Lady Yueh sat alone, her fingers brushing the strings with trembling grace. The melody rose—fragile, mournful. It was the lullaby she used to play for Liáng Xu and Fei Yan when they were small. Back when they clung to her robes. Back when they called her "Master" with reverence. She closed her eyes. The music lived inside her. But so did the ache. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She had failed them. Not just as a cultivator. But as a mother. They never knew. Not then. Not when they left. Not even when they died. She should have told them. She should have killed them herself. But Shen Wuyin had done it. She remembered their laughter, their tiny hands reaching for her. And then—years later— their arrogance, their hunger, their eyes lingering too long. They desired her. Their mother. But they didn't know. They still don't. And now they never will. Shen Wuyin had come— plain, quiet, forgettable. No great talent on the surface. But he saw through everything. He saw what she couldn't bear to say.
Maybe the mistake was silence. Maybe it was letting them die without knowing. Maybe it was loving them too quietly, Too late. They never knew I was their mother. Not when they trained. Not when they turned. Not when they looked at me with hunger in their eyes. Not even when Shen Wuyin killed them. And now they never will. I should have told them. I should have stopped them. I should have— No. I should have killed them myself.
Lady Yueh didn't hear the footsteps. She was lost in the music— lost in memory. Then a voice, bright and familiar: "Junior Sister, you're here. Playing that song again?" Fairy Jin stepped into the room, robes trailing like mist. "You should take a rest. Soak with me in the hot spring. It's been a while." Lady Yueh didn't answer. Fairy Jin smiled, undeterred. "Beautiful women like us deserve a break once in a while." She winked. "Even if we're tragic." Lady Yueh's fingers stilled on the strings. She looked up, eyes rimmed with tears. "It's not the song that tires me." Fairy Jin's smile faded, just a little. She walked closer, quieter now. "Then let the water carry it for you."
Lady Yueh lay in the hot spring, steam curling around her like ghostly silk. Her muscles softened. Her breath slowed. She closed her eyes. For a moment, she felt clean. Then the memory came. Her ex-fiancé. Her childhood sweetheart. They were meant to marry. Their masters had arranged it— a union of legacy and love. But it never happened. Her master had killed his father. That was the reason they gave. But not the truth. The truth was filth. His father— a lustful, perverse man— had cornered her before the wedding. Behind his own son's back. "You could carry my children instead," he whispered. "My son won't know. I promise." He smiled, gleeful. Like it was a gift. She had fought him off. She had survived. But he had done worse to others. Terrible things. Unforgivable things. Her master found out. And acted.
She cancelled the wedding. She never told her fiancé why. He loved his father. Even though the man was vile beneath the charm. Handsome. Caring. To everyone else. She let him keep that illusion. Because breaking it would break him.
After the wedding was called off, Lady Yueh made a vow. No more men. No more softness. No more illusions. She became the cold beauty. Untouchable. Unyielding. But she was already pregnant. She had lain with her childhood sweetheart— long before the wedding, in secret, in love. They had whispered promises beneath moonlight, shared stolen nights between training halls and quiet gardens. She had carried his children. Raised them in silence. Never told him. Not even when they grew arrogant. Not even when they turned on her. They were born of love. But they died in ignorance. And she remained alone.
The blow landed—sharp, ringing. Lady Yueh's head snapped to the side, water splashing in a silver arc. She blinked. Then smiled. Across the steaming pool, her senior sister stood poised— robes soaked, eyes burning. They fought in silence. No audience. No restraint. This was Fairy Jin's private residence— a hidden spring deep within one of the Glass Lotus Sect's sacred providences. No one could enter. Not without permission. Not since Lady Xunahe, one of the Legendary Six, had blessed the grounds with her godly qi. The waters shimmered with divine protection. Even pain felt sacred here. Lady Yueh rose from the water, blood trailing from her temple. She didn't wipe it away. "You hit harder than you used to." Fairy Jin smirked. "You smile easier than you should." They circled each other, steam rising like ghosts. Grief and memory clung to their skin. This wasn't sparring. It was a confession. It was punishment. It was love, twisted by time.
