Chapter 6
The morning mist of Holy Bell City was sacred—incense smoke rising from a thousand courtyards, chanting monks echoing like one vast heartbeat.
Each bell that tolled carried a promise: peace, purity, purpose.
To Nyxen, it was noise.
His disguise as a wandering monk was perfect now. Head bowed, robes clean, eyes half-lidded. Yet beneath the calm mask, the Sutra of Crimson Emotion pulsed faintly, whispering its quiet heresy. Every breath he took felt different—too vivid, too alive.
> "Emotion is the marrow of power,"
the Sutra murmured within him.
"Suppress it, and you rot. Embrace it, and you bloom."
He tried not to listen. He tried to meditate like the others, to let stillness fill him.
But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face.
Lianhua.
The woman of the Bell City.
Gray-black hair that shimmered like ash in moonlight. Eyes too clear for this world.
The Bells' Warning
That morning, the bells changed tone.
A deep, violent toll split the air—the third tone, never used except in crisis.
The monks dropped their scrolls and ran to the upper gates.
From the northern cliffs, a thick black mist was spreading—corruption qi, twisting through clouds like a serpent.
The defensive barriers flickered.
Lianhua appeared beside Nyxen, calm but pale.
> "It's the corrupted spirits," she said quietly. "They've broken through the Lotus Valley."
Nyxen's brows furrowed. "Impossible. That barrier was crafted by ten high monks."
"Then something—or someone—helped them."
Her voice faltered. "The abbot said… it reeks of demonic Dao."
At that, Nyxen felt the Sutra within him shiver—as if it recognized its kin.
The Broken Valley
By dusk, the pair were sent to investigate.
The air beyond the temple walls was thick with decay. Trees bled sap that steamed like acid, and the once-holy river reeked of sulfur.
Monk patrols lay dead along the road—faces frozen in prayer. Their golden prayer beads were blackened, their mouths filled with ash.
"Lianhua," Nyxen murmured, kneeling by a fallen monk. "This isn't corruption. This is—"
He touched the body and flinched.
"—Devourment Qi."
Lianhua's face paled. "That art is forbidden. It drains life to feed the soul…"
Her gaze fell on him, soft but uncertain. "How do you know this?"
Nyxen met her eyes. The Sutra's whispers clawed at the edges of his thoughts.
"I've studied too many enemies," he lied smoothly. "Knowing corruption doesn't mean embracing it."
She nodded, trusting. Too trusting.
But she didn't see his trembling hands.
The Spirit of the Lotus Valley
Night came.
They reached the ruined shrine at the heart of the valley.
Statues of Buddha lay cracked, their faces melted by foul heat. In the center, a massive black lotus pulsed with red veins.
A creature crawled from its petals—half monk, half beast, chanting a twisted scripture in a broken tongue.
Its voice was like two bells clashing out of tune.
> "Purity… is illusion. Only hunger is true."
The corrupted monk's words made Lianhua stumble back, clutching her rosary.
Nyxen felt his own blood thrum in rhythm with the monster's tone. The Sutra was responding.
> "Devour or be devoured."
He clenched his jaw. "Lianhua, stay behind me."
"But—"
"Now."
He stepped forward, calling his qi. Pure white light gathered at his palms—then cracked with threads of red lightning. The Sutra's power was leaking through him.
Lianhua's eyes widened. "Your qi… it's not pure!"
"I know," he said quietly. "But it's still mine."
The Forbidden Power
The corrupted monk lunged.
Nyxen's body moved faster than thought—his stave spun, slicing through air. He parried once, twice, then thrust, but the creature's skin rippled like liquid shadow.
A claw slammed into his chest, hurling him across the shrine floor.
Pain exploded behind his ribs. Blood filled his mouth.
The Sutra pulsed inside him like a second heart.
He felt heat rise from his core, his veins burning with crimson light.
> "Emotion births power. Let it bloom."
He thought of Lianhua's trembling voice. Of the monks who would sneer at his impurity. Of all the gods who laughed at his pain.
And he let it bloom.
A roar tore from his throat—not bestial, but human, filled with rage and sorrow.
His qi surged crimson. Symbols of the Sutra burned across his arms.
When his stave struck again, the very air cracked.
The corrupted monk screamed as its shadow body split apart, red light tearing it from within.
When silence fell, the valley reeked of iron and ash.
Lianhua ran to him, kneeling beside his collapsed body.
"Nyxen! You—your energy… it's wrong. It's bleeding."
He smiled faintly, blood staining his teeth. "Still alive, aren't I?"
She pressed her hands to his wounds, tears forming in her eyes. "You used something forbidden. I can feel it. You'll lose yourself if you keep doing this."
Nyxen looked at her—at the way her lips trembled, her fingers shaking yet steady.
"Then maybe that's the only way I'll find myself," he murmured.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
The bells of Holy Bell City tolled faintly in the distance, their echoes reaching even this broken valley.
Then Lianhua whispered, voice almost breaking,
"Nyxen… whatever path you walk, don't let it consume you."
He looked away.
It already has.
The Return to the City
They returned to Holy Bell City at dawn, both carrying the weight of silence.
The monks hailed them as heroes. The abbot praised their courage, unaware of what Nyxen had unleashed.
But Lianhua's eyes never left him.
She saw his shaking hands, the faint red light under his skin, the haunted expression he hid behind a calm smile.
That night, as the city bells sang of peace, Nyxen sat alone beneath the temple eaves, staring at his bloodied hands.
The Sutra whispered gently, like a lover:
> "You felt her fear for you. That fear was love. That sorrow—power."
"Why hide from it?"
He closed his eyes.
The sound of her voice still lingered in his chest.
Maybe, he thought, love truly was another form of corruption.
But even corruption could be beautiful.