Midnight wrapped around the abandoned Su Embroidery Workshop like a tattered silk veil. Moonlight filtered through broken wooden windows, casting jagged shadows over dust-covered worktables and spools of faded thread. Lin Wan's silver prosthetic hand brushed the cold surface of a stone wall as she stepped inside, her bamboo needle tucked into her sleeve—sharp enough to pierce skin, if needed. Shen Yan followed close behind, his frost-threaded coat rustling softly, his eyes scanning the darkness for threats.
"The peony bush was by the east entrance," Lin Wan whispered. Her voice echoed faintly, stirring dust motes in the air. "I used to climb it as a child to steal jasmine from the roof garden."
Shen Yan nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of a small dagger hidden in his boot. "The thread-eater's followers might be watching. Stay close."
The workshop was a ghost of its former self. Half-finished embroidery pieces lay scattered on tables, their threads frayed and discolored. A wooden screen, carved with peony motifs, leaned against a wall—its surface scorched, as if someone had tried to burn it. Lin Wan's chest tightened as she passed it; she recognized the carvings—her mother had made that screen.
They reached the east entrance. The peony bush was gone, replaced by a patch of overgrown weeds. But beneath the weeds, Lin Wan spotted a glint of metal—an old iron ring, half-buried in the soil.
"This is it," she said. She knelt down, her prosthetic hand digging carefully through the dirt. The ring was rusted, but when she pulled it, a section of the ground lifted—revealing a small, wooden box, its surface carved with the same peony root pattern her mother had stitched into the silver silk fragment.
Shen Yan knelt beside her, his breath warm against her ear. "Be careful. It might be trapped."
Lin Wan nodded. She ran her finger along the peony root carving, recalling her mother's whisper: "The key is in the root of the peony." She pressed her thumbnail into a tiny indentation at the base of the root—and the box clicked open.
Inside, there was a leather-bound notebook, its pages yellowed with age, and a half-moon jade pendant. The notebook's cover was stitched with moonlight silk, and on the first page, Lin Wan recognized her mother's handwriting: "For my daughter, if I don't return. The thread-eater is not a pattern—it's a person."
A person. The words sent a shiver down Lin Wan's spine. She'd always thought the thread-eater was a forbidden design, but her mother was saying it was something far more dangerous—a living, breathing threat.
She flipped through the notebook. The pages were filled with embroidery patterns, but not ordinary ones—they were counter-patterns, designed to unravel the thread-eater's magic. There were notes, too: "The thread-eater feeds on regret. To stop them, you must use the one memory they cannot touch—pure, untainted joy."
Shen Yan's hand brushed hers as he leaned in to read. "Your mother was a genius. These counter-patterns… they're unlike anything I've ever seen."
Before Lin Wan could reply, a low chuckle echoed through the workshop. "Clever girl. You found the box."
Lin Wan and Shen Yan spun around. A figure stood in the shadows, their face hidden behind a mask stitched with the thread-eater pattern. Their coat was made of black silk, embroidered with glowing red threads that hummed—a more powerful version of the pattern on Shen Yan's cuffs.
"Who are you?" Lin Wan asked, her bamboo needle at the ready.
The figure stepped forward, their mask glinting in the moonlight. "I'm the one who burned your family's studio. The one who's been hunting the peony screen fragments. And soon, I'll have the last piece—right after I take that notebook from you."
Shen Yan pushed Lin Wan behind him, his coat's threads humming loudly, as if preparing to strike. "You're the thread-eater."
The figure laughed again. "Guilty. But you're wrong about one thing—I don't just feed on regret. I feed on broken memories. Memories that people are willing to trade away. And your mother? She tried to stop me by creating those counter-patterns. Foolish."
The thread-eater raised their hand, and red threads shot out from their coat—snaking toward Lin Wan and Shen Yan like living creatures. Shen Yan grabbed Lin Wan's wrist, pulling her out of the way, and his coat's frost threads surged forward, clashing with the red threads in a shower of sparks.
"Run!" Shen Yan shouted. "Take the notebook and the pendant—they're the key to stopping them!"
Lin Wan hesitated. She didn't want to leave him alone, but she knew the notebook was too important to lose. She tucked the notebook and pendant into her pocket, then ran toward the back exit—her bamboo needle slicing through a stray red thread that blocked her path.
As she fled, she heard Shen Yan's voice: "I'll find you! Don't trust anyone—especially not the ones who claim to help!"
She burst out of the workshop, the cool night air hitting her face. She didn't stop running until she reached Meridian Pavilion, slamming the door shut behind her. She leaned against the door, gasping for breath, her hand clutching the notebook and pendant.
The pendant was warm against her skin, as if it held a piece of her mother's energy. She pulled it out—half a moon, its surface carved with a tiny peony. She realized, with a jolt, that the other half must be with Shen Yan—his coat's threads had hummed in the same frequency as the pendant when he touched her.
She opened the notebook again, flipping to the last page. There was a drawing of the full moon pendant, and beneath it, a note: "The pendant will lead you to the one who can help you defeat the thread-eater. But beware—they carry a secret that could destroy you."
Lin Wan stared at the note. Who was the one who could help her? And what secret were they hiding?
As she thought, the pendant glowed faintly, its light pointing toward the window—toward the direction of Shen Yan's last known location.
She knew she had to find him. But first, she needed to decode the counter-patterns in her mother's notebook. And she needed to figure out why the thread-eater was so desperate to get their hands on it.
The game had changed. No longer was she just trading memories—she was fighting for her mother's legacy, for her own survival, and for the countless people whose memories the thread-eater planned to devour.
And she wasn't going to lose.