I am the Heroine’s Master?

The day before they were due to depart the palace – two days before they would leave for the Great Wall – Mo Jian had completed his preparations as thoroughly as he could. Everything on his list (an actual list, painstakingly etched using his spiritual sense onto the bronze jade he still carried) had been crossed off, if only metaphorically. And yet, he could not shake the sense of unease lingering at the back of his mind. Its source eluded him, but its presence refused to fade.

So it was with a faintly anxious expression that he sat in the sunken tea court of Muxue's chambers, slowly sipping from an excellent cup of tea Shen Jinglan had served him only minutes earlier. And no, he was not brooding, regardless of the laughter dancing in her eyes as she had bowed and excused herself. Shen Jinglan herself was occupied on the opposite side of the room, within the Spirit Bamboo Grove alongside Muxue and Bai Ning. Mo Jian sat far enough away that, technically, he was not part of their conversation, though he suspected they had forgotten both his presence and the extent of his senses, judging by how freely they spoke.

"But what is it?" Muxue demanded. "You can't just say 'bloodline' to explain everything." Her complaint was punctuated by an emphatic wave of her hand, and the oversized sleeve draped over it, toward Bai Ning, who sat in the center of a radiant lotus of crimson light, an equally irritated frown on her face.

"Why not?" Bai Ning shot back. "It is a bloodline. I can use it to generate a lotus that serves as both a defensive and movement technique."

Which, Mo Jian mused, was not exactly wrong, but neither was it entirely right. Chao Qinzi's version of the same lotus had manifested quite differently. For one thing, it had been vastly larger. More importantly, Mo Jian suspected it emphasized different properties. Bai Ning's lotus was noticeably faster, while Chao Qinzi's had likely possessed greater defensive strength. Then again, the man had been at the peak of Core Formation when Mo Jian had witnessed it. Given Bai Ning's current cultivation, her version would probably surpass his in durability before long.

"That's not how bloodlines work," Muxue retorted, sounding no less exasperated. "I have a dozen of them, so I should know. They give physical advantages, make certain qi attributes easier to cultivate, or sometimes let you use techniques more instinctively, without rigid forms. But they don't just hand you an entirely new magical ability." She seemed oddly passionate about the point, though Mo Jian had no idea why.

Beside her mistress, Shen Jinglan, carefully balancing a tray with two fresh cups of tea, nodded in agreement.

"Half the nobles at court boast one bloodline or another," she said apologetically. "Her Celestial Highness is right, Sister Bai. I've never heard of one that works quite like yours. Though..." She shifted the tray slightly. "It is said there are more techniques under Heaven than there are things dreamt of in philosophy, so perhaps..." The final remark earned her a reproachful glare from the princess.

Bai Ning, however, seized upon it immediately. "See? Even Jinglan agrees with me." She folded her arms triumphantly. "It's a bloodline. Just one that manifests differently." She tilted her head. "And why are you so invested in this, anyway? Like you said, you have a dozen bloodlines, so why get worked up over mine?"

Muxue straightened further, planting her hands on her hips. "It's a matter of principle," she declared. "All I get is faster cultivation under moonlight and a little healing, while you can manifest a lotus of light?" She sounded unmistakably jealous, which made Mo Jian resist the urge to roll his eyes. "I mean," she continued, "it makes it so much harder to comp-" She froze, but the realization dawned a heartbeat too late. Scarlet rushed across her face, and she snapped her mouth shut.

It was far too late. Bai Ning and Shen Jinglan exchanged a single, gleeful look before descending upon the princess like a Bloodscale Python upon a Three Tail Monkey.

"Oh?" Shen Jinglan asked sweetly. "Compete? Whatever could Your Celestial Highness be competing for?"

Any trace of irritation vanished from Bai Ning's face as though it had never existed. She leaned forward, the crimson lotus around her rippling gently. "It's not as though there can be any competition between us..." she said sweetly. Mo Jian had the distinct feeling that everyone except him was going to misunderstand what she actually meant by that. "...but if there were," Bai Ning continued, batting her eyelashes with almost painful innocence, "what exactly would we be competing over?"

Muxue refused to rise to the bait. Her lips pressed into a stubborn line, and she resolutely stared at anything that was not Bai Ning. Mo Jian decided to follow her example. He had a fairly good idea where the conversation was headed and no desire either to discover the details or to be caught listening. Instead, he gathered a thin veil of qi around himself, muting the sounds of the room, and turned his attention inward. The unease that had lingered at the edge of his thoughts still refused to leave.

