The morning sun slipped through the silken curtains and brushed Mò Lián's face with a warmth too sharp to ignore. She stirred awake, squinting, and quickly closed the window. The palace sun was different—hotter, harsher than that of the quiet provinces. It felt as if even the heavens burned brighter here.
A gentle knock broke the silence. A maid entered, her arms carrying a fresh dress woven from soft brocade.
"My lady, would you like to have a bath?" she asked, laying the cloth delicately by the bedside.
Mò Lián smiled, remembering the secrets of the night before. "Of course. Today will be a long day."
She had her bath and dressed in a new robe, her hair falling in dark rivers over her shoulders. Hunger tugged at her, yet the maid had already whisked away her former gown to be washed.
Wandering the quarter, she plucked stray flowers; the fragrance trailing her steps. A delicious scent lingered from a nearby kitchen, and curiosity drew her closer.
At the doorway stood a cluster of maids. Their laughter was sharp and mocking.
"Aren't you used to helping? Then help properly!" one barked at a trembling girl. The others cackled like crows.
Mò Lián lingered only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The timid maid stammered, "But... this task was for the five of us. Why threaten?" A cruel shove silenced her. She stumbled, falling to the ground, tears springing to her eyes.
Without hesitation, Mò Lián rushed to her, lifting her and shooting the others a gaze so cold that even the boldest shrank back.
"–I'm sorry, my lady," one of them stammered.
"It was a mistake. She never does her chores properly, always siding with people who aren't... normal."
The words stung, but Mò Lián only raised her finger, a silent warning that carried more weight than any spoken threat. Before she could unleash her anger, a familiar figure burst from the kitchen doors.
"Huā Yuán!"
Mò Lián's eyes widened in delight. The bullies scattered like frightened sparrows as Huā Yuán ran to her, flinging herself into her arms. Their laughter rang out as they clasped hands, their bond as natural as sunlight.
"What are you doing here?" Huā Yuán asked, still smiling.
"I was hungry, so I—" Mò Lián's words faltered when she noticed the maid staring. She nudged Mò Lián playfully. "Hey, someone thinks we're mad."
They giggled together, and the maid hurried away, chuckling at their silliness. Hand in hand, the girls slipped into the kitchen, where they kneaded dough and folded dumplings, their laughter spilling like music into the air. When at last they ate, happiness tasted like flour and warmth.
But duty could not wait. Huā Yuán was supposed to fetch water from the stream—twenty port at least. Mò Lián begged to join.
"It's boring here," she insisted. "I long for the river's current."
Huā Yuán sighed, torn, but in the end, she gave in to Mò Lián's persistence. They had just begun to leave when a soldier blocked their path.
"My lady," he said gravely, "you must come with me. There is a meeting you are required to attend."
Mò Lián's stubbornness flickered in her eyes, but Huā Yuán squeezed her wrist and whispered, "It's important. I'll see you later." With that, she ran toward the stream, leaving Mò Lián to the soldier's guidance.
When they arrived, the hall was crowded. Noble ladies murmured in their silks, fans fluttering like butterflies. As the soldier left, a sharp voice sliced the air.
"What is such a peasant doing here?"
A jeweled lady strode forward, her disdain heavy as perfume. Mò Lián froze only until recognition struck—this was the same arrogant woman from the chariot days before.
The lady sneered, "Yes, I am speaking to you, filthy thing."
Mò Lián's lips curved into a dangerous smile. Wow, she thought, laughter simmering beneath her breath. She stepped closer, her gaze steady.
"Oh, ugly fellow," she said sweetly, "I'm surprised you're still alive."
Gasps rippled across the room. Some ladies covered their mouths; others laughed outright.
"How dare you—"
But before the insult could land, Mò Lián pressed a finger to her rival's lips.
"No, no. Only fools talk too much." She brushed the woman's shoulder as though smoothing out wrinkles.
"There, I've arranged your rags for you. Or would you like a new dress? I could get you one—free, since you clearly can't afford it."
