The night deepened, and the estate slept—at least most of it.
Shen Liuyin did not.
She stood at the edge of the Moonview Terrace, the highest point allowed to mortals in the Ji Clan compound. Below her, the rooftops of jade and gold shimmered under starlight. The koi pond she once tended was just visible—a pale oval reflecting the moon like a second, silent eye.
Her robes billowed softly in the wind, crimson thread catching faint light. The air here was still. Too still.
Almost reverent.
Almost afraid.
The moment reminded her of the realm she had left behind—the ancient one that swallowed her whole and spat her out reborn. Ten years gone. Ten years where no one remembered her name but the dead and the fire.
The wind curled around her, lifting her hair as though something unseen were reaching out.
Behind her, a faint sound: footsteps.
She did not turn.
"You followed me," she said.
There was no surprise in her tone.
Ji Yuanheng came to a halt a few paces behind her. No guards. No shadowy attendants. Just him. Alone, again, as he always seemed to be in her presence now.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said quietly.
"Neither are you."
Silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring.
Her fingers curled around the railing. "This was where I used to watch the sky and pretend I mattered. Back then, I thought the stars were kind."
He stepped closer, cautiously. "And now?"
"Now I know they just watch. Like you."
Her words were soft, but they struck. He flinched.
She finally turned to face him.
Ji Yuanheng had never feared anything—not beast, not blade, not the slow decay of time. But something in Shen Liuyin's gaze tonight made him feel... vulnerable. As if she were peeling away the centuries he had cloaked himself in, stripping him bare.
"You don't remember it, do you?" she asked. "The trial."
He blinked. "What trial?"
Her smile was small. "Exactly."
She turned away again. "They sent me into the Forgotten Realm. Said it was a test for rare talent. A chance to earn favor. They lied."
His brow furrowed. "The Forgotten Realm is sealed. It devours qi and distorts time—no one has returned from there in centuries."
"I did."
He inhaled sharply.
She didn't wait for his reaction. Her voice was steady now, as though telling someone else's story.
"They threw me into the maw of an ancient tomb dressed as an opportunity. No guidance. No map. No exit. I wandered for weeks. Or maybe years. Time broke apart in there. I stopped counting. I stopped speaking. Eventually, I stopped hoping."
She raised her hand.
A soft, flickering glow rose from her palm—a tiny, ember-bright flame that hovered without heat.
Yuanheng's eyes widened. "That… That's phoenix qi."
Her voice turned cool. "You recognize it now?"
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
She laughed once. "You never asked."
The flame danced gently before fading. Not extinguished. Merely waiting.
"In that realm," she said, "I died. Not just once. I died a thousand times—my body broken, my soul unraveling. And in the silence, something answered. Something older than blood or clan or heaven."
He stepped closer. "You awakened the bloodline…"
"I remembered it," she corrected. "Awakened implies it was given. It wasn't. It was taken back. From ash and ruin and the bones of the realm itself."
Yuanheng looked stricken. "Why didn't anyone—why didn't I—know?"
Liuyin's gaze was like still fire. "Because you forgot me the moment I knelt."
That landed like a blow.
"I never—"
"Yes, you did," she cut him off. "You were the one who signed my transfer to the sect. You were the one who marked me for the trial. You were the one who looked me in the eye and said I wasn't worth remembering."
She stepped forward.
"I remembered."
Her breath frosted the air between them.
"I remembered when I bled. When I begged. When I burned. I remembered your silence while I died. I remembered that I mattered only when I was useful. And when I was broken, I was discarded."
Ji Yuanheng looked as if he'd aged a century in that moment. "I didn't know. I—"
She touched her chest lightly. "I'm not here to punish you. Or reclaim anything."
"Then why marry me?"
Her eyes flicked to his. This time, she didn't look away.
"Because a phoenix must rise in the ashes of her death. And I wanted you to see what you tried to bury."
She stepped past him. But as she did, she paused beside him and said, softly:
"You once asked why I hadn't broken."
He turned his head.
She looked over her shoulder.
"I did break, Ji Yuanheng. I just learned how to build my bones with fire."
And then she left him there, standing alone beneath the stars.
Too stunned to call her back.
Too haunted to pretend she hadn't changed everything.
The stars watched, silent still. But maybe—just maybe—they looked down on her differently now. Not as a servant. Not as a forgotten girl.
But as a demon phoenix risen from a grave no one marked.