The graveyard was quiet that afternoon, wrapped in a cool breeze that brushed over Lord Chen and his mother-in-law as they sat together on the soft grass. Only a few mourners lingered in the distance, their hushed voices fading beneath the rustling leaves.
She placed her hand gently on the grave before her.
"How are you doing, my daughter?" She whispered, her voice trembling with both longing and warmth. "I miss you... But your little girl makes me forget the pain bit by bit." She chuckled softly and glanced at Lord Chen.
He smiled back, bittersweet and aching with unspoken emotions.
For a moment, everything was still—peaceful, almost tender.
But then the cool breeze changed.
A sudden gust tore through the graveyard, sharp and unsettling. Loose soil shifted. Offerings toppled. The other visitors startled, fear widening their eyes as the breeze grew stronger, colder.
People began to flee.
Lord Chen immediately grabbed his mother-in-law's hand. "Come quickly." He guided her out, shielding her as they hurried toward the temple in charge of the graveyard.
Across the yard, priests rushed in, their robes snapping in the wind as they inspected the graves with urgency. Their faces darkened.
One of them returned to the gates, raising his voice with authority.
"A notice will be posted on the board shortly. For your safety—leave at once!"
Lord Chen exchanged a troubled glance with his mother-in-law.
They obeyed without question.
Hand in hand, they made their way back home, the eerie wind still whispering behind them—as though something beneath the earth had been disturbed.
At the Queen's mansion, the air lay heavy with the quiet hush of dusk.
Mò Lián rested on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her breathing shallow and uneven. Lady Fuyao sat beside her, worry knotting her brows.
Lady Fuyao couldn't understand it—how could Mò Lián be sick in a place like this?
In a palace wrapped in royal energy—a place where illness rarely touched anyone—Mò Lián's condition made no sense.
A messenger stepped into the room, bowing.
"My lady... You have a guest."
Fuyao didn't respond. Her eyes focused on Mò Lián's trembling lashes.
"My lady," he repeated, voice tight with urgency, "it's an unknown guest, but he seems like a royal."
The moment the words left his lips, Fuyao's temperature plummeted.
She shot to her feet, trembling violently. Instinctive fear flooded her veins. She felt it so sharply she nearly lost control of her bladder, her heartbeat hammering painfully against her chest.
The messenger dropped to his knees. "My lady, the environment might be unsafe, and the Queen is not present...!" His voice cracked with panic.
Lady Fuyao tried to step forward—but her legs gave out. She collapsed.
The world seemed to collapse with her, as if reality split in two.
Before she could blink, she found herself somewhere else—dark, cold, silent. The air felt thick, crushing. Her breath came fast and incomplete, as though her lungs were locked in a vice.
She crawled, unable to stand, the weight of the energy pressing down on her bones.
The room brightened—just barely—enough for a silhouette to form.
She dared glance upward..., and the surging force sliced through her iris. A blinding force slammed into her vision. She gasped, slamming her eyelids shut, shaking her head in pain.
"I'm sorry, my lord," Fuyao choked out. "I dare not look at you."
Only one type of being could inflict such pain.
The Royal blood.
She forced her breathing steady, burying her panic. Losing control of her emotions in the presence of a royal could mean death.
"Sorry," a voice said softly—too soft for the power surging around it. "I don't want to scare you."
The presence sat down before her.
Lady Fuyao immediately kowtowed. The blinding pressure in the room eased slightly. The air felt less suffocating—but still sharp enough to slice skin.
She remained completely still.
"It's simple," the voice continued, calm yet edged in quiet threat.
"Report to me anyone who crosses my line. Do everything in your power to ensure she is not harmed."
A pause.
The air darkened.
"If I can restrain my power for her sake... then who dares fail to restrain their behavior around her?"
His voice dropped dangerously soft and friendly.
"If you make a mistake..."
The sentence ended there, but the silence carried the weight of a heavy punishment.
Lady Fuyao trembled, feeling the sudden change in the environment. She inhaled sharply as cool, fresh air washed over her. She blinked—once, twice—trying to adjust her vision.
Nothing, only darkness.
A strangled scream tore from her throat. She reached out wildly, waving her hands in space, grasping for something—anything—to anchor her.
I'm blind.
Maids burst into the room at the sound.
"My lady!" they cried, rushing to her side.
