The world around her was no longer dark.
When Yuyan's eyes fluttered open, the cold, damp air of the cave was gone.
No rough stone beneath her palms.
No dripping water.
No whisper of wind.
Instead, she found herself surrounded by light — soft and crimson, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
She gasped, the sound small in the vast stillness, and slowly rose to her feet. The floor beneath her shimmered like polished marble, smooth and cold, but tinted the deep red of fresh blood. Above her arched a vaulted ceiling carved with intricate sigils that seemed to breathe, their golden lines glowing like liquid fire as they wound through the stone.
Warm air brushed against her cheeks. It smelled faintly of iron, incense, and smoke — the scent of ritual and memory.
Each breath felt heavier here, as though she stood within a living dream.
"Where… am I?" she whispered.
Her voice echoed, small but clear, carrying through the endless chamber.
The answer came not from words but from silence — a silence that seemed to listen.
As her eyes adjusted to the crimson light, Yuyan realized she was surrounded by shelves. Towering shelves of redwood, stretching high into the misted heights of the hall. They stood in perfect circles, one within another, spiraling outward like ripples in a pond. Each was filled with books bound in dark crimson leather, every spine marked with a crest she knew too well.
The emblem of the Xuèyàn clan — a flame blooming from a drop of blood.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"This… this is…"
She turned in a slow circle, her heart pounding. The bookshelves reached so high they vanished into the haze above, yet she could sense something beyond sight — as if the hall had no true end. The air itself vibrated faintly, carrying a low hum, like the pulse of countless hearts beating in unison.
Her fingertips brushed a nearby tome. The leather was smooth, warm to the touch, as if alive. The golden letters shimmered faintly under her trembling hand.
The Blood Flame Sutra
Essence Flow Manual
Soul Forging Arts of the Xuèyàn Lineage
Each title made her chest tighten.
"These are… our clan's techniques," she breathed. "But… they were all destroyed."
She remembered the fire, the screaming, the banners of the Heavenly Dao Sect fluttering crimson with her clan's blood. Every scroll, every relic — reduced to ash.
And yet, here they were, preserved, waiting.
Her throat tightened. "How…?"
The library glowed gently around her, as if in answer, though no sound came. The silence was not empty — it was reverent, protective.
Almost loving.
Yuyan's steps echoed softly as she wandered deeper between the shelves, trailing her fingers along their smooth edges. Despite the eerie glow, there was a strange peace here, a warmth that reminded her faintly of home. Of her father's study. Of her mother's scent when she used to read by candlelight.
She felt safe. For the first time since the night her world burned, she felt truly safe.
Then her eyes caught something different.
At the far end of the chamber stood a desk — not crimson, but pale, almost silver-white, untouched by the red hue that filled the rest of the hall. A soft, golden glow surrounded it, gentle and steady. Upon it lay a single folded piece of parchment.
It seemed to call to her.
Drawn by a pull she couldn't explain, Yuyan approached. Her small footsteps echoed in the silence, her reflection rippling faintly across the polished floor. As she neared the desk, the light around it shimmered, the air humming softly — as though the library itself were holding its breath.
When she reached it, she hesitated.
The parchment was sealed with wax, stamped with the Xuèyàn crest. The sight made her chest ache. Her fingers trembled as she reached forward, broke the seal, and unfolded the letter.
Elegant, flowing handwriting filled the page — graceful strokes she knew by heart.
Her mother's handwriting.
Her vision blurred as she began to read.
⸻
Dear Yuyan,
If you are reading this letter, then the worst has come to pass.
You have awakened the realm within the Xuèyàn clan's ancestral necklace — our final refuge.
This means your father and I… are no longer with you.
And that you, my little flame, are the last survivor of our bloodline.
Within this realm lies all that remains of our clan — our knowledge, our cultivation methods, our history, and our legacy.
The necklace was forged generations ago to protect our heritage, accessible only through the blood of one who carries our line.
If you have found it, then the flame still lives.
Remember this, Yuyan: the world may have turned its blade upon us, but the blood of the Xuèyàn does not fade so easily.
Use what is within this realm to survive.
Learn. Grow.
And one day… when you are strong enough to decide for yourself, let your heart choose — whether to forgive, or to avenge.
With all my love,
Your mother, Lady Xuèyàn Ruan
⸻
The parchment blurred through her tears. Her fingers clutched it so tightly that the edges crumpled.
"Mother…" she breathed. The word came out broken, fragile.
Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to smile — the same way her mother always had when she was in pain.
For a long time, she stood there in silence, her shoulders shaking as quiet sobs slipped from her chest. The warmth of the crimson library surrounded her like an embrace — kind, yet unbearably heavy. Every flickering lantern, every book seemed to watch in mourning.
When her tears finally stilled, she drew in a shaky breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Her voice was hoarse but resolute as she whispered:
"I'll live, Mother. I'll live… and I'll learn. I'll protect our flame."
The silence around her deepened, almost like a promise.
She folded the letter carefully, pressing it over her heart where her pulse beat steady and strong. Then, turning back to the shelves, she lifted her chin. The child who had entered trembling and lost now stood taller, her small frame straight, her eyes steady.
Before her lay the legacy of a thousand years — the heartbeat of her clan.
Her gaze settled on a single book. Its crimson cover gleamed faintly in the red light, the gold-etched title glimmering like living flame.
Introduction to Blood Flame Cultivation — Founding Manual of the Xuèyàn.
Her fingers brushed its surface. Warm. Alive.
She drew in a breath and opened it.
Immediately, crimson light flared between the pages. The letters lifted from the parchment, threads of burning script swirling like embers in the air. They circled her, slow and graceful, before sinking into her skin. The sensation burned — not painfully, but deeply, like fire melting into her veins.
Yuyan gasped, her hands trembling. Her vision swam with light.
Images flooded her mind — glowing meridian paths, rivers of blood-essence flowing through the body, the core igniting like a flame within the heart. She saw warriors of old, Xuèyàn ancestors, burning with crimson fire as they stood unyielding against countless foes. She saw the merging of blood and will, spirit and flame.
And through it all, a voice — faint, ancient, echoing within her mind.
"Our flame is born not from destruction, but from the will to endure."
The vision faded. Yuyan staggered, knees weak, bracing herself against the desk. Her breath came fast. For a moment, her eyes glowed a faint red, flickering like candlelight before dimming again.
"…I understand," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her first lesson.
The Xuèyàn flame was not just power. It was will — the refusal to yield, the courage to live even when all light had died.
Her mother's final gift was not revenge.
It was survival. Hope. Choice.
Yuyan's hands clenched at her sides. Slowly, she turned her gaze back toward the shelves — thousands upon thousands of books, waiting. Each one was a voice of her ancestors, whispering through time.
A small smile curved her lips.
She bowed deeply, her voice steady and clear in the vast stillness.
"Thank you… I won't let our name be forgotten."
For a moment, the crimson light around her seemed to brighten, rippling through the library like a heartbeat — as though the very hall acknowledged her vow.
Peace washed through her chest.
Sorrow melted into resolve.
Pain into purpose.
⸻
When Yuyan's eyes opened again, she was back in the cave.
The book lay open across her lap, the crimson letters faintly glowing before fading into stillness. The jade pendant rested cool against her skin.
Outside, the dawn was breaking. Pale light filtered through the cave mouth, gentle and gold.
She looked down at her small hands, flexing her fingers slowly.
The exhaustion was still there — but beneath it, she felt something else.
A spark.
Her heartbeat was calm.
Her flame — burning anew