The room erupted in laughter. The haughty lady's face burned dark, tears trembling in her eyes. For the first time in her life, humiliation broke her mask.
Silence fell as Li Fuyao entered with two soldiers. The room filled with whispers when a soldier mentioned
"Princess Xǔ Bìyáo of Fujian."
The disgraced woman lifted her head, bowing. "Greetings, my lady. I am Princess Xǔ Bìyáo." Her smile returned as she moved closer to Li Fuyao.
Li Fuyao's gaze fell on Mò Lián. "You are here at last. Now let us begin."
The morning sun fell on the king's receiving hall, the royal family gathered.
King Tiān Lóngxuān, Queen Yù Yuè, and Crown Prince Tiān Jùn sat together, their words circling like shadows.
"My son," Queen Yù Yuè's voice softened, though her eyes held the steel of command. She reached for him, her hand brushing the sleeve of his royal robe. Their conversation wasn't getting brighter.
"You are no longer just a boy of mine—you are the Crown Prince now. The empire looks to you. You must marry."
But before the prince could open his mouth, the chamber shifted—its golden lanterns flickered, and a heavy shadow poured across the marble floor. The air itself grew thick, humming with an unseen force that pressed against their chests like an invisible hand.
The queen's breath caught. The prince froze.
"Leave...!" The king's voice thundered through the chamber, sharp and absolute, echoing off the high walls. This wasn't merely a command; it was law, impossible to defy because of its inherent power.
Queen Yù Yue's hand flew to her chest as a sudden, piercing pain seared through her heart. The air thickened around her, suffocating, heavy with a force that was not human. A chill crept down her spine—something powerful had descended upon the palace.
She rose quickly, her silken robes whispering against the marble floor as she hurried out of the king's hall. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the great doors slammed shut behind her with a thunderous echo.
Then it came—deep and resonant, the sound that froze every soul in the palace. The spiritual monarchy bell tolled.
Its voice was rare, sacred, feared. Only when Priest Tiān's immortal disciples were present did the bell ring, and it absolutely warned everyone to retreat indoors.
For mortals, foreigners, even ordinary citizens, lingering in its tolling presence meant death.
The palace emptied at once, courtyards falling into silence as if life itself had been swallowed whole. Only the rustle of hurried footsteps and the clatter of doors echoed faintly before all faded.
Beyond the main halls, the temple closest to the palace remained alive with movement. The priests there continued their rituals for the upcoming festival, unaware of the full storm that loomed. Yet even they faltered, their chants trembling beneath the oppressive weight of power in the air.
Other quarters felt the disturbance too—the general's compound where Yán Lǐng resided, the elegant residence of Li Fuyao, the queen's favored lady, and the palace temple itself. All of them were close enough to the royal halls to feel the ripple of danger, close enough that the air seemed to press harder against their lungs.
The palace, so full of life by day, had become a place of shadows, waiting for the immortals who walked like gods among men.
At the general's quarters, Yán Lǐng sat cross-legged in silence, his breath steady, the faint glow of a single oil lamp casting long shadows across the room. His mind was deep in meditation, senses sharpened, when the quiet was disturbed by a slow, aching sound—creak.
The door inched open. Cold air slipped inside.
Yán Lǐng's eyes snapped open, dark and piercing. His hand brushed instinctively toward the hilt of his blade resting beside him. Whoever dared enter without permission would face the steel of the general.
"Yù Xuān...?"
Yán Lǐng's eyes widened in disbelief. She stood in the doorway, clutching a tray of tea that rattled with her trembling hands.
"My lord, forgive me," she whispered, bowing slightly.
"The head maid sent me to deliver this—"
Before she could finish, the surrounding air convulsed, thick with violent power. A tremor rippled through the chamber, and the tray slipped from her grasp.
In a heartbeat, Yán Lǐng's spell surged, ribbons of invisible force pulling her toward him before the scalding tea could spill. Their eyes locked for the very first time, and suddenly she was against his chest—fragile, trembling, yet impossibly close.
Then came the thunder.
