The scent of blood hung thick in the ruins of the Bai estate, clinging to the shattered tiles and broken bodies like a second skin. Ling Tian stood amidst the carnage, his clawed hand still dripping with Elder Bai's confession—a scroll of skin peeled from the old man's back, its characters carved deep enough to scar bone. The ink was still wet, a mix of crushed cinnabar and betrayal.
Qing'er wiped her blade clean on a fallen guard's robe, her blindfold turned toward the horizon where storm clouds gathered. "We should burn the rest," she said, her voice flat. "Leave no evidence."
Ling Tian flexed his fingers, the ledger's pages fused to his arm twitching in response. The names of the guilty pulsed under his skin, each one a coal pressed to flesh. Bai Zhan. The Ghostfang Captain. The Third Elder's mistress. The list went on, a tapestry of corruption that stretched further than he'd imagined.
Xiao Hei crouched beside a corpse, prying a jade amulet from its stiff fingers. "Ooh," she cooed, holding it up to the fading light. "Pretty." The amulet was carved with a serpent swallowing its own tail—the mark of the Netherworld Pavilion.
A gust of wind carried the stench of rotting peaches.
The Crimson Witch stood at the edge of the courtyard, her vermilion robes dulled by dust and ash. She clapped slowly, the sound like bones rattling in a hollow gourd. "Bravo," she murmured. "Elder Bai's death was… creative."
Ling Tian's hackles rose. The ledger burned, its pages flipping wildly to a new entry:
First Test: The Ling Clan Massacre. Success.
The words seared into his vision. Test?
The Witch stepped over a severed arm, her silk slippers leaving no prints in the blood-soaked earth. "Did you think vengeance was the point?" She tilted her head, her smile widening until the corners of her lips threatened to split. "Oh, little dragon. Vengeance is just the spark."
Qing'er's sword flashed, its tip kissing the Witch's throat. A single bead of black blood welled, sliding down the steel like oil. "Explain," she hissed. "Or lose the tongue you wag so freely."
The Witch didn't flinch. Her gaze remained locked on Ling Tian, her pupils swallowing the light like pits. "The Key wasn't a treasure. It was a lock." She tapped his chest, right over the scar where the pendant had once rested. "And you, Ling Tian, were never the heir. You were the warden."
A memory tore through him—
His father's study, the night before the massacre. The scent of burning sage. His father's hands, shaking as he pressed the jade pendant into Ling Tian's palms.
"Swallow it," his father had begged, tears cutting tracks through the soot on his face. "Swallow it and forget you ever saw it."
Ling Tian staggered, bile rising in his throat. The honeyed milk cakes Auntie Pei had fed him every morning—always with a bitter aftertaste—the way they'd made his head fuzzy, his memories slippery.
Poison. To suppress the Key.
The Witch's laugh was a razor dragged over glass. "Your father knew what would happen if the Key awoke. So he hid it in the one place no one would look—inside his own son."
The First Test
The ledger's pages rustled, fanning open to reveal another entry:
Test Parameters: Subject exposed to betrayal, torture, and loss. Emotional resilience measured. Physical adaptation: satisfactory.
Ling Tian's claws dug into his palms. "You're saying the massacre—"
"—was necessary." The Witch shrugged. "How else could we be sure you'd survive what's coming?"
Qing'er's blade pressed deeper. "You slaughtered children."
"I didn't." The Witch's finger pointed at Ling Tian. "His father did. To protect the world."
The ground lurched. Ling Tian's knees hit the dirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The ledger's whispers crescendoed, a chorus of screaming voices—
His mother's last words.
His sister's cries as the collar snapped shut.
The fox's whimper as its neck broke.
All tests.
The Witch knelt before him, her breath frosting the air despite the heat. "The Key is waking, Ling Tian. And the thing it's keeping locked away? It's hungry."
The Choice
Xiao Hei popped the Netherworld amulet into her mouth, crunching it like candy. "Gege's not a jailer," she said around the shards. "He's a keyhole."
The Witch nodded. "And now, you choose." She extended her hand. In her palm lay two items:
A dagger—its blade forged from a star-metal shard, humming with celestial rage.
A peach pit—the same one Elder Mo had given him, now split to reveal a tiny sprout.
"Vengeance," the Witch murmured, "or absolution."
Ling Tian reached for the dagger—
—and the sky split.
A sound like a thousand glaciers shattering filled the air as the clouds tore apart, revealing not the sun, but a void—a yawning mouth lined with crimson stars. The temperature plummeted. Frost raced across the ground, crawling up Ling Tian's legs like living vines.
The Witch's smile turned savage. "Too late for choices."
Tianlang Xiu had arrived.