The kitchen of Yun Zehan's estate was another kind of hell. The heat of blazing ovens thickened the air, the scent of roasted meats mingled with the stench of human fear, and the screams of head chefs—"mixed-bloods" themselves—rained down on the "tainted" servants as they vented their frustrations. Jin Lian knelt on the slippery tiles, scrubbing congealed food and wine, but her eyes were on the high window. In the outer darkness, faint green flickers—Mo Tianyin's signals—flashed and vanished like restless spirits. They pointed toward the stables, then the northern gate that led back to the city.
"Escape… and prepare." Jin Lian understood. But how? Guards stood at every door, and Mister Chen's vigilant eyes hunted every odd movement like a hawk.
Suddenly, a burst of shouting outside the kitchen, from the direction of the hunting grounds. Not the scream of prey this time, but an angry male voice, mingled with the savage barking of dogs.
"He's escaped! Catch him! That bold slave stole a knife!"
Chaos. Guards rushed toward the commotion. Even the head chefs stopped yelling, casting looks of both curiosity and fear. It was the chance.
Jin Lian stood quickly, pretending to rinse her mop in a filthy water bucket by the window. As everyone was distracted, she snatched a small butcher's knife from a discarded tray—sharp and well-honed—and tucked it into her rags beside her original blade. Then, with a sudden and astonishing grace, she pushed off the bucket and leapt, climbing the narrow window frame with strong arms and sliding into the night like a shadow.
Cold wind slapped her face. The scent of soil and fresh blood. She was in a shadowy rear area, close to the stables. The green flash appeared nearby, guiding her through a narrow alley between thick trees. She ran silently, her heart pounding not from effort, but from the rush of temporary freedom and danger. She reached a low outer wall. There, a taller shadow waited.
Mo Tianyin. He said nothing. Just pointed. They moved along the wall until they reached a dim spot where crumbling stones formed natural steps. They climbed quickly. At the top, Jin Lian saw a chilling scene: in the half-lit hunting grounds, guards chased a fleeing slave, blood pouring from his shoulder. Savage dogs tore into his legs as he screamed. Nobles laughed and placed bets from the balconies. Yun Zehan raised his wine cup in mockery.
"Look closely," Mo Tianyin whispered in her ear, his voice like a cold wind. "This is their true nature. Their entertainment is built on our deaths. Remember this."
Then they dropped down the wall and vanished into the surrounding forest.
• • •
The return to the lower city followed dark, twisting paths to avoid patrols. Jin Lian followed Mo Tianyin like a shadow, learning the art of vanishing: walk where the shadows are deepest, freeze at every noise, use strong smells (like the nearby Yulong Slaughterhouse) to mask their scent. The blood of the hunted slave still clung to her mind, stained with Yun Zehan's laughter.
They entered the city like two drops in a filthy swamp. They didn't return to the shack. Their destination: the slaughterhouse. In the dawn hours, the place awakened to groaning workers and the hum of death machines.
"Why here?" Jin Lian asked as they hid behind an outer stone wall, the smell of old blood choking the air.
"Because the blood here is real," Mo Tianyin answered, eyes on the back gate where slaves stumbled in like soldiers from a lost war. "And because Ling Bo will come soon—to inspect his 'merchandise' before the slave market opens." A wicked smile. "And we'll be... his surprise."
He laid out his plan. It was bold, brutal, and depended on Ling Xiao's arrogance—still convinced Jin Lian was a runaway or dead slave from Yun Zehan's estate.
• • •
The slave market at dawn was a nightmare stretching its limbs. Cages were hastily cleaned, guards strutted with arrogance, and traders negotiated filthy deals before the official opening. Ling Bo, the fat merchant, was there. His silk robes looked obscene in this setting, his face wrinkled with chronic greed. He barked at his supervisors:
"Those new ones from the west! Wash them well! Break their will! Stupid customers like obedient dogs!"
Jin Lian, disguised in tattered robes and a loose hat covering part of her face and mark, wandered between cages like a servant searching for her lost master. She carried the small slaughterhouse knife, wrapped in a filthy cloth. She approached a group of newly arrived youths, their eyes filled with fresh terror. One of Ling Bo's guards—a scar-faced brute—spotted her.
"You! What are you doing here? Go away!"
Jin Lian feigned panic and pointed into the crowd. "My master… I lost him. I'm searching." Her voice trembled. Then, with a brilliant stroke of performance, she pulled out the silver mirror she'd used to bait Ling Xiao and looked at it anxiously. "He was going to give him this..."
The mirror gleamed under the pale sun. The scar-faced guard saw its quality. Greed lit his eyes. "Give it here, scum! Probably stolen!"
He reached out.
At that moment, Mo Tianyin, disguised as a street vendor, shouted: "Market guards! That maid stole fruit from me! Arrest her!"
The distraction worked. The brute turned his head for a moment. In that second—swift as a serpent:
Jin Lian slid the knife, wrapped in the cloth, into the guard's deep coat pocket and vanished into the crowd like smoke.
The brute, distracted by the theft claim, didn't notice the object. Moments later, the market guard found nothing stolen and left angrily. The scarred guard turned to deal with Jin Lian—but she was gone. He muttered and cursed, assuming she'd dropped the mirror during the chaos. He shoved it into his pocket—right over the knife.
• • •
Noon. The heat smothered the lower city. In Ling Bo's office near the market, the fat merchant counted morning profits, his face flushed with greed and early wine. His son, Ling Xiao, sat sulking, his silk shoes discarded in the corner—a reminder of last night's disgrace at Yun Zehan's estate. The finest eastern silk now soaked in dried wine and an unshakable foul stench.