There was a time— before the vows, before the deaths, When Lady Yueh and Fairy Jin were simply sisters. Not by blood. But by choice. They played music together, sang old songs beneath moonlight, shared wine and laughter in hidden gardens. They partied alone— just the two of them. No sect elders. No disciples. No legacy. Just two women, two cultivators, two souls who found joy in each other's company. They ate. They drank. They danced barefoot in the rain. Fairy Jin once said, "If we weren't cultivators, we'd be poets. Or thieves. Or lovers." Lady Yueh had laughed. Not knowing how much she'd lose.
Steam curled around them, blood mixing with sacred water, Godly qi pulsing beneath their feet. Fairy Jin lowered her hand, her eyes shimmering—not with rage, but with memory. "We should party again like we used to, Junior Sister." Her voice cracked. "Let's begin. Play music. Drink. Dance like it's the end of the world." Lady Yueh didn't answer. She looked at her sister— not the fighter, not the cultivator, but the girl who once sang with her under falling petals. She blinked. Then smiled. "Then play the first note."
They drank. They partied like madwomen. Like they had when they first began cultivating— young, reckless, radiant. They were over a thousand years old now. Legends. Masters. Cold beauties carved by time. But tonight, in the spring blessed by godly qi, They hadn't aged a day. Their laughter echoed through the mist, wild and unrestrained. They played music, sang old songs, danced until the water rippled with joy. No sect elder. No sect leader. No legacy. Just two sisters— not by blood, but by bond. Fairy Jin poured another cup. Lady Yueh caught it mid-air, grinning. "We're still young," Jin said. "We just forgot." Yueh laughed. "Then let's forget everything." And for one night, They did.
The sun crept through the silk curtains, soft and golden. They lay tangled in robes and laughter, the scent of plum wine still clinging to their hair. Fairy Jin stirred first, eyes half-lidded, a smile tugging at her lips. Lady Yueh blinked awake beside her, then smiled back. "Thank you, Senior Sister," she whispered. "I needed that." Jin chuckled, voice hoarse from singing. "Correction— We both needed that." She stretched, joints crackling with divine qi. "Just because I'm the sect elder and you're the sect leader, Junior Sister, doesn't mean we've outgrown joy." Yueh laughed softly. "We've reached the demigod realm, Jin." "Exactly." Jin turned to her, eyes bright. "We cultivate eternity. But we live for moments like this." Outside, the spring still shimmered, echoing their laughter from the night before.
The council chamber was quiet, its walls lined with jade scrolls and ancestral tablets. Incense curled in the air, masking tension. A messenger bowed low. "Sect Leader Liáng Xu and Fei Yan have been sighted in the Blood Orchid Sect." "They are alive and well." "They were seen with Sect Leader Yuēn Sīzhào." Lady Yueh didn't flinch. Her face remained composed, unreadable. "I see." But inside, her thoughts screamed. How is this possible? Was it that shadow god—the one who attacked our sect? That bastard. How dare they. They should've let them die in peace. She clenched her fist beneath the sleeve. Please… Yuēn Sīzhào… Don't tell them the truth.
They walked side by side through the quiet corridors of the sect, robes trailing over polished stone, the echoes of the council still lingering behind them. Fairy Jin glanced at her. "Junior Sister… you're worried he'll tell them." Lady Yueh didn't answer. Jin continued, voice soft but firm. "He won't. He's not that kind of man. You know this." "He still loves you—dearly." "He respects you." She paused, then added: "He's just a heartbroken man… the same way you were a heartbroken woman, leaving him in the dark." Lady Yueh's steps slowed. She didn't speak. But her silence was no longer unreadable. It was trembling.
Lady Yueh's voice was barely above a whisper. "I know I should trust him." "But he must be disappointed… in how I raised them." She didn't wait for comfort. "I spoiled them." "I loved them too dearly." "And in that spoiling, they strayed." "They got drawn to things—especially the ones they desired." Her hands trembled. "I should've done something." "I'm such a bad mother, Senior Sister."
Lady Yueh's voice cracked. "I should've told them the truth." She stood still, as if the words themselves had weight. "I just… couldn't." She looked up, eyes hollow. "I don't know why." Fairy Jin didn't speak. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Yueh, holding her tight—like she was keeping her from falling through the floor. "Because the truth isn't just a story." "It's a wound." "And you were still bleeding." Lady Yueh didn't cry. But her hands clutched Jin's robes like they were the last thing keeping her tethered. "I thought silence would protect them." "I thought love would be enough." Fairy Jin whispered: "Love is never enough." "But it's the only place to begin."