What was he missing? Nothing came to mind. It was only a feeling, an itch at the back of his mind whispering, Something is wrong. Pay attention. Since sitting and thinking about it had yielded nothing, he resolved to ask the Tiger General when they met later that afternoon. They still had one final training session planned before departure, and Tang Huwei had promised to teach him a linking technique that allowed cultivators to keep track of one another across vast distances, even through most concealment and blocking techniques. It was precisely the sort of art that would prove invaluable on the front lines.

Besides that, everything was ready. They had prepared, plotted, and planned as thoroughly as they could. The last Voice Transmission Talisman he had exchanged with Wei Shentong had reassured him that he – and, more importantly, the others, a detail Wei Shentong had neglected to mention – would arrive in the capital by tomorrow. General Tang had proudly declared that his "arrangements" had all come together, though he had stubbornly refused to explain what those arrangements actually were. Mo Jian was quietly dreading the possibility of arriving to find some flamboyant monstrosity waiting to carry them to the Wall, something like a dragon painted in alternating pink and yellow stripes, perhaps.

Prince Chengxuan, meanwhile, had been almost silent for the past three days. They had chosen to interpret that as a good sign; more pragmatically, it suggested that the prince saw no reason to rock the boat while his schemes continued to unfold. On paper, there was nothing to be uneasy about. Perhaps Gu Daisheng simply planted the idea in my head, Mo Jian thought sourly. As promised to Wu the painting, he had delivered its message to Gu Daisheng. The conversation had gone well. They had finally cleared the air between them and Gu Daisheng had assured him that he also bore no resentment over Celestial Maiden Zhuo's condition after the ambush that had interrupted her attempt to heal her qi deviation had led to her current state. Like Mo Jian himself, she had chosen to stand with the princess, and she had understood the risks that entailed. He had even mentioned another matter he wished to discuss once Mo Jian returned to the palace.

At least one person is confident I'll return, Mo Jian had thought at the time.

Then the conversation had turned to the name Wu had mentioned. Gu Daisheng had believed the painting immediately, and his certainty – his paranoia, perhaps – had lingered with Mo Jian ever since. Yet there was still no evidence, only that persistent whisper at the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

Giving up on that line of thought, Mo Jian opened his eyes. The bamboo grove remained as tranquil as ever. Afternoon sunlight filtered through emerald leaves, dappling the polished stone in shifting patterns of gold. Somewhere nearby, water trickled softly into a pond. The world looked exactly as it should, which only made the feeling more irritating. He let the veil of qi around himself dissipate and finished the last of his tea in a single swallow.

"...and then she actually said-"

"I did not."

"You absolutely did, Your Highness."

"I was eight!"

Mo Jian wisely continued pretending the conversation did not exist. Instead, he tapped his storage pouch and withdrew the slip of bronze jade he had refined from the Kanchi mine's ore. It had finally taken its intended shape: a single rectangular jade slip, its surface engraved with the character for Thought. Forged within the Heaven Enshrouding Ding, it contained the memories he considered too valuable to lose. As far as his experiments had shown, no one but him could read its contents. He sank his consciousness into the slip and resumed the slow, methodical task of recording the story.

It was tedious work, but worthwhile. Quiet moments like this were the best opportunity to continue, and there was no telling when those records might become indispensable. Some of the knowledge they contained – such as the existence of the Hecatoncheires slumbering beneath the Aegean Sea – was simply impossible for anyone on this side of the Stormwall to possess. If nothing else, it would lend credibility to his claims when he finally secured an audience with the Immortal Emperor.

Time slipped by unnoticed, afternoon fading into evening, and evening into night. The Tiger General arrived for their final lesson, teaching him the promised linking technique that would allow cultivators to sense one another across immense distances. Along with the technique came an equal measure of knowing smiles, unsubtle insinuations, and enough exaggerated winks to make Mo Jian briefly wonder whether the general had developed a facial tic. Eventually, even that came to an end.

Muxue and Shen Jinglan retired to the princess's chambers. Bai Ning, looking noticeably brighter than she had that morning – a perfectly understandable mood for someone who loved talking and traveling and new experiences – waved cheerfully before disappearing to her own quarters. Mo Jian remained where he was. Silence gradually settled over the palace as filtered sunlight gave way to moonlight. Gold became crimson, crimson became silver, and still the unease refused to loosen its grip.

