The Ling household had been a grand estate at one time, with halls lined with silk and thriving gardens. Now, the courtyards were overgrown with weeds, the main gates hung crooked from rust, and the remaining servants fled like cowering mice.
Ling Yue strode through the courtyard step by slow step, learning to judge the weight of her new form. Every step wavered, her legs shaking from weakness. Her mortal vessel was weak—starved, forgotten, relegated to uselessness.
But she was not a helpless girl.
She pushed her hand against her chest, shutting her eyes. Her skin had a faint warmth about it, like the dying glow of an ember. Even though her divine core was lost, traces of her immortal cultivation remained.
Ling Yue took a breath, pulling the thread of energy into her dantian. It pushed back, thick and slow, but it flowed. When she breathed out, the dried flowers in the courtyard danced as if they had been caressed by spring breeze.
A smile flashed on her lips. I have fallen, but my arts still have not forsaken me.
The soft noise of footsteps interrupted her meditation.
"Worthless cad," a chilly voice taunted.
Her half-sister, Ling Xue, stood at the corridor with a jeweled hairpin shining in her bun. While Ling Yue's attire was patched and worn out, Ling Xue had silks embroidered with cranes, and her eyes were full of contempt.
"I overheard that the Regent would be at court today," Ling Xue announced, snapping her fan shut. "And you, this family's shame, still have the audacity to share our air. If he catches sight of you, disaster will befall us all."
Ling Yue's eyes rested on her sister's haughty face. The old Ling Yue—shy, unwanted—would have ducked her head.
But this Ling Yue simply tilted her chin, serene and unruffled. "Then pray he will see me."
"You—!" Ling Xue's face grew hot with rage, but before she could come back at her, the rattle of hooves sounded outside the gates. A messenger's shout rang out:
"By order of the Regent—every family must come forward with tribute of medicine and grain!"
The servants were frightened, whispering among themselves in terror. The Regent's requests were legendary; refusal to oblige frequently ended in blood.
Ling Xue's face went white. The coffers of the Ling family were years drained, the fields fallow. They had no tribute left to pay.
For the first time, fear supplanted arrogance in her eyes.
Ling Yue, on the other hand, did not flinch. She looked out toward the gates, where armored men dismounted from their horses, their black banners whipping in the wind. The smell of iron and discipline rolled into the destroyed courtyard like a typhoon.
So early, Regent Yan Xi casts his shadow on my doorstep.
Her fingers caressed her sleeve, where a soft shimmer of spiritual power glowed—too feeble for anyone else to discern, yet strong enough for her to sense.
The heavens had already taken everything from her once. This time, she'd face destiny head-on.