The storm had passed, but the bruises on her arms still ached. Lian limped through the rain-slicked forest, clutching a small cloth bundle of rice she'd stolen from her neighbor's windowsill. Her stomach growled, but hunger was nothing new.
Home was no longer a place—it was a battlefield. Ever since her father died, her mother had become something else. Bitter. Cruel. Drunk on sorrow and wine. Every night ended in screams. Every morning started with silence.
Only this forest, and the forgotten shrine hidden within it, gave her peace.
Lian slipped through the thick branches, ignoring the cuts from thorns. As the trees parted, she saw it: a crumbling stone arch wrapped in vines, half-swallowed by time. Her safe place.
But something was wrong.
She stopped.
There—beneath the old tree at the heart of the shrine—lay a man.
At first, she thought he was dead. His silver robes were torn and bloodied, his long black hair scattered like silk across the grass. A sword wound burned through his side, and strange symbols flickered across his skin like starlight fighting to stay lit.
Lian dropped her food and ran to him.
"Hey! Hey—can you hear me?" she whispered, kneeling beside him. His skin was cold, but not lifeless. She checked his pulse. Faint, but there.
What kind of man looked like this? His face was too perfect—like a sculpture carved from moonlight and shadow. He didn't belong to her world.
She hesitated.
If her mother found out she brought a strange man home, she'd kill her. But if she left him here…
Her hands clenched. No one had saved her father. She wouldn't let this man die.
Grunting, she dragged him into the shelter of the shrine's ruined wall, covering him with a moth-eaten blanket. She fetched water from the stream and tore strips from her only good skirt to bandage his wounds.
By moonrise, the bleeding had slowed.
She sat back, exhausted. "Don't die," she whispered. "You're the first person who's ever looked at me like I'm real…"
A breeze stirred the trees. The lantern she'd hung in the branches flickered.
Then—
His eyes opened.
Golden. Sharp. Glowing faintly in the dark.
Lian gasped and scrambled back.
"You…" His voice was low and hoarse. He looked at her, and for a moment, it was as if he were seeing something—or someone—long forgotten. "You are not… supposed to be here."
Lian blinked. "Neither are you."
But his gaze turned past her, beyond the trees.
The forest had gone silent.
Something moved in the dark. No animal. No villager. Something… wrong.
A figure emerged from the shadows—tall and thin, dressed in flowing black robes stitched with red runes. His skin was bone-pale, his eyes ink-black with slitted pupils.
He smiled as he stepped into the moonlight.
"I found you," the man whispered. "Little lotus flame."
The wounded immortal sat up, wincing. "Wuqian."
The girl glanced between them, heart pounding. "You know him?"
Wuqian tilted his head. "Not yet. But she will." His gaze settled on Lian, unblinking. "She may not remember the sins of her past life, but her soul does. And that power… is mine to claim."
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To be continued...