General Tang had advised him to trust his instincts. The problem was that his instincts were being profoundly unhelpful. They insisted that something was wrong, but simply refused to explain what. With a quiet sigh, he finally stood. Better to enjoy the glacial jade bed and its cloud-soft bedding while he still could. He doubted accommodations on the Great Wall would be nearly so luxurious. …. Then again, perhaps he could simply put the bed into his storage pouch. Muxue probably wouldn't mind.

...Would she?

………………………………………………………………….

The first indication that something was wrong was Muxue's shrill scream.

Mo Jian was moving before he had even consciously registered the sound, bursting from his room in a rush as his qi flooded the palatial chambers like a crushing tide of light and pressure. Moments later, Bai Ning emerged from her own chambers, the Green Destiny Sword orbiting her in a protective spiral. Heaven Enshrouding Ding in hand, Mo Jian shot toward Muxue's chambers and blasted the doors from their hinges with a surge of cerulean fire. Blue flames clung to the splintered spirit wood and licked at the shattered doorway like ghostly wisps, but he was already through, Bai Ning close behind.

The sight that greeted them froze them both for a heartbeat. Shen Jinglan lay sprawled across the bed, her throat slit from ear to ear. Blood and pink tinged saliva bubbled at the corners of her mouth as her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, wide, and glassy, and unseeing. Muxue knelt over her, hands slick with blood as she desperately tried to stem the torrent. Spirit pills and jade vials spilled from her storage pouch, medicines flying one after another toward Shen Jinglan's lips, only to dribble uselessly back out through the ruin of her throat.

Above them the Truth Tolling Bell hung swollen to fill half the room, tolling with every heartbeat, each sonorous note reverberating like the strike of a temple gong.

Mo Jian was at Shen Jinglan's bedside before the sound of the doors finished settling. His qi accomplished what Muxue's panicked efforts could not. A luminous azure pill floated from his storage pouch, dissolved into shimmering liquid, and slipped down Shen Jinglan's throat under the guidance of his spiritual energy. Two more followed immediately despite the danger of administering so many potent medicines in succession. Her life came first.

Bai Ning caught the princess by the shoulders and pulled her back, even as Muxue struggled furiously against her grip. "Let him work," Bai Ning said. "He can still save her."

Mo Jian barely heard them. His qi cocooned Shen Jinglan like a second skin, holding her blood within her body, sustaining her fading vitality while the medicines coursed through her. At the same time, another veil of qi spread throughout the chamber, reinforced by his natal artifact, sealing every corner of the room against hidden intruders and ensuring no further attacks could reach them.

It wasn't working – the wound refused to close. Even such a grievous injury should not have been fatal to a cultivator with immediate treatment, yet every attempt to regenerate the flesh failed. Something clung to the wound, a poison so insidious that it resisted every cleansing technique he employed, devouring medicine and qi alike.

"Jing!" the princess screamed. The Truth Tolling Bell answered with another thunderous peal. "Jing, I command you – open your eyes! Fight! Fight this! You cannot die!" Each desperate command was punctuated by another resonant toll, the Bell's mournful voice rolling through the chamber.

Mo Jian gritted his teeth. There had to be something he was missing.

His spiritual sense plunged deeper, peeling back layers of flesh, meridians, and soul alike until every strand of qi within Shen Jinglan's body lay exposed before him. Her meridians were collapsing one by one, not from the wound itself, but from something that spreading through them: a dark, threadlike venom that had entwined itself with her spiritual energy and fed upon it. Whenever medicinal qi reached it, the poison simply divided, each severed strand burrowing deeper before rejoining the rest as though nothing had happened.

"Damn it..."

Cold sweat ran down his temples. He drew another elixir from his storage pouch, this one refined from herbs gathered within the Netherworld Domain, and guided it into Shen Jinglan's body. It dissolved into countless silken strands that flowed through her meridians, reinforcing their circulation and carrying with them a qi unlike anything found in the mortal world. For the first time, the poison reacted. The black threads recoiled from the foreign qi, shrinking away as though they had encountered something fundamentally opposed to their nature. Hope flared in Mo Jian's chest for the length of a single heartbeat, and then the wound at her throat split open again, fresh blood welling between his fingers, the poison surging forward to devour the medicine almost as fast as it arrived.

