Mount Yunyuan was alive with motion—disciples sparred on floating platforms, spirit beasts coiled in the gardens, and the air shimmered with the scent of plum blossoms and lightning.
But Lian stood alone.
She gripped a training staff, sweat clinging to her brow, heart pounding from hours of drills. Her strikes were clumsy, her steps unsure. Her robes—plain and borrowed—hung awkwardly from her frame. Everyone else moved like water. She moved like a frightened deer.
Still, she kept going.
At the edge of the courtyard, someone watched her.
Li Fang.
He leaned lazily against a pillar, arms crossed, his usual smirk curiously absent. There was something unreadable in his gaze—curiosity? Pity? Something deeper?
When she glanced his way, he looked away.
---
Later that day, Shengzhi met with Master Yu in a hidden chamber beneath the main hall. Incense curled through the air, thick with jasmine and something older—something colder.
"She's remembering," Master Yu said, eyes narrowed beneath heavy lids. "Not just in dreams. Her qi is shifting. Her presence is awakening."
"She's not ready," Shengzhi said tightly. "I haven't even told her the full truth."
"You can't," the old master replied. "Not yet. Let her past return in fragments. The soul must accept itself slowly, or it will collapse."
Shengzhi clenched his fist. "She asks questions I can't answer. She deserves to know who she was."
Master Yu poured tea in silence.
"She was Yue Lian," the old man said at last. "She was more than a name. She was the Lotus Flame—the one who could purify corrupted qi, who could heal with breath alone. That power… doesn't come without cost."
"Do you still believe it wasn't her fault?" Shengzhi asked quietly.
Master Yu didn't answer.
---
Far from the safety of the mountain, a shadow stirred.
Wuqian knelt before a stone mirror, cold mist swirling around him. Within the mirror, a figure stood—tall, robed in gold and shadow. Only his voice came through, low and commanding.
"You're certain she's awakening?"
"Yes," Wuqian replied. "The qi around her flares when she dreams. And someone in the sect protects her—too carefully."
"Let her rise," the voice said. "And when she burns bright enough, we will take her power… and end what was never finished."
Wuqian's gaze darkened. "Yes, Master."
As the mirror dimmed, Wuqian stood and whispered to the wind:
"Sleep well, Lotus Flame. While you still can."
---
That night, Lian returned to the peach blossom courtyard, her staff resting beside her.
She stared up at the stars. Her limbs ached. Her heart did too.
And in her dreams—again—she saw fire.
A man's voice echoed through the smoke and petals.
> "Yue Lian… you were never meant to die."
She woke with a cry, heart racing, breath short.
But no one came.
Only the blossoms drifted down, glowing like embers in the moonlight.
----------
To be continued...