of blades of light erupted, spearing the infant and the shadow of Fukuichiro alike.
"You abandoned your own flesh and blood—yet still dare speak of redemption?"
The infant swelled into a giant, green venom dripping from its fingertips, every drop hissing into corrosive smoke. Meanwhile, Fukuichiro's shards condensed into a steel cage, gears grinding like cold laughter.
"You will never escape my grasp."
The Pixiu vaulted onto Sakurako's shoulder, its cinnabar sigil searing into her brow.
"See clearly!" Its roar overlapped with Daoist priest Zhang's chanting, and the vision before her warped.
The baby in the pod shed its ghastly hue, transforming into a pure orb of light. Through the cracks of Fukuichiro's iron cage, scenes emerged—memories of father and daughter in Kyoto, standing beneath the cherry blossoms.
"A heart demon feeds upon obsession sharpened into a blade."
The Pixiu's voice was like clear spring water, absolute and commanding, its gaze piercing illusion itself.
With trembling hands, Sakurako reached out. The orb fell into her palm, solidifying into a translucent sakura amber. Within it was sealed a single cherry blossom petal, dewdrops clinging to it as though time itself had stopped.
"This is…" Her voice faltered, confusion flickering in her eyes.
"This is your obsession—and your salvation," the Pixiu said, voice deep yet gentle. "You've been bound by shadows of the past. True release does not come from running, but from facing it head-on."
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she stared at the amber. She remembered that night—her father taking her to view the blossoms, petals drifting like snow, his smile warm and kind. She had been innocent then, believing the world was nothing more than that grove of cherry trees—beautiful and pure.
"Father…" she whispered, voice breaking.
"Once, he was everything to you. But now, you must learn to let go."
The Pixiu's voice tolled like a temple bell, striking deep within her. "You are not his tool, nor his legacy. You are yourself—Kawashima Sakurako."
Her body trembled. Tears blurred her sight. She clutched the amber tightly, as though it were her only anchor.
"But… I killed my child…" Her voice was thick with agony and regret.
"That was not your fault," the Pixiu answered firmly, unyielding. "You were forced into that place by fate. The true culprits are those who used you."
Understanding dawned faintly in her eyes. She lifted her gaze to meet the Pixiu's. "What… what should I do?"
"Let go of obsession. Face your heart."
Its voice flowed like a stream, soothing yet resolute. "You are no longer the Kawashima Sakurako who was bound. You have a choice."
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Countless scenes flashed across her mind—her father's coldness, the infant's cries, the sterile lab… only to be washed away by other images: herself running through the cherry grove, moments of warmth with Guo Xiudao, the unwavering eyes of the strike team.
"I… understand now." Her voice carried quiet strength, like a burden finally lifted.
The Pixiu's form grew translucent, dissolving into starlight that poured into her body. Warmth coursed through her veins, sweeping away all shadow and frost.
"Remember," its voice whispered in her heart, "you are no longer who you once were. You have the power to change everything."
Sakurako opened her eyes. The darkness was gone, replaced by radiant light. The sakura amber still rested in her hand, but now it was no longer a weight of sorrow—it was her symbol of rebirth.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice trembling with gratitude.
The Pixiu had vanished completely, yet its words lingered in her heart:
"Go—face the future that belongs to you."
She drew a steady breath and stepped forward with unwavering resolve. The road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but she was no longer shackled by her heart demon. Kawashima Sakurako now carried new strength—and new hope.
Please like, follow, and add to your collection—your support is my greatest motivation to keep writing.