They found her stumbling blindly, hands clawing through the air as she choked back sobs. The maids caught her trembling body and lifted her onto the bed.
"My lady," one whispered, voice breaking, "you... You are blind." She waved a hand in front of Fuyao's face—no reaction.
The maid crumpled to the floor, weeping.
Not long after, the Queen entered the mansion, expecting to meet the dancers who would perform at the festival. She waited—and waited—but not a single girl appeared.
Her patience thinned.
Just as she turned to leave, a piercing cry echoed through the halls.
"What is that?" the Queen demanded.
Her personal maid dropped to her knees. "Your Highness... a royal visited."
The Queen inhaled sharply. "And you did not tell me?"
Her mind flashed back to the King's words at the palace meeting:
'My men will deliver the details.'
Suddenly, her aura surged, rippling through the air as her third eye opened. Her vision expanded—searching—and she saw Mò Lián's room empty. She swept her gaze across the building until she found Mò Lián in Lady Fuyao's chamber.
The Queen dissolved instantly into the air.
Her maid collapsed unconscious on the grass.
Lady Fuyao's room overflowed with dancers and maids. Many knelt, crying. Suddenly, heavy energy filled the air, making their stomachs twist.
One by one, they fled the room, fighting nausea.
Soon, only Mò Lián remained beside the unconscious Fuyao.
She looked up as the last dancer reached the door. "Where are you all going?" Mò Lián asked, voice small.
The girl couldn't speak. Her mouth was full of bile; she only waved shakily and hurried out.
Silence fell.
Mò Lián lowered her head—and her tears slipped down, falling directly onto Lady Fuyao's closed eyes.
Lady Fuyao flinched sharply. Her eyes squeezed shut as a violent itch slashed across her iris, biting deep. She tried to move her hands to scratch, but her limbs refused her.
The Queen materialized in the room—silent, invisible to mortal eyes—and what she saw made her breath catch.
Mò Lián... was not human.
Moments earlier, the Queen had released a subtle airborne toxin—a royal-level poison meant to flush out threats. Every mortal in the mansion reacted.
Everyone except Mò Lián.
"Lián," the Queen called softly, stepping forward.
Mò Lián jerked her head up instantly, eyes red and wet. "My Queen! Lady Fuyao—she's blind, she's paralyzed—she can't breathe!" Her voice cracked with helplessness.
The Queen's chest tightened. For someone so softhearted to cry like this...
She crossed the space in one step.
When her fingers touched Mò Lián's chin, her power surged—
Only to vanish instantly.
Her eyes widened.
Mò Lián was completely unaffected.
Lady Fuyao, however, gasped and choked, thrashing weakly for air.
Whatever Mò Lián was...
The Queen knew one thing for certain:
This girl stood outside the law of the royal realm.
Late-afternoon sunlight slipped through the towering pillars of Sì Tiān Temple, painting long golden beams across the polished floor.
The ancient temple bell tolled—a deep, resonant sound that echoed all the way to the mountains. The annual sacrifice had concluded hours earlier, leaving the temple empty and hushed, save for the chief priest seated in its center.
He sat cross-legged before the great altar, his breathing slow, his aura steady as he sank deep into meditation.
A chill drifted through the hall.
Then, without warning, the Queen materialized before him—her presence more ghostlike than human; her form gliding in a slow circle around him. Shadows bent toward her in reverence.
"Have you found it?" she asked, her voice quiet but edged with urgency, stopping behind him.
The chief priest opened his eyes—calm, unreadable. "Yes, Your Majesty."
He slipped a hand into the folds of his robe and withdrew a small box wrapped in an old, weathered handkerchief. Its energy pulsed faintly, as though something inside it was alive.
Before he could even fully extend his arm, the box vanished—plucked from existence.
"Good job," the Queen murmured.
Then she, too, vanished—leaving only a faint tremor of power behind.
The chief priest closed his eyes once more, the silence of the temple swallowing him whole.
The chief priest returned to his meditation, lowering his head as the temple settled into silence once more.
Then the air shifted.
Rough wind tore through the sacred hall, rattling the lanterns. The chief priest inhaled sharply and opened his eyes.
Before him hovered three celestial figures—Xún Lóng, Bái Zhēn, and Tán Hēi—Immortal Priests whose presence warped the air itself. They stood mid-air as if gravity held no claim over them. The space shimmered, bending like heat over desert sand.
