The Blood Moon hung huge that night, so bright it washed the stars away.
Drums thundered through the mountains. Rivers of red lanterns stretched across bridges and halls; disciples poured crimson wine into bowls carved from moonstone. Every tower blazed with light.
The Blood Moon Demon Sect hadn't celebrated in a hundred years.
Now they drank to the return of the Heir.
From the highest balcony of the main pavilion, Lin Qing watched the sect burn with color. Music echoed through the valleys, distant chants rising like waves. He could see bonfires even on the outer cliffs — disciples dancing, blood-tattoos glowing faintly beneath their skin.
Below him, thousands of candles flickered in a pattern: a crescent moon drawn across the mountain's slope.
"They'll be singing about you for a century," said Li Chun, carrying a tray of fruit and a second cup of crimson wine. "The Blood Altar answered you directly, Heir Lin Qing. That hasn't happened since the Age of Calamity."
"Let's hope it doesn't end the same way," Lin Qing said, taking the cup. The wine tasted metallic, like it had been aged in a sword.
Li Chun set the tray down, eyes wide. "The Elders say even the abyss trembled. The Saintess herself ordered the seals on the outer gates broken. The world will know by morning."
"Great," Lin Qing muttered. "Nothing I love more than attention from people who can vaporize me."
Across the terrace, Elder Hei approached, robes whispering against the stone. He removed his mask halfway, revealing eyes like polished onyx. "The sect rejoices," Elder Hei said. "But celebration cannot outpace caution. When Heaven grants a miracle, envy follows."
"I'm sensing a long night of bad news coming," Lin Qing said.
Elder Hei ignored the sarcasm. "Scouts report unusual movement from the Abyssal Flame Sect. Three envoys crossed the frontier two days before your awakening. They now hide in the Western marshes."
"Friends dropping by to congratulate me?"
"They carry holy talismans, not gifts. The Nine Holy Lands have begun to stir as well. Prophecies travel faster than armies."
Lin Qing sipped his wine. "And all of them think I'm the monster in their bedtime stories."
Elder Hei inclined his head. "Then we let them dream. Fear is a blade sharper than steel."
He turned to go, then paused. "Saintess Yao requests your presence tomorrow. She says the prophecy must be reinterpreted in light of your… temperament."
"My temperament?" Lin Qing asked.
"Mercy," Elder Hei said simply. "It confuses them."
---
Later, the celebration swelled until even the mountain trembled under the chanting. Lin Qing slipped away, crossing a quiet bridge that overlooked the valley. The sound of drums faded into distance.
The night air was cold, clean.
From this height, the sect looked endless — crimson lights coiling down the mountains like veins of fire.
He leaned on the railing and exhaled slowly.
He could still feel the power inside him, steady and deep. Every breath hummed. The Mirror Blood Scripture flowed naturally with his body now, mirroring the heartbeat of the mountain itself. It felt real — earned.
That scared him more than the altar had.
"Fake it till you make it," he murmured, "but what happens when you make it?"
Behind him, a soft voice answered. "Then you stop pretending."
He turned.
Saintess Yao stood on the bridge's edge, veil lifted, moonlight spilling across her features. Her eyes reflected the Blood Moon like glass.
"Elder Hei said you wanted to talk," Lin Qing said.
"I wanted to see," she replied. "Prophecy speaks of blood and ruin. But when you stood on the altar, there was no malice in your qi. Only clarity."
"Sounds like a compliment."
"An anomaly," she corrected. "The Blood Heir was meant to burn the world clean. You choose to breathe instead of blaze. The elders call that wisdom. I call it divergence."
Lin Qing looked back toward the sect. "Maybe Heaven rewrote the script."
"Perhaps," Saintess Yao said softly. "But Heaven does not make mistakes without reason. The world will fear you for what they expect, not for what you are."
"I'll drink to that," Lin Qing said, raising his cup.
She studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "The Heir drinks, the sect kneels, and the heavens shift. History begins again."
Then she turned and vanished into the mist, leaving the faint scent of iron and lotus.
---
By midnight, the celebration died down.
Lin Qing returned to his chamber, exhaustion settling under his skin. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, letting the last traces of wine fade. His qi pulsed gently — crimson light threading through silver veins.
He didn't need to meditate. The Heavenly Insight Divine Body seemed to learn on its own, perfecting rhythm, breathing, and flow without effort. Every second spent still made him stronger.
But the more perfect it became, the less he understood it.
"Who exactly did I steal this body from?" he whispered.
No answer came, only the soft hum of the mountain.
Far away, in a fortress beyond the frontier, the Abyssal Flame Sect received news of the Blood Heir's awakening.
In a chamber wreathed in fire, a masked figure stood before a burning map. "The Blood Moon has stirred," the envoy said.
"Then the prophecy is true," the figure answered. "If the Heir rises, so must we. The world cannot survive another Mirror Emperor."
Flames consumed the map, devouring the region marked Crimson Hollow Range.
"The hunt begins."
---
The next morning, crimson fog still clung to the peaks.
Lin Qing woke to Li Chun hammering on the door. "Heir Lin Qing! The Saintess waits in the Hall of Prophecy!"
Lin Qing groaned, rubbing his temples. "Perfect. A hangover and an apocalypse meeting."
He stood, the air rippling faintly as his qi responded, sharper now—alive.
Whatever awaited him next, the sect, the Saintess, and even the heavens expected something divine.
He wasn't sure if he could keep faking it.
But for now, he'd keep them guessing.