He arrived at dusk.
Not on horseback.
Not with a sect emblem.
Just a boy —
seventeen, lean, wrapped in a traveler's coat too large for him.
One eye covered with a strip of black cloth.
The other — pale gray, like storm clouds over a dead sea.
He didn't speak.
Didn't ask for food.
Didn't bow.
He walked straight to the training yard —
where Mei was practicing thread-cutting on the wind.
She didn't see him.
But I did.
And I felt it —
the air thickened.
Not with danger.
With recognition.
Like two ghosts passing in a hallway.
Then he pulled the knife.
Not at Mei.
Not at me.
At his own palm.
He sliced deep — not to kill, not to threaten —
but to prove.
Blood fell.
Not red.
Black.
And where it hit the ground,
shadows rose.
Not smoke.
Not illusion.
Faces.
Six of them.
Tall.
Broken.
Familiar.
The Six Before the Poison Queen.
The warrior with the shattered sword.
The blind alchemist.
The girl with lightning eyes.
All of them — not whole, not solid,
but watching.
And behind them —
a seventh.
Mei turned.
She saw them too.
Not with her eyes.
With her memory.
She staggered.
Her star-shaped scar burned.
The boy dropped to one knee — not in submission.
In warning.
"I am not my father," he said.
His voice was low, raw, like stone grinding bone.
"But if you're here to finish what she started…
I'll kill you before you burn the world again."
He looked at Mei.
"Are you her?"
She didn't answer.
She looked past him — not at the ghosts,
but at the space between them.
And whispered:
"You're not seeing ghosts."
Her voice was quiet.
Deadly.
"You're seeing truth."
She stepped forward.
"And if you can see them…
then you already know I'm not her."
She touched her scar.
"I'm worse."
"I'm what she left behind."
Silence.
Then — one of the ghosts moved.
The warrior woman reached out — not to him, not to Mei,
but to the knife in his hand.
It trembled.
Then flew into her shadowed grip.
And for the first time in centuries,
a dead woman spoke:
"You carry his blood.
But your soul is not his."
The warrior's voice echoed, hollow, ancient.
"You fear the fire because you saw it consume the innocent.
But this girl?"
She pointed at Mei.
"She is not the flame.
She is the spark."
Her ghostly eyes locked onto the boy.
"Will you cut her —
or will you protect her?"
He didn't move.
But his blindfold slipped.
And I saw it —
under the cloth, his covered eye wasn't dead.
It glowed faintly gold —
the same cursed light of the Dreaming Ones.
He wasn't just seeing ghosts.
He was fighting the lie inside him.
That night, I found him on the roof.
Not sleeping.
Not meditating.
Just staring at the sky.
I didn't speak.
Just sat beside him.
Finally, he said:
"My father served the Azure Sect.
He trained to kill her.
To erase her."
He touched his blindfold.
"This eye… it's not blind.
It's infected.
They gave it to him.
And he passed it to me."
He looked at me.
"I came here to destroy the sect's records of his betrayal.
To erase his name."
A pause.
"But when I saw her…
I didn't see a monster."
His voice broke.
"I saw someone who's just as trapped as I am."
I didn't comfort him.
Didn't tell him it was okay.
I just said:
"The past isn't something you bury.
It's something you carry.
And if you don't want to be your father…
then choose a different burden."
I stood.
"She's not the Poison Queen.
But she might be the only one who can stop the next one."
I looked back.
"Don't protect her because of her.
Protect her because of you."
The next morning, the first Echo Cultivator attacked.
Not at dawn.
Not with fire.
During meditation hour.
A woman in white robes walked through the gate — smiling, calm, offering peace.
She said:
"I've come to join the Silver Lotus Sect.
I seek truth."
But Mei saw it.
Murong Tao saw it.
Her fate thread was looped — no beginning, no end.
Just a circle.
A lie.
And when the woman reached for a student's hand —
Murong Tao moved.
His knife flashed — not at her.
At the thread.
It snapped.
She didn't scream.
She unraveled —
not into blood,
but into ash,
and a whisper:
"She's not the only one who remembers."
Then silence.
Mei looked at Murong Tao.
He didn't look away.
And for the first time —
he didn't see ghosts behind her.
He saw only her.
Author Note:
They say blood is destiny.
But I've seen boys bleed to prove they're not their fathers.
And girls burn to prove they're not their mothers.
The world doesn't need more monsters.
It needs more choices.
— Elder Lian'er