The desert night had fallen, cloaking the narrow gorge where Zhu Xian and Die Ba had found refuge in a solemn quiet. A thin stream trickled through the stone, its cool murmur a soothing contrast to the suffocating heat of the day.
Zhu Xian rested against the rocky wall, his breathing steady. Even in sleep, his expression was calm but vigilant, as if ready to spring into battle at any moment.
Die Ba watched him silently. Something unfamiliar stirred inside her —a mix of gratitude and something deeper, something she didn’t dare name. She moved closer, careful not to wake him, and sat beside him. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she let her thoughts drift, carried away by memories she usually kept buried.
She closed her eyes.
Fatigue weighed heavy, but her mind wandered far from the desolate gorge. It was as if the desert heat had cracked open her memories, letting them spill through like a flood.
Flashback – The Serpent Tribe, Palace of Scales
She was back in the vast subterranean hall, where jade-carved columns stood like eternal sentinels. Green flames flickered in the torches, their ghostly light dancing across mosaics that told the history of her people.
The Palace of Eternal Scales towered in majesty at the heart of the Tagore Desert. Its black stone walls were adorned with intricate reliefs of coiled serpents —guardians of their sacred bloodline.
On the throne sat her elder sister: Queen Medusa. Her eyes gleamed with cold authority, her long dark hair cascading like a midnight river. The weight of her presence filled the chamber, pressing on everyone like an invisible tide. She was the undisputed sovereign of the serpent tribe.
Die Ba remembered her place in that room —not on the throne, not in the shadows, but somewhere in between. Revered, yet distrusted. She had worn a ceremonial crimson robe that highlighted her pale, jade-like skin. Her young tail shimmered under the torchlight, but her heart had been heavy.
The voices of the elders cut like blades:
—“The second princess is a risk. Her bloodline is too pure. She could become a banner for rebellion.”
—“We could offer her as tribute. The humans crave a royal hostage.”
—“Or we could eliminate her. Now. It would be safer.”
Those words had pierced her like spears.
Then her sister’s voice silenced the chamber.
—“Silence.”
Medusa rose from the throne, her gaze sharp as a viper’s as it swept over the council. The air trembled with her authority.
—“She is my sister by blood. Anyone who dares touch her… I will skin you alive myself.”
The hall had gone still. No one had dared to speak.
Relief had washed over Die Ba —but so had doubt. Was it true protection… or just another way to keep her close, a piece to be played on the board?
Later, in the hidden corridors of the palace, Cai Lin had summoned her. When they were alone in her chambers, her sister had embraced her tightly. Her eyes, always sharp and cold before others, had softened with pain.
—“Sister… you are my treasure. I will never let them use you. Never let them hurt you. If one day you hate me for carrying this throne, remember this: I would rather lose the world than lose you.”
Die Ba had trembled, clinging to her sister, tears streaming down her cheeks. But deep down, she knew those words would only paint a larger target on her back. That fierce love would make her the weakness others would exploit.
The council’s whispers had only grown darker:
“She threatens the balance of the bloodline.”
“Her very existence could divide the tribe.”
“She must disappear.”
She had survived only because Cai Lin’s shadow loomed over every plot, every dagger, every whispered threat.
Protection had been a gift… and a curse.
From that day, Die Ba had learned to smile and stay quiet. To hide her tears. To live carefully, because her life was no longer hers alone.
Back to the Present – Tagore Desert
Die Ba’s eyes fluttered open, the image of her sister fading like a mirage in the night heat. In front of her, Zhu Xian sat against another rock, his bare torso exposed to the cool air.
Her brows furrowed. She remembered vividly the deep gash carved into his back by the mercenary’s blade. She had bandaged it herself, her hands trembling as guilt twisted her stomach.
But now…
The wound was gone.
No torn flesh. No dried blood. Only a faint pale line, as if the injury had been an old scar, healed long ago.
She crept closer, hesitant, and reached out with trembling fingers to trace the regenerated skin.
—How… how is this possible? —she whispered.
Zhu Xian’s eyes opened slightly, a calm smile curving his lips.
—Worried about my back? —he asked softly.
—Don’t joke about this! —Die Ba snapped, snatching her hand away, her cheeks flushed crimson.
—That wound should have left you bedridden for weeks. Not even Queen Medusa could heal like this.
Zhu Xian leaned his head back, closing his eyes, his voice steady and quiet.
—This body… isn’t like others. It adapts. Grows stronger. Heals. As if the earth and sky themselves feed my bones and flesh.
Die Ba stared at him, unable to look away. There was something in his tone, in that quiet certainty without arrogance, that made her heart tremble. He didn’t seem human. Not in the ordinary sense. Not even like a cultivator she had known.
In her mind, her sister’s image flickered —that same aura of inevitability, of unshakable presence.
And now, here he was: not forcing power, but embodying it naturally.
Her chest tightened. Was it possible… that his path and her sister’s were destined to cross?
Zhu Xian broke the silence.
—Die Ba. Were you staring because you feel indebted… or because you want to know what I really am?
Heat flooded her cheeks.
—I… —She faltered, biting her lip, unable to meet his gaze. —I was just… surprised. That’s all.
But her heart betrayed her. In her chest, memories of Cai Lin’s protective embrace tangled with the sight of Zhu Xian —unflinching, calm, his healed scar glowing faintly in the moonlight.
A thought flickered through her mind:
If anyone could change this cursed fate… maybe it’s him.
Later, when night deepened and firelight flickered against the stone, Die Ba watched him again. He slept still and silent, his brow slightly furrowed. There was blood on his shirt, dust on his face, but none of the judgment she had grown accustomed to from others.
He didn’t look at her like the elders had, with suspicion. Or like the humans who hunted her, with greed. Not even like her sister, who loved her but always with that weight of protection.
No. He looked at her as if she were… simply a person.
She leaned closer, her fingers hesitating over a stray strand of his hair before she pulled back, her chest tightening with a strange warmth that both frightened and comforted her.
—Would you keep protecting me, Zhu Xian? —she whispered, her voice barely audible, carried away by the quiet night.
The words caught in her throat. She curled up against the rock, burying her face against her knees, letting silent tears fall in the dark where no one could see.
The stream sang on, indifferent, its soft murmur filling the silence.
And in Die Ba’s heart, fear and hope coiled together —two serpents entwined, impossible to separate.