A heartbeat later, another presence materialized.
The king—Tiān Lóngxuān—appeared seated casually atop a massive golden statue, as though he were arriving late to a trivial gathering.
Xún Lóng's voice rolled across the hall like thunder.
"What year is it already?"
The chief priest's eyes lowered to the hands he held tightly together.
"It is the Year of Rebirth," he answered, steady and unwavering.
Bái Zhēn vanished instantly, soaring across the kingdom, inspecting every flicker of spiritual disturbance.
Tán Hēi's voice cracked through the hall.
"Tiān Lóngxuān."
The king looked over lazily. "What?"
Tán Hēi's words dropped like a stone.
"Your son is the embodiment of my master—Priest Tiān."
Xún Lóng's eyes sharpened. "Your son has yet to produce a descendant... and you have been silent all this time?"
The king burst into laughter—loud, reckless, unrestrained. The immortals merely watched, untouched by his arrogance.
"And how is that supposed to concern me?" he scoffed, rising to stand as his aura lifted him higher into the air. "You all witnessed his birth. You expect me to control that boy?" He spread his arms wide. "Stubbornness is the least of his chaos. If the bull refuses to bow, not even a god can strike without losing a hand."
At a flash of light—Bái Zhēn returned, fury darkening his radiance.
He hovered over the chief priest.
"How much longer will this defilement stain the kingdom? Purify the nation...!"
Then he ascended, rising to face the king at eye level.
"How long will your enemy poison you before you finally die?" Bái Zhēn snarled, staring directly into Tiān Lóngxuān's eyes.
The king did not flinch.
"You kept the dragon's body alive," Bái Zhēn hissed.
"Why harbor your enemy like a friend? Do not be deceived—the wizard whose powers were stolen has returned. He is close. He seeks revenge. And the last fragment of the dragon's body is awake." His gaze cut sharply. "She must not learn of her soul... not yet."
All three immortals spoke together, their voices echoing like judgment itself:
"The kingdom of Huǒyuán is doomed."
They dissolved in a blaze of light.
Silence crashed down.
The chief priest gasped as his clasped hands fell open. His eyes widened, horror spreading across his face.
He now understood.
And the truth was far, far worse than he feared.
King Tiān Lóngxuān smirked, the expression slicing across his face like a blade of cold amusement. He turned lazily toward the chief priest, eyes gleaming with a dangerous calm.
"Restrict the temple graveyard to all visitors until further notice," he ordered. "And do not make a mistake."
Before the chief priest could bow again, the king's form dissolved into the air—leaving behind a faint crackle of power that danced like lightning in the silence.
The priest kowtowed three times, each bow deeper and more desperate than the one before. Sweat clung to the temple walls.
When he finally lifted his forehead from the floor, his brows were deeply furrowed—knit with worry, with fear, with revelation.
He pressed his palms hard against the stone tiles.
A tremor rippled outward.
The surrounding air shimmered, bending until the entire temple chamber flickered like a pool of disturbed water. On the shimmering surface, every corner of the kingdom of Huǒyuán unfolded before him—mountains, rivers, villages, cities, temples. Every cemetery. Every grave.
His voice dropped to a whisper of power.
He projected the alarm.
A pulse of red light swept from the temple like a shockwave, racing across the land, striking every graveyard with a silent warning. Lantern flames guttered. Cemetery gates sealed themselves shut. Spiritual wards flared awake as ancient runes crawled across old stone.
The dead were no longer at rest.
Something in the earth was shifting.
And the priest knew—
This was only the beginning.
The palace sparkled under a thousand lanterns, glowing like a floating kingdom in the dark. The western palace—closest to Sì Tiān Temple—was especially alive, its walls humming with energies from countless spirits and demons drawn by the temple's presence.
They forbade ordinary mortals from patrolling at night. Only the royals and their chosen few could withstand the forces that gathered there.
Night fell.
The celebration began.
The king and queen took their thrones. Foreign kings were present, their expressions lit by awe and fear. The Crown Prince, as expected, did not attend. His absence was as heavy as his presence would have been.
Choreography performances filled the stage—traditionalists from every tribe swirling in sacred patterns. Songs, drums, flutes, ancient histories reborn.
Yet King Hán Wáng Ān barely watched.