"Idiot! Fool!" Ling Bo roared at his son. "We lost our chance to get close to Yun Zehan because of your stupidity! And that runaway tainted maid… she must be found and crushed!"
Ling Xiao muttered angrily. "It wasn't my fault! That wench… and also, Mister Chen interfered!"
"Mister Chen," Ling Bo sneered. "The estate's overseer. A loyal dog. But dangerous. Don't provoke him." He gulped more wine. "I won't rest until that tainted girl's head is on a pike!"
At that moment, the scar-faced guard stormed in, flushed with anger. "Master Ling! Trouble!" He pulled from his coat the silver mirror and the knife, still wrapped in its blood-stained cloth. "She! That damn maid put this in my pocket! A threat! She's threatening us!"
Ling Bo grabbed the mirror, examining its fine craft. "Strange… this isn't for a slave." He unwrapped the cloth. The small butcher's knife fell onto the table, sharp and cold. Stained with dark blood—old, but symbolic like poison.
Ling Xiao leapt back, terrified. "It's her! The knife! She wants to kill us!"
Ling Bo pushed the blade aside with contempt. "A slaughter tool. An empty threat from a frightened whore." But his beady eyes were calculating. "But... why the mirror?" He turned it in his hand. Sunlight reflected off the polished surface, drawing a glowing spot on the wall. Suddenly, he saw something. On the back of the mirror, freshly carved with a sharp tool, was a small but clear image: a complex arrow-shaped flower—the symbol of the tainted blood—stamped on the forehead of a skull.
A simple carving—but shocking. A reminder that the shame they sold… might rise.
Ling Xiao shrieked. "Skulls! She wants our skulls!" Panic began to consume him.
"Silence!" Ling Bo snapped, but his hand trembled slightly as he tossed the mirror like a hot coal. "This isn't just a threat… it's a declaration of war from the filth." His eyes met the guard's. "Deploy all the guards. Search for her. Search for anyone connected to her. Bring her to me… alive. I want to hear her bones break myself."
• • •
Returning to the slaughterhouse felt like crawling back into the belly of a beast. After the mission's success, Jin Lian blended in with the workers. But something had changed. The looks. No longer pity or apathy. They were filled with curiosity, fear… and a quiet respect. Word of what had happened at the slave market—a bold threat aimed at the fiercest trader—had spread like wildfire. Whispers flowed like a breeze:
"Was it her?"
"I heard she confronted Ling Xiao at the estate..."
"The knife… and the mirror… insane courage..."
Even Gao, the sadistic overseer, was gentler with her. His eyes were cautious now, as if he sensed a new danger. His whip blows carefully missed her.
During the short break, as workers devoured rotten rice balls, an old woman approached her—sunken eyes hiding a flickering fire. "Girl…" she whispered, offering a small piece of bread. "You were at the estate… during the hunt night?"
Jin Lian nodded slightly. She didn't speak.
The old woman leaned closer, the scent of dried blood clinging to her. "My son… was there. Among the 'prey.'" Her voice cracked with unbearable pain. "He didn't come back."
Jin Lian didn't say, "I'm sorry." Her emotions weren't wired that way. She simply looked at the old woman, then at the blue mark on her wrinkled forehead. The same mark. The same cage. The same likely death.
"He won't be the last," Jin Lian said softly—but her words sliced through the slaughterhouse noise. "Unless… we break the cage."
A long, heavy look passed between them. Silent tears rolled down the old woman's cheeks, blending with the blood stains. She didn't reply. She just gripped Jin Lian's hand with surprising strength, then turned and left. That was her answer.
• • •
In the safe darkness of the shattered shack, Mo Tianyin and Jin Lian sat. A small pot simmered over a fire, bitter herbs perfuming the air. Mo Tianyin wrote on a thin rice scroll with black ink.
"What are you doing?" Jin Lian asked, watching his graceful hands.
"Sending an invitation," he said without looking up. "Ling Xiao will receive a letter tomorrow—from a beautiful maid who escaped the estate, fears Yun Zehan's wrath, and wants his protection… in exchange for certain favors." A cold smile. "His pride won't resist the bait. And he'll come… into the trap."
Jin Lian understood. She would be the bait again. But she no longer feared. She had seen fear in Ling Bo's eyes. She had tasted the bitterness of revenge—even if just symbolically. "And after Ling Xiao?"
Mo Tianyin stood, walked to the crack in the wall that served as a window. He looked out at the dark lower city, then at the distant lights high above—where the nobles' palaces shined.
"After Ling Xiao… Ling Bo will tremble," he said, his voice calm, yet filled with a coming storm. "The merchant's fear will weaken him. He'll be an open gate… into the slave market itself. The first point to unravel their system." He turned to her, his eyes in the darkness glowing like coals. "Then… we target the hunters. Yun Zehan. And Mister Chen, who plays the obedient dog."
Jin Lian stepped beside him. She looked at the same lights. She no longer saw lanterns. She saw targets. Points in a vast system waiting to fall.
"Mister Chen…" she said. "He's not like the others. I saw it. He's dangerous."
Mo Tianyin didn't flinch. "Every system has clever guardians. A loyal dog—but one with sharp teeth. Mister Chen protects Yun Zehan from his own stupidity." He looked at her. "Which makes him… the most dangerous. And most worthy of attention."
Silence fell. The lower city's quiet was heavy, full of muffled moans and shattered dreams. Jin Lian touched the hidden knife at her side. The feel of cold metal was comforting. Real. Like Mo Tianyin's plans.
"They won't sleep peacefully tonight," she whispered, as if to herself.
Mo Tianyin smiled in the dark. The smile of a wolf who smells panic in the wind.
"No… and they'll never sleep peacefully again. We lit a small fire today, Jin Lian. Tomorrow… we fan the flames."