Muxue let out a broken sound somewhere behind him, but Mo Jian scarcely heard it. His attention had fixed upon that brief moment of hesitation. The poison had not resisted the Netherworld medicine in the same way it had every other remedy. It had retreated.

"I need the room," he said quietly.

Bai Ning did not question him. Her face had gone bloodless, but she took the princess by the shoulders and guided her toward the door, murmuring something too soft to carry. Muxue went without resistance this time, her eyes never leaving Shen Jinglan's face until the doors closed between them. In the sudden hush, only the Bell remained, tolling low and slow, and Mo Jian summoned the Heaven Enshrouding Ding.

The great cauldron answered his call, its black body becoming translucent until it seemed little more than the memory of metal. Azure flames blossomed across its surface before gradually fading into an impossible, colorless white. They no longer gave off heat or light. Instead, they drifted downward like pale mist, settling over Shen Jinglan's wound before passing harmlessly through flesh, blood, and bone.

They ignored her entirely, because their only target was the poison. The black strands writhed violently as the ghostly flames found them. Wherever the pale fire passed, the corruption dissolved into wisps of pure qi that were drawn back into Shen Jinglan's meridians. The process demanded a degree of precision that pushed Mo Jian to the limits of his control. The Heaven Enshrouding Ding had never before separated poison from a host; one careless fluctuation of his qi would allow the flames to consume healthy meridians along with the corruption they clung to.

He maintained the technique until not a single black thread remained, and only then did he allow the flames to disperse. The medicines that had failed moments earlier immediately began to take effect. Torn flesh knitted together, angry red giving way to raw pink as the wound sealed itself. Shen Jinglan convulsed violently, coughing blood onto the bed before dragging in a ragged breath. Her eyes snapped open, unfocused and frantic until they found Mo Jian.

"Pr... Princess..."

"It's alright," Mo Jian said, easing her breathing with a wave of qi as he dismissed the Heaven Enshrouding Ding. The cauldron regained its solid form with a soft blue-black shimmer before disappearing into his dantian. "She is safe. So are-"

The reassurance caught in his throat. His spiritual sense had never left her body. Although the poison had vanished and her throat had healed, the meridians beneath the surface remained riddled with tiny rents. They looked as though something had eaten its way through them from within, leaving countless pinprick holes that refused to close. With every circulation of qi, more of it seeped through those openings and dispersed into her flesh before evaporating into the air. The poison had been removed, but the damage it had inflicted remained.

Mo Jian watched her qi continue to leak away, as steadily as water draining from a cracked vessel, and understood that he had not saved Shen Jinglan's life – he had only bought her a little more time.

Shen Jinglan seemed to understand as well, whether from the look on his face or from the emptiness spreading through her own body. Her hand lifted weakly from the bed and found his wrist, her fingers tightening with surprising strength. "It's alright," she whispered, her voice rough from the healing wound. "Thank you... for saving my life, Senior."

"I…" Mo Jian faltered, the words stuck in his throat. His jaw ached from how hard he was holding it shut, and something twisted low in his stomach, ugly and helpless. He felt as if a demon had reached inside his chest and was brutally smashing his insides.

"Please," she continued, holding his gaze. Though her face had gone pale, her eyes remained as clear and steady as ever, "please look after Muxue for me. Promise me, Mo Jian. Please."

His hand closed over hers. "I… I promise," he said, the words leaving his mouth almost soundlessly.

Shen Jinglan's shoulders eased, as though some invisible burden had finally been lifted from them. A faint smile touched her lips. "Good," she murmured. "Good... send her in." She paused to catch a shallow breath. "I need... to speak with her... one last time."

Mo Jian held her gaze for another heartbeat, as though refusing to move might somehow change what he was seeing. His spiritual sense remained fixed upon her meridians, searching again and again for something he might have overlooked, some way to mend what had been torn apart. Every examination reached the same conclusion. Her qi continued to seep through the countless rents in her spiritual veins, each circulation leaving her weaker than the last.

At length, he inclined his head.

"I'll bring her."

He rose from the bedside and crossed the room with heavy steps. The Heaven Enshrouding Ding had vanished back into his dantian, but the lingering scent of medicinal herbs and blood still hung thick in the air. As he reached the door, his hand hesitated upon the handle.