The sacred bell roared, its sound crashing like waves of lightning through the walls. Power ripped through the room, pressing down like an invisible storm. Yù Xuān gasped, stumbling. The weight of the immortals' presence shoved her further into his arms, so close their lips nearly brushed before she collapsed fully against him.
Yán Lǐng gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of his magic to shield her. His barrier shimmered faintly, but the force of the bell's call nearly broke it, threatening to crush them both.
And then—suddenly—it passed.
Silence fell, heavy and unreal.
Yù Xuān lay paralyzed beneath his gaze, her breath shallow, her heart hammering against his chest. She dared not move, dared not speak. His hand still gripped hers tightly, his aura burning like fire around her, and between them hung something fragile — fear, awe... and the spark of something neither could name.
Elsewhere, chaos reigned.
Li Fuyao had already gathered her maids and hurried them into the underground passages, but not everyone was safe. Xǔ Bìyáo had slipped away unnoticed, her silken robes whispering as she strolled calmly through the gardens, unaware of the danger closing in.
Then the sound came.
It wasn't thunder. It was louder, deeper—like the heavens splitting open. The force ripped through her ears until fresh blood trickled down her skin. She crumpled to the ground, clutching her head.
"Stand up! Follow me!"
A fierce voice cut through the storm. Huā Yuán burst through the chaos, seized her wrist, and yanked her to her feet. There was no time for questions. No time for hesitation. They ran, skirts whipping around their ankles, hearts pounding.
They found the storeroom door they were looking for, and it was barred and locked tight.
Huā Yuán's instincts screamed. The bell's deadly aura was pressing down, chasing them like an unseen beast.
The river—yes, the river—was the only chance. She dragged Xǔ Bìyáo toward it. But before they reached the bank, the force struck.
The world buckled. Air turned to lead.
Without a thought, Huā Yuán threw herself over Xǔ Bìyáo, her body shielding hers. Blood spattered from her lips as something ancient stirred within her veins. Her pupils thinned into vertical slits—serpent's eyes glowing faintly in the dark. For a fleeting moment, her power surged, wrapping them both in its strange protection... and then it was gone.
The storm relented. The weight lifted.
Xǔ Bìyáo lay frozen in shock. Huā Yuán's face was pale, her breath shallow, her head falling limply to the side. In her dazed arms, Xǔ Bìyáo held her and for the briefest heartbeat—she saw scales flicker across Huā Yuán's skin.
Terrifying secrets.
She gasped, trembling, but the girl did not move. Her body was heavy against her, and her lips were still stained with blood.
Back in the king's hall, three immortals hovered in the air
Xún Lóng, Bái Zhēn, and Tán Hēi. Their presence bent the world itself.
Tiān Jùn rose to his feet, power blazing from his veins, answering their pressure with his own. His father, though weakened, stood beside him—his aura sharp and unyielding, refusing to be eclipsed.
"We must visit our master's hidden library." Xún Lóng declared, his voice echoing like thunder through the hall.
Fury ignited in the prince's gaze, raw and dangerous, his aura flaring like a storm barely leashed. The chamber darkened, shadows bending toward him as if eager to taste the chaos of his bloodline. His fists trembled at his sides, the mark of the curse burning faintly across his skin.
But before the fury could consume him, Bái Zhēn's voice cut through, gentle yet unyielding.
"Steady. My Prince."
Tiān Jùn's power grew with each passing day, swelling like a tide he could no longer contain. Every time he released even a fraction, the world around him bent beneath its force. Holding it back was agony—like caging a storm within his own veins.
Each breath felt heavier. Each heartbeat throbbed with the curse's whisper. And though he fought to master it, the truth was undeniable: the more his strength rose, the harder it became to stay in control.
King Tiān Lóngxuān raised his hand, silencing them all. His voice carried the weight of both crown and bloodline.
"The dragon has returned. She will come for what is hers. This is no time for interrogation."
With that, the king's figure surged upward, rising into the air until he met the immortals eye to eye, his robe snapping in the storm of their presence.
