Yuanling moved with the grace of a predator, every step a deliberate dance, every tilt of her head a question wrapped in mischief. Her tails swayed slowly, hypnotically, brushing the air as if tracing invisible patterns, each flick a silent invitation. Her gaze lingered on him, soft and teasing, a playful spark igniting in the amber-gray depths of his eyes.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though the world had contracted to the space between them — the forest holding its breath, the wind pausing in the leaves, everything waiting for the next move. Yuanling's chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm, every movement a calculated temptation, a test.
And then he saw it.
The feather, tucked at her waist, shimmering faintly in the dying light.
Seeing it was enough to make his body tremble inside, he knew where that feather came from. Fu Xuanyi. A stoic woman who once humiliated him so deeply that he couldn't forget even after more than a thousand years passed — it wasn't all, he almost lost his life in the hands of that monster of a woman. He could feel her gaze ripping him from inside out, his body recovered perfectly, not even a scratch remained from their battle thousands of years before. But the fear still lingered in his head, haunting him.
Shizuma's eyes narrowed, and the warmth of his earlier amusement vanished, replaced by a sharp, commanding focus. His voice cut through the tension like steel:
— How did you get this feather? Answer me quickly and honestly woman. And don't you dare trick me.
The words struck Yuanling not for what they revealed about her own actions, but for what they implied about him. Her heart skipped, a sudden, cold jolt of tension. He knew Xuanyi. He had known her. "Why? How?" Those words kept repeating in her head over and over again like a broken record — only stopping when she heard his voice once more.
— I asked you a question. Or maybe I should refrain better. What is your connection to Fu Xuanyi?
The playtime was over, no more seduction games or even teasing. Yuanling's body stiffened, a subtle quiver running through her tails. Her ears twitched sharply, folding back slightly, betraying the sudden spike of anxiety. Every instinct screamed at her to react, to step back, to escape, but she forced herself to remain still, to appear composed.
Her voice, when it finally emerged, was calm — measured — but each word was carefully chosen to mask the storm inside.
— I'll tell you my "connection'' to her — she said, keeping her tone steady, though her heart raced. — If you tell me why you pretended to be Ling Hao.
For the briefest instant, silence weighed heavier than steel. Shizuma's eyes narrowed, the crimson-gray gleam flickering with something sharp — surprise, irritation, or perhaps amusement. His lips curved into a smile, but it was not warm. It was a blade's edge disguised as charm.
— To bargain with me when you stand in my shadow — he murmured, tilting his head, his long black hair spilling over his shoulder like silk. — Got to give you credit for that
He stepped closer, the air thickening with the oppressive weight of his presence, every heartbeat of hers pounding against invisible chains.
— Ling Hao was nothing but a mask, a vessel for me to wear until the time came. — His voice lowered, almost intimate, but laced with menace.
Yuanling's grip on her sword tightened subtly at her side, though she did not draw it. Her ears remained folded back, but her gaze didn't waver. Inside, her chest burned with tension, but she forced herself to meet his eyes as if unshaken.
— If he is nothing but a mask you wear — she paused for a moment looking right into his crimson-grey eyes — Why was he so distraught when he saw me? Crying so desperately and earning for me like a lost lover… You see Shizuma I don't think he is a mask at all, is he?
For the first time, Shizuma's smile faltered. Not vanished — but cracked, ever so slightly, as if her words had struck something buried beneath his perfect composure. His eyes, crimson and gray, shimmered with a storm that betrayed more than he intended.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening, cutting into her like a blade drawn in silence.
— You're sharper than I expected, — he admitted, his tone low, almost begrudging, though the menace in it hadn't faded. — Perhaps too sharp for your own good.
A flicker of tension pulled at his jaw, subtle but undeniable.
— You're more honest than I expected — she said back, in a slightly sharp tone — I thought someone that was like an omen of destruction would be more… deceitful?
Even though she was criticizing him a little, somehow that amused him, making him laugh — a very noticeable and loud laugh.
— Deceitful? — he echoed between low chuckles, his laugh rolling through the trees like distant thunder. — You wound me, little fox. You make it sound as if I should slither in the shadows and whisper lies into ears too weak to resist.
His crimson-gray eyes gleamed, predatory, yet faintly entertained. He tilted his head, letting the dark silk of his hair slip forward, framing his face with an elegance too sharp to be comforting.
— No. I don't deceive, Yuanling. I devour. I break. I burn. — Each word came like the strike of a blade, deliberate and final. — Lies are for those who lack the strength to carve truth into the world with their own hands.
He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath brushing the air between them, a smirk curving his lips as if daring her to contradict him again.
— But you… — his tone softened into something dangerously smooth — you think you can wound me with words. That's almost endearing.
Shizuma's laughter finally faded, leaving only the echo of its weight in the stillness. His eyes, sharp and glinting, lingered on her face with a focus that felt almost too intent. The smirk at his lips didn't fade; instead, it curved into something more thoughtful, more dangerous.
— You've managed something few ever have, little fox — he murmured, his voice low, coaxing, yet edged with command. — You've held my attention.
He straightened, no longer looming as if ready to strike, but instead folding his arms loosely over his chest, his presence still oppressive but… measured.
— So here is what I propose. A trade. — His eyes flickered with intrigue, the crimson-gray storm swirling as though he were enjoying the very game itself. — I tell you something… truth, not deception. And in return, you tell me something of equal weight.
He leaned forward just enough for his words to settle heavy between them, his tone soft, but undeniable in its authority.
— Knowledge for knowledge. Secret for secret. If you're as clever as you think, you'll see the value in that.
— And how do you know that I won't trick you? You got to trust me as much as I got to trust in you.
— It's simple… — he said in a very calm tone like one you would use with a child, with one of his hands he picked a little lock of her hair, in a very gentle way — If I suspect you're lying to me all I have to do is burn you.
His fingers closed around a lock of her hair with the gentlest of touches — a mockery of tenderness that made the air between them colder. The gesture was intimate and cruel at once; it was the sort of ownership that belonged to those who had the power to take without asking. Yuanling felt the skin at the base of her neck prickle, an animal part of her recoiling even as the rest measured every inch of the threat.
She did not flinch. The blade of his sentence hung in the air: If I suspect you're lying… I burn you.
It was not a question. It was a promise.
For a long, thin second, all that existed was the small hand in his, the faint scent of his skin, and the rising beat of her pulse. Then her eyes — bright, too quick for comfort — narrowed.
— You make threats like a child with a torch — she said, voice low, almost amused but hard as flint. She let a slow smile ghost the corner of her mouth, a smile that did not reach her eyes. — If you want truth, you will have to hold to rules stronger than cruelty.
A lie would be easy and safe, but she had learned that cheap lies are worse than no lies at all when facing someone who devours truth. She kept that lesson folded inside every quiet breath.
— And if either of us breaks the oath — she added, voice colder now — we answer to the same consequence. No burning without cause. No tricks. I'm a trained priestess, I can make a pact between us.
The hand in his relaxed only marginally. His expression darkened, the mask of indulgent predator slipping into something more contemplative. Between them the forest seemed to lean closer, listening. The game had changed — no longer seduction, no longer mere threat — but a pact. Dangerous, equal, and taut as a drawn bow.
Shizuma's lips parted, and for the first time since she had met him, there was a hesitation there — not of fear, but of calculation. He let out a sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a reminder of the cost of truth.
— Very well — he murmured, and the words fell like the first note of a bell. — I will speak. But know this, húli jīng — once you make a deal with the devil there is no turning back.