Bai Ning looked up the instant he stepped into the wider chambers beyond. She had been standing beside Muxue the entire time. The princess had sunk to the floor against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest, her hands clasped so tightly together that her knuckles had long since turned white. At the sound of the door opening, she lurched to her feet and searched his face.

Whatever she found there was enough. Her shoulders trembled and she brushed past him without a word and disappeared into the room beyond. Mo Jian stepped aside, letting the door remain open behind her. For several moments, neither he nor Bai Ning spoke. Bai Ning's composure had begun to crack. She kept her eyes lowered, blinking more often than usual before quietly saying, "We sent for a healer as soon as it happened, but..." She swallowed. "I don't think anyone is coming."

Mo Jian nodded, his thoughts moving slowly. Of course no one was, and even if they had, he was unsure it would work. Instead, he slumped down against the wall, the strength leaving his legs, and moments later, Bai Ning joined him, both of them listening to quiet murmur of two voices beyond the half open door, too soft to make out, while overhead the Truth Tolling Bell continued its slow, solemn tolling, each note hanging a little longer in the dark than the one before it, as though even the Bell were reluctant to let this one go.

………………………………………………………….

General Tang arrived fifteen minutes later, his hair unbound and his face bare of its usual cosmetics. His qi was tightly reined in, yet it still carried the edge of a drawn blade. Standing near him felt like standing before a tiger that had not yet decided whether to pounce.

By then Muxue had rejoined them in the outer chamber. Her eyes were dry now, the gold of her irises darkened to something closer to amber, and though the tear-tracks still marked her cheeks, there was nothing soft left in her face. Tang Huwei looked from one of them to the next – the silence, the rigid shoulders, the hollow way they all sat – and closed his eyes before he even asked. "Shen Jinglan?"

Muxue didn't answer that. "Who else?" Her voice was quiet enough that Mo Jian nearly missed it, and utterly unlike her – grief stripped down to something flat and bare beneath.

The Tiger General exhaled slowly. "Miao Bu. Han Feng. Zheng Rui and the others from the army. Most of the Outer Court cultivators who stood with us – Namgong, Xu Bao. Yao Yue. Several of my informants." A pause, his jaw tightening. "Every servant who gave us so much as a scrap of aid." Each name settled over the room like another stone.

Mo Jian closed his eyes. The Truth Tolling Bell still rang somewhere behind them, its slow, measured toll echoing through the palace. For one irrational moment, he wanted nothing more than to shatter it into a thousand pieces, if only to make the sound stop.

"We can't stay in the palace," Muxue said. "We need somewhere in the city, even for a day." Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. "If he can do this once, he can do it again."

Bai Ning nodded after a beat, the words visibly costing her. "We have somewhere. The mine. There's a place beneath it where you can hide for a while." Her voice tightened. "It isn't ideal, and it puts you at risk, but–"

Muxue cut the air with her hand, and Bai Ning let the sentence die.

General Tang was the one to break the silence. "Go." His voice had found its command again. "I'll join you when I can. Until then, stay hidden."

"Uncle..." For the first time since Shen Jinglan had sent her from the room, something in Muxue's composure gave way. "Jing's body – I..." Her voice broke on it.

Tang Huwei crossed the space between them and set a hand on her shoulder. "Go," he said again, gentler now. "I'll take care of everything here." Something hardened behind his eyes. "I promise you, Little Moon. Whoever did this will pay for it, even if I have to tear this palace apart plank by plank."

"No." Bai Ning's voice cut through the room, and everyone turned. The violet in her eyes had gone bright and hard. "You won't."

Tang Huwei frowned.

"They'll come after us again," Bai Ning said. "They have to. That's how Chengxuan finishes this." Her hand came to rest on the hilt of the Green Destiny Sword, and when she spoke again, the grief had gone out of her voice entirely, replaced by something colder and far more certain. "So we'll be waiting. And we'll bury them."

Muxue's lips pressed into a thin line, but some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Her gaze found Mo Jian, and he met it without looking away. The numbness that had settled over him since Shen Jinglan's room had finally begun to lift, and what was left in its place was colder than grief or anger – a clarity that sharpened every thought to a single edge.

"They'll come after us," he agreed quietly. "And when they do-"

"-we'll kill them."

Muxue gave a single, final nod. No one had anything left to add.

..................................................................................

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