Later that night, long after the bonfires burned low and laughter faded into mist, Mei Lian walked alone toward the river.
The water was still now — no longer gold, only moonlight rippling against black stone. At the edge, half-buried in the mud, something faintly shimmered.
The monster's heart.
The golden leech's last remnant — dull, cracked, no longer beating.
She knelt beside it, her reflection trembling on the surface. Slowly, she reached out. Her fingers hovered above the heart for a long moment before pressing against it.
A pulse — weak, but there.
Her crimson veins glowed in answer.
Dark light flowed upward, gold sinking into red, vanishing beneath her skin. The heart crumbled to dust in her palm.
She exhaled — a soundless sigh of exhaustion.
Then she turned.
And froze.
Zhen Yu was standing a few paces behind her, half in shadow, his cloak brushing the frost-tipped reeds. His expression was unreadable.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated, then signed, I was here to absorb its remains. I cannot leave anything like that behind.
He stepped closer, his tone sharper than he intended.
"How can you still care so much for humans— after all they've done to you?"
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"Or… are you just hungry for power now? Are you deceiving us behind all this innocence?"
He moved closer — his face now inches from hers. His breath mingled with the mist between them.
For a moment, she froze — startled by the edge in his voice, the nearness of him. But the fear that crossed her eyes soon hardened into disappointment… then quiet anger.
She pushed him back. Just enough to make him stumble.
Her fingers flew through the air, signing fast, sharp.
I thought you trusted me. But you're like the others after all.
Do you know what it feels like when I absorb them?
Her movements grew frantic.
It isn't power I feel — it's drowning.
Their voices, their pain, their hunger — all of it floods me. I can't tell where they end and I begin.
Every monster leaves a piece of itself inside me. And every time, I lose another piece of myself.
Her hands slowed. Her crimson eyes shimmered — not from power this time, but from tears she refused to shed.
But if I don't do it, they'll return. The people will die. So I keep doing it. Again and again.
Zhen Yu's anger faded, leaving only silence… and guilt.
He took a small step forward. His voice was softer now, low enough that the river could almost swallow it.
"I was wrong… I am—"
But before he could finish, she turned away.
The mist folded around her as she disappeared into the dark, leaving him standing alone by the river.
He stayed there for a long while, the frost creeping up the reeds, the moonlight breaking faintly over the water — and the guilt of not trusting her enough, of never truly understanding her pain.