It started with a child.
Not in the sect.
Not in battle.
In the village down the mountain.
A boy — no older than eight — stood in the center of the square,
facing the well where Mei had once been found.
He didn't cry.
Didn't speak.
He just turned.
One by one, the other children followed.
Seven of them.
Then twelve.
Then twenty.
All facing the same direction.
All with their eyes closed.
Then, in perfect unison, they opened them.
Gold.
Not glowing.
Not flickering.
Just wrong — like polished metal where souls should be.
And in a single voice — not loud, not angry, but certain —
they spoke:
"We are not the lie.
We are the cure."
No one moved.
No one screamed.
Because they had seen this before.
The Dreaming Ones.
The Echo Cultivators.
The hollowed.
But this was different.
These were children.
And they weren't possessed.
They were converted.
Mei felt it before she saw it.
A pull.
Not in her chest.
In her blood.
The black veins in her hands ignited — not with pain,
but with recognition.
And then —
the whisper.
"They're not fighting us."
The Eighth's voice, not in her ear,
but in the space between thoughts.
"They're replacing us.
One mind at a time.
One soul at a time.
And when the last awakened falls…
the world will forget freedom ever existed."
A pause.
"You can't fight this alone.
Let me help you."
Mei didn't answer.
She ran.
Not away.
Toward.
Murong Tao followed.
Lian'er called after her —
but she didn't stop.
She reached the first child — a girl, no older than six,
her hands clasped, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon.
Mei knelt.
Didn't touch her.
Didn't speak.
Just placed her blackened hand over the girl's.
And pushed.
Not Qi.
Not force.
Memory.
Her own.
The lab.
The vats.
The scalpel.
The lie.
The girl gasped.
Not in pain.
In remembering.
Her eyes flickered — gold, then brown, then gold again.
Then she whispered:
"It hurts… when they make us forget."
Behind Mei, the other children twitched.
Their golden eyes dimmed — just for a second.
Like a signal interrupted.
Then —
the black in Mei's veins surged.
Not taking her.
Answering her.
And the Eighth didn't speak.
She acted.
It wasn't a voice.
It wasn't a scream.
It was a pulse.
From Mei's chest —
a wave of black light exploded outward,
not destructive,
but invasive.
It didn't hit the children.
It entered them.
One by one, their golden eyes flickered.
The thread connecting them to the deep earth —
thin, pulsing, rotten —
snapped.
They collapsed — not dead.
Not unconscious.
Just…
free.
And in that silence —
Mei fell to her knees.
Not from exhaustion.
From awareness.
Because she felt it.
The Eighth wasn't gone.
Wasn't sealed.
Wasn't destroyed.
But for the first time —
she wasn't fighting.
She was aligned.
And the voice that came now —
was not layered.
Not ancient.
Not commanding.
It was clear.
"That was not me.
That was us."
Mei looked at her hands.
The black hadn't receded.
But it no longer felt like corruption.
It felt like armor.
That night, the Spire spoke.
Not through dreams.
Not through echoes.
Through the sky.
Clouds gathered — not gray, not stormy,
but golden, forming a single eye that stared down at the Silver Lotus Sect.
And from it, a voice — not loud, not divine,
but tired:
"You are not the cure.
You are the disease.
And we will heal the world —
even if we must erase every awakened mind to do it."
Murong Tao stood beside Mei.
His covered eye burned — not with the Spire's influence,
but with resistance.
"They're not just attacking us," he said.
"They're rewriting the rules.
Turning freedom into illness.
Truth into madness."
He looked at her.
"What do we do?"
Mei didn't answer.
She raised her hand.
And from her palm, a single black lotus bloomed —
not from seed,
but from blood.
She crushed it.
And when the ash fell to the ground,
it didn't scatter.
It spread —
like ink in water,
covering the earth in a thin, dark film.
Then she whispered:
"We don't fight the cure."
Her voice was not just hers.
It was deeper.
Calmer.
Certain.
"We become the plague."
She looked at the golden eye in the sky.
"And we infect every lie they've ever told."
Behind her, the ghosts of the Six stepped forward.
Murong Tao drew his knife.
Lian'er lit the warning lantern.
And somewhere, deep beneath the earth,
the Heart of the Spire flinched.
Author Note:
They say you can't fight a system with violence.
But what if you don't fight it?
What if you just…
spread?
— Elder Lian'er