His mind wandered.
His personal guard nudged him gently. "My lord, you are lost in thought." The guard waved a maiden over—she approached with a tray of wine.
When she bowed before him, silk slipped across her skin, revealing more than was proper. King Hán Wáng Ān's breath caught. She lowered the tray, and her eyes lifted—seductive.
He smiled back.
"Pour my drink, beauty," he murmured.
Yet the moment she leaned forward, another face flashed in his mind.
Mò Lián.
His smile widened unconsciously.
He turned toward King Tiān Lóngxuān. As always, the king's face blurred—hidden to outsiders by royal enchantment. Meanwhile, the performers had paused mid-act, waiting for the king's signal.
King Hán Wáng Ān stood with his cup raised.
"A toast to my fellow king!"
The other kings rose, lifting their cups proudly before drinking. Laughter echoed across the hall.
Then King Hán Wáng Ān grinned mischievously.
"My king, I'm a bachelor. I need a wife!"
The crowd burst into laughter.
He continued boldly. "My queen, do you have any suggestions? I am lonely and inexperienced. Help your son—your young king!"
The queen smiled softly—her face briefly revealed before turning blurry again to foreign eyes.
"Young king, I have many beautiful ladies. But to claim one as your bride, you must enter our culture—obey our traditions."
His jaw dropped. He swallowed hard, nodding with trembling excitement.
"Of course, my queen... I will consider it. But do prepare your son a bride!"
The crowd howled at his playful tone.
King Tiān Lóngxuān's voice echoed through his wife's mind:
"You did well. Any request you make shall be granted."
She smiled and sipped her wine elegantly.
At the Queen's Mansion
Mò Lián sat beside Lady Fuyao's bed, fighting sleep as she waited for her to wake. Her body sagged. She yawned softly.
Lady Fuyao's eyes snapped open, and a hot liquid spilled onto the sheets.
Her sight returned.
She turned her head and saw Mò Lián dozing off, her head drooping. Lady Fuyao smiled and wiped her eyes.
"Lián..." Lady Fuyao whispered.
"Wake up."
Mò Lián jerked awake with a small gasp. "Huh?" She rubbed her eyes. "You're awake??"
Lady Fuyao laughed.
They hugged tightly.
"You need rest," Lady Fuyao said gently. "I'm fine now."
"How are your eyes? Can you see clearly?" Mò Lián raised her hand dramatically. "Where is my hand?"
Fuyao caught it and pressed it down, smiling.
"I see everything."
She tickled Mò Lián, who burst out laughing.
"Haha—stop! It tickles!"
"You should sleep, Lián. It's already late."
Mò Lián fixed the blankets, then turned to go.
"Good night," Fuyao waved.
Mò Lián left, the door shutting behind her. She skipped happily to her room.
When she entered, the room was freshly arranged. Her lunch sat untouched and cold on the table. Her stomach growled. Exhaustion gripped tight to her muscles.
She sighed and stepped into the cold bath, fully clothed.
"I'm so hungry..." she groaned, sinking into the water. Her head rested on the tub's edge.
"Before my bed, the bright moon's glow..." she crooned.
Sleep consumed her.
Moonlight spilled across her room. The wind grew colder.
The ghost entered—riding the breeze—hovering over the bathtub.
"Lián..."
Its whisper curled around her ear.
"Wake up. It's time to wake. Gather your kind. War is coming."
"Lián!"
The tub vibrated violently.
Her eyes flew open.
"Lián!"
She leapt from the water, heart pounding.
"You must know who you are. Wake up!"
She scanned the room—chest heaving.
"Lián... stop running."
Mò Lián bolted.
She hit the floor hard, then scrambled out the door. She ran down the corridor, tears burning her eyes.
The ghost swooped, slammed into her back—
She flew.
The world spun.
She hit the ground of a barren land, gravel scraping her skin. She staggered up and looked around—
A cemetery.
Her eyes widened in horror.
Then she saw it.
Her mother's tomb.
"Mum...!" she cried, collapsing in front of it. "Mum!"
She scooped dirt in her hands and threw it over herself, convulsing.
"Why did you bring me to existence? Why?!"
Her eyes were filled with tears, cheeks swelling with grief.
Above her, the ghost hovered—its eyes finally visible.
Watching.
As if this moment...
was exactly what it was for.