The inn was dim, washed in the muted glow of paper lanterns swinging gently in the night breeze.
A woman sat alone by the window, her slender fingers wrapped around a porcelain wine cup.
Li Xueying — revered as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint — had once carved her name into history with her blade, but tonight, her eyes seemed distant, lost among the drifting petals outside.
She said nothing of her sorrow.
And the world, wisely, asked nothing.
A commotion broke the stillness.
Outside, the disciples of Shaolin and Kunlun clashed in a heated quarrel, words flying sharper than blades. They accused Kunlun's elders of secret dealings with the Demon Sect — the ancient enemy whispered about in every corner of Jianghu.
Before the dispute could ignite into bloodshed, a soft laugh cut through the night.
It came from Li Xueying.
She rose slowly, her long robe trailing like mist.
"Isn't the true demon," she said, her voice low and clear, "the heart of man itself?"
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Warriors and monks alike turned, falling silent, as an overwhelming force — vast as the ocean, sharp as winter's breath — poured from her slender frame.
No one dared to move.
And yet, Li Xueying merely smiled faintly, brushed a stray plum blossom from her sleeve, and turned away.
As she walked into the night, voices rose behind her — a collective murmur, filled with awe and fear:
> "Li Xueying... of Mount Hua..."
"The Plum Blossom Sword Saint!"
"Her poison arts even surpass the Tang Clan..."
But she did not look back.
---
Present Day — Somewhere in Modern China
A girl jerked awake, drenched in cold sweat.
The dream still clung to her mind — vivid, too vivid.
She gasped for air, gripping her bedsheet tightly.
Her heart raced, and in her mind's eye, the petals still fell, swirling around a figure dressed in white, her sword flashing in moonlight.
Fragments of a memory she should not have possessed stirred within her.
A memory sealed away long ago.
"Li Xueying..." she whispered the name without knowing why, the syllables tasting familiar on her tongue.
A sudden sharp pain lanced through her head —
and in that moment, she remembered something she shouldn't have.
The walls of her room seemed to shimmer.
A voice, ancient and sorrowful, whispered from the edge of her consciousness:
> "Come back... the kingdom is falling..."
To be continued..