She shut her eyes because of the pain, but after a while, she gathered herself.
"Are you all right?" Zhen Yu asked.
She nodded weakly.
"It's over," she signed. "We can return now."
By the time they reached the roadside inn, night had fallen. The lamps burned low, shadows trembling across the thin walls.
Zhen Yu saw her to her room, but before he could speak, the door slammed shut.
"Mei Lian—"
No answer.
On the other side, she leaned against the door, chest heaving. Her hands trembled as she pulled back her sleeve.
The veins had spread.
Once faint lines, now they wrapped her forearm like blackened vines, pulsing with crimson light.
Her breath caught. Pain seared through her bones.
Without a sound, she staggered to the wooden tub filled with cold water. She plunged her arm in—then her whole body—letting the icy water swallow her trembling form.
The veins glowed even beneath the surface, writhing like fire beneath ice.
Her eyes squeezed shut. She bit her lip, trying to contain the silent scream that wanted to tear free.
The inn was quiet save for the faint drip of melting snow.
Outside her room, Zhen Yu sat in the hallway, sword resting across his knees, eyes fixed on the door she had locked behind her.
Hours passed. The lanterns burned low. Still, she did not emerge.
He rose at last, brushing his hand over the wooden frame.
"Mei Lian," he said softly, though he knew she would not answer.
"You don't need to hide."
No sound came from within.
When dawn broke, she stepped out at last. Her hair clung damp against her cheeks, her black robe heavy with water. She looked even paler than before, the crimson veins faintly pulsing beneath her sleeve.
Zhen Yu reached for her shoulder.
Her robe was still wet.
"You'll catch cold," he said quietly. "Wait here by the fire. I'll bring you a new robe."
He left without waiting for a reply.
At the market, he realized he didn't even know her size. He hesitated, then simply said to the tailor, "Black. Make it black."
When he returned, he handed her the robe. She accepted it silently and went to change. When she emerged, the fit was perfect—almost as if he had known all along.
For a moment, she simply stood there, fingertips brushing the new fabric. It had been years since anyone had given her anything.
She looked up at him and signed,
"Why doesn't it have a hood?"
Zhen Yu smiled faintly.
"You don't need to hide yourself," he said. "You're beautiful."
For a moment, her crimson eyes widened—not with magic, but surprise.
That day, they walked through the city together. Zhen Yu moved beside her through the market crowd, his silver sword hidden beneath his cloak. Liang Hu followed behind, carrying packs of supplies.
Mei Lian's steps were steadier. The shadows beneath her eyes had faded a little; the stiffness in her movements had eased. Her crimson veins still pulsed faintly under her sleeve, but the pain had quieted—for now.
They stopped at stalls for dried meat, rice cakes, fire-starting oil, and bandages.
Then, as they passed a small vendor's cart, Mei Lian slowed. Her crimson eyes lingered on a tray of golden-brown squares dusted with sugar.
Osmanthus cake.
The vendor caught her gaze—and flinched when he saw her eyes. His hands shook as he bowed his head, pretending to rearrange his wares.
Zhen Yu stepped forward.
"Do you want it?"
Mei Lian hesitated, then gave a small nod.
He placed a coin on the table. The vendor's hand trembled as he took it, not daring to look up.
Zhen Yu broke a piece of the cake and handed it to her. She accepted it carefully, as if afraid it might shatter.
Her first bite was slow. The sugar melted on her tongue, the soft fragrance of osmanthus lingering in the winter air.
For the first time, Zhen Yu saw something new in her face—not pain, not silence, but something gentler.
Joy.
Her crimson eyes brightened. Her lips curved into the faintest smile. She took another bite, quicker this time. For that brief, fragile moment, she looked nothing like the feared Black Lotus.
She looked like a girl.
Zhen Yu couldn't help but smile too.
Behind them, Liang Hu coughed gruffly, trying—and failing—to hide his surprise.