Three months had passed in the upper realm.
Mo Xing knelt in the center of his chambers, where he had spent countless days wrestling with the aftermath of the Dark Binding elixir. The double dose that had saved him now extracted its price. Each day brought a fresh battle as liquid fire turned to creeping frost in his veins, the brutal re-chaining of the beast within demanding its toll. His ridians, still raw from that initial exorcism by force, pulsed with rembered agony. Yet still, that damned smile played at the corners of his mouth, as if the pain itself was nothing more than an amusing inconvenience.
"Master, please," Mian Mian's shadows flickered anxiously around him. "You need more ti to recover—"
"What I need," he interrupted, voice smooth despite three months of strain, "is to stand."
The first attempt sent him back to his knees, the room spinning in a dizzying whirl of moonlight and shadow. The second nearly collapsed the barrier around his chambers—weakened now by months of containing his unstable power. But Mo Xing had never been one to accept defeat, even from his own body.
On the last try, he rose—graceful as ever, though Mian Mian could see the fine tremors running through his fra. Standing there in the moonlight, months of battle had left him looking almost ethereal, the remnants of that ancient darkness casting an otherworldly sheen across his too-pale skin.
"There," he said, adjusting robes that hung looser than they had three months ago. "Nothing to it."
"Master," Mian Mian's tone carried centuries of exasperation and months of worry, "you're bleeding again."
Indeed, a thin line of crimson traced its way from the corner of his mouth—evidence of the war still raging within, despite the passage of ti. Mo Xing rely dabbed at it with his sleeve, that infuriating smile never wavering.
"A small price to pay for expediency," he mused, taking an experintal step forward. His gaze drifted to the ancient bronze mirror mounted on the far wall—a relic from the First Emperor's tomb that had witnessed his daily struggles, its surface dark with age and secrets. In its reflection, sothing shifted beneath his skin, a ripple of shadow that had nothing to do with the moonlight.
His eyes t those of his reflection, and for a heartbeat, they weren't his own. Ancient, bottomless, hungry—and stronger now than they had been three months ago.
The mirror's surface crystallized with frost, intricate patterns spreading like spider webs across its face. Then, with a sound like winter shattering, the bronze cracked. Fragnts scattered across the floor, each shard catching moonlight like fallen stars.
"Interesting," Mo Xing murmured, watching the pieces settle. "It seems so reflections are better left unseen, even after all this ti."
Mian Mian's shadows curled protectively around the fragnts, her voice tight with concern. "Master, your power—it's still unstable. Three months, and it's only grown stronger."
"On the contrary," he replied, that smile sharpening at the edges, "I'd say it's perfectly stable. Just not particularly friendly to antiques. Besides," he added, taking another step toward the door, "I believe I've kept a certain little tempest waiting long enough."
With a wave of his hand, the barrier disappeared.
"Brother Mo?!" Mo Tao's voice erupted from behind the doors the mont he felt the barrier disappear. The sound of rapid footsteps and rustling robes suggested he was already preparing to summon every servant in the vicinity.
Before Mo Tao could start his usual frenzy of well-aning but exhausting demands, Mo Xing slid the door open with practiced grace and covered his friend's mouth in one fluid motion. Despite three months of confinent, his movents retained their characteristic smoothness—even if maintaining that appearance cost him more effort than he'd care to admit.
"I'm fine, Mo Tao," he said, his tone carrying that familiar blend of amusent and warning. "Though if you continue shouting, I might need another three months of rest for my ears."
"Young Master Mo!" A delicate voice floated through the courtyard, sweet as honey and just as cloying. "We've all been so worried!"
Su Jia appeared at the far end of the courtyard, and sothing about her movent made Mo Xing's eyes narrow slightly. Gone was the girl who had knocked over five teacups at dinner while trying to appear graceful. Instead, she made her way toward them with asured steps that spoke of newfound precision. Her white robes pristine despite the early hour—the sa robes she always wore when trying to project an image of purity—an irony that never failed to amuse Mo Xing. She clasped her hands before her chest, eyes wide with perfectly calculated concern, each gesture controlled in a way that seed... different. The way she glided across the stone path without a single misstep, her robes floating just so, suggested sothing had changed since he'd been away.
"When I heard you were unwell, I simply had to co see if there was anything I could do to help." She even managed to make her voice catch slightly on the word 'help'—an impressive performance, really, from soone who used to trip over both her words and her feet with equal frequency.
Mo Xing's smile took on that particular edge it always did around Su Jia—the one that looked perfectly polite unless you knew him well enough to recognize the mockery dancing in his eyes. But as she drew closer, his senses caught sothing unusual. Beneath her gardenia-scented spiritual energy, beneath that carefully cultivated aura of pure innocence, there was... sothing else. A change that went far deeper than her suddenly graceful movents.
When did your soul start slling like blood, lotus? he wondered, maintaining his facade of polite tolerance even as his intuition sharpened. And when did you learn to move with grace instead of a stumbling deer? The scent was faint, well-hidden but there it was: the unmistakable essence of spilled blood, clinging to her soul like invisible stains.
"How thoughtful of you, Miss Su," he replied, letting just enough silk-wrapped sarcasm color his words that Mo Tao winced beside him. "But as you can see, I'm quite recovered. Though I do appreciate the..." his smile curved into sothing just shy of inappropriate, "touching display of concern. You seem to have mastered quite a few new expressions while I was busy."
Mo Tao, still struggling against Mo Xing's hand, finally managed to free himself. "Brother Mo! You can't—"
But Mo Xing's attention remained fixed on Su Jia, watching how she lowered her gaze demurely, missing nothing about how her spiritual energy subtly shifted to appear even more pure and untainted. How fascinating. He'd always known she wore a mask—had made quite a ga of pointing out its cracks, much to his brother's dismay—but this polished performance was unexpected. Almost as unexpected as the blood scent that clung to her.
"If you'll excuse ," Mo Xing said, his casual tone doing nothing to hide his obvious dismissal, "I have so matters to attend to."
Su Jia bowed gracefully—not a single wobble in her stance—every movent precise and practiced, though Mo Xing caught the slight tightening around her eyes. "Of course, Brother Mo. Please don't let keep you." She turned to leave, her white robes swirling like snow in a perfectly controlled arc—such a far cry from the girl who could barely manage her sleeves at dinner.
Mo Xing watched her go, that eternal smile of his taking on an edge of genuine intrigue. Well, well, he thought. It seems I'll need to stay here longer than I was hoping.
Reviews
All reviews (0)