From the shadows, Tán Hēi's faceless voice rolled like iron against stone.
"Translate your ancestors' writing, or this kingdom will crumble into chaos."
And then—silence.
In a single breath, the immortals vanished, dissolving into the ether. The palace shook in their absence, the pillars groaning, the air still trembling with the echo of divine power.
King Tiān Lóngxuān sank heavily into his seat, the weight of centuries etched into the lines of his face. His gaze fixed on his son, unblinking, as though trying to carve truth into him.
"Jùn...!"
"My Lord." Tiān Jùn bowed, voice steady, but his chest tightened at the heaviness in his father's tone.
"We are both Tiān's descendants," the king began, his words raw, almost trembling.
"In your free time, visit the secret room. I cannot crack the Dracula code. If you succeed..." His breath faltered, his hand clenching against the armrest. "... I will shift my position to you."
The words fell like stones, soaked in exhaustion.
"No, Father." Tiān Jùn stepped closer, urgency flashing in his eyes.
"I am not in a hurry to take your place. You are strong—healthy still."
But then the king's cry split the chamber like thunder.
"Tiān Jùn...!" His voice roared, echoing off the gilded pillars. His body shuddered, his strength unraveling before his son's eyes.
"I am not strong anymore. I am weak inside. The lineage curse is taking hold... my time is short. You must crack the code—the dragon has returned...!"
A sudden cough wracked his frame, and blood spattered his lips. His knees buckled, his body swaying.
"Father!" Tiān Jùn lunged, catching him before he collapsed, his heart seizing with fear. "Father...!".
Without hesitation, the prince pressed his palm to his father's chest, summoning his own power. A surge of light burst forth, rippling through the chamber, vibrating the very air as divine energy poured into the king.
Slowly, painfully, Tiān Lóngxuān's breathing steadied. His frame straightened, though his eyes were hollow, shadowed by the truth he could no longer deny.
For a heartbeat, father and son held each other's gaze—unspoken grief passing between them. Then, without another word, the king vanished, dissolving into the shadows of the palace, leaving only silence in his wake.
At the palace temple, the air shifted—heavy.
The priests gathered for the ritual ceremony froze mid-chant, their breaths stolen as an overwhelming aura pressed down upon them. For the second time in a century, Xún Lóng descended.
One by one, the priests collapsed to their knees, foreheads pressed to the cold floor. Desperate prayers spilled from their lips, their voices trembling in unison, rising against the storm of his presence.
Xún Lóng lowered himself onto the base of his own towering statue, his back turned to the mortal world, his gaze fixed on the open heavens.
By evening, the city stirred again. Civilians poured back into the streets, carts rattling and vendors calling as if the dread had been nothing but a dream. Night settled, the sky brushing the palace roofs with silver.
At Li Fuyao's quarters, Mò Lián sat quietly on her bed, dinner finished, her thoughts wandering like restless ghosts. She stared out of the window, memories clawing at her heart—her aunt's gentle hands, her father's laughter, her grandparents' wisdom, the innocent smile of her childhood friend Yù Xuān. The flood of remembrance stole her breath.
Her chest tightened. Her eyes brimmed. Jùn... She saw the moment they first met, vivid and cruelly sweet. A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another.
Then—a shadow near her window.
She blinked, her heart racing. Hastily, she wiped her face, her lips curving despite her tears. Could it be... Jùn?
She stood on her bed, clutching the curtain pole, and leaned her head out.
"Huā Yuán...!"
Their eyes met, and smiles bloomed, though Huā Yuán's carried a faint, icy edge.
Banished from her bunk by spiteful maids, Huā Yuán had nowhere else to go. She was too skilled, too perfect; the others resented her, resented being compared to her at every turn.
Before Huā Yuán could speak, Mò Lián acted. With reckless joy, she leapt straight from the window, not even checking the distance.
Huā Yuán's jaw dropped. "Mò Lián...!"
The two girls burst into laughter, their mirth echoing in the quiet night.