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Chapter 2 - The Drowning Names

The first thing Yan Lingshu learned about ghosts was that they lied.

Feng Moyan's voice curled around her thoughts like smoke as they stood at the edge of the Lake of Forgotten Names, its black waters shimmering with the reflections of stars that did not exist.

"The Sword-Swallowing Carp lives here," he said, his translucent fingers trailing over the surface of the water. Ripples spread where he touched, though his hands left no wetness behind. "It will trade a relic for a memory. But you must drown to meet it."

Lingshu clenched her fists. Three days since the temple fell, and already her body felt foreign—her golden core flickered like a guttering candle, its light choked by the tendrils of shadow Feng's presence had left in her meridians.

"Which memory?" she asked.

The ghost smiled. "The one you cling to hardest."

The water was colder than she expected.

It swallowed her in seconds, dragging her down into the dark. She fought at first, instinct screaming to thrash, to breathe—until Feng's voice echoed through the drowning silence:

"Stop fighting, little phoenix. The dead do not need air."

Her vision blurred. Shapes moved in the depths—pale, twisted things that might have been corpses or roots. Then, the carp appeared.

It was larger than a warhorse, its scales the color of tarnished silver, its mouth a yawning maw lined with jagged teeth. Between those teeth rested a blade—no, a needle, twin to the one she had shattered in the temple.

The carp spoke without moving its mouth. The words vibrated through Lingshu's bones:

"Give me the name of the one you love most, and I will give you the needle."

She opened her mouth to refuse—and froze.

Who did she love most?

Her master, who had lied to her? Her sect-siblings, whose faces she could no longer recall?

The answer came like a knife between the ribs:

"Yan Lingshu," she whispered.

Her own name.

The carp's laughter filled the water as it spat the needle into her hands. "Clever child. But next time, the price will be higher."

She woke on the shore, coughing up lake water that smelled of rust and lotus blossoms. The needle lay beside her, its surface etched with characters she did not recognize.

Feng Moyan crouched nearby, his form more solid than before—she could see the embroidery on his sleeves now, the frayed edges where his robes had been torn in battle.

"You surprise me," he said. "I thought you would give up my name."

Lingshu wiped her mouth with a shaking hand. "I considered it."

"And?"

"Dead men have no use for love."

The ghost threw back his head and laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, little phoenix. You have no idea what the dead need."

Above them, the sky darkened. Not with clouds, but with something vast and winged, its shadow stretching across the water like a stain.

Feng's laughter died. "We should go. The carp wasn't the only thing listening."

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