Pov Author
The silence of the Black Jade Palace was shattered by the tremor of a distant impact, followed by the sharp, acrid scent of ozone that lingered after a teleportation. Shou Feng materialized in the grand entrance hall, the obsidian floor cracking in a web-like pattern beneath his boots. The remnants of his council meeting clung to him—a flicker of red in the depths of his black eyes, a wisp of black and red aura dissolving like smoke from his shoulders. Two assassin corpses, bound in coils of dark energy, thudded unceremoniously onto the marble behind him. His expression was one of profound, world-weary irritation.
He needed the absolute silence of his private chambers. A place of order and stark power, where nothing was out of place. He pushed the heavy lacquered door open.
And stopped.
The room was… different. The imposing black silk drapes were tied back with cords of pale gold. The monstrous painting of the Eight-Clawed Sky Dragon that once dominated the main wall was gone, replaced by a large, carefully pressed and framed display of wild blue hydrangeas. Small, oddly shaped cushions in light colors were scattered near the hearth. A faint, sweet scent—like vanilla and sunlight, entirely foreign to this fortress of shadow—hung in the air.
His gaze swept the room and found the source.
Anna was standing on his massive bed, balanced on her knees, carefully adjusting the frame of the flower picture. She hummed a tuneless, American song under her breath. She wore simple linen robes, her brown hair tied in a loose, messy braid over one shoulder. In the grey light filtering through the window, her fair skin seemed to glow, her innocent face utterly focused on her task.
She finally hopped down, dusting her hands together with satisfaction. Only then did she turn and see him.
Her face lit up with a smile that was utterly unaware of the two dead men in the hallway or the destructive god before her. "Oh! Hey! You're back!" she chirped, gesturing grandly at the room. "Look, I decorated! My room feels much more like home now. What do you think?"
Shou Feng's eyes, still holding a faint crimson echo, scanned the space. In his mind's eye, he saw a very clear, very immediate future: his generals, Mong and Yuvan, walking in for a briefing. Their eyebrows shooting up. Their smirks. The inevitable, barely-contained snort of laughter. He saw himself, with perfect clarity, backhanding them both through the nearest wall.
He blinked the vision away. "Yeah," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It is… beautiful."
Anna beamed, pride puffing her chest slightly. "I knew you'd like it! This castle is so big and gloomy. I want to see more of it today. The gardens, maybe? Or the kitchens?"
He had treaties to review. Discontented lords to intimidate. A minor rebellion in the western province to quell. He looked at her, standing in the heart of his defanged sanctum, her brown eyes wide with hopeful curiosity.
"Follow me," he found himself saying. "The meetings can wait. A lord must occasionally inspect his domain, after all." *And what is a kingdom, if not worthless, without a curious heart to see its wonders?* he thought, the unexpected sentiment surprising even him.
Her tour was a whirlwind of gasps and questions. He showed her the austere rock gardens, where raked gravel swirled around ancient, gnarled pines. They peeked into the vast, steam-filled kitchens, where a small army of servants bowed so low their heads nearly touched the floor as the God of Destruction passed by with his strange, chattering companion. They walked through the library of whispering scrolls, the armory of gleaming blades that hummed at their master's presence, and the high-walled training courtyards, now empty and silent.
Finally, he led her to a secluded wing, behind a door marked with a single, complex seal that glowed faintly at his touch. "This," he said quietly, "is a very special room."
It was a long gallery. Instead of windows, the walls were lined with life-sized, exquisitely detailed portraits. The air was still and cool, thick with memory.
Anna walked slowly, her eyes wide. Here was a handsome, stern man with Shou Feng's jaw—his father. A beautiful, cold-eyed woman with a cruel smile—his stepmother. A sly-looking youth holding a fan—his stepbrother. Then, people she knew: Kiyoshi, looking younger and less burdened; Yuvan, painted with a rare, genuine grin; Tomika, captured in mid-laugh.
And then, a figure she didn't know. A man in robes of purest black, with the sharp, elegant features of a noble hunter. His eyes, though masterfully painted, seemed hollow, depths that promised neither light nor reflection, only an end.
Shou Feng's voice broke the silence from behind her. "That is Renji."
"The God of Death here?"
"Yes. He was my best friend."
Anna heard the past tense. "Was? What happened?"
Shou Feng's gaze was fixed on the hollow eyes. "He wished to be the disciple of Lord Kazan. Lord Kazan chose me. Jealousy is a slow poison. After our final fight, we never spoke again." He moved on, his tone dismissing the subject.
But Anna lingered. She noticed then that on a small, polished ebony shelf beneath each portrait rested a single object. A general's insignia. A sealed scroll. A warrior's ring. A book of poetry. Tokens of lives lived, and left behind.
"Why are these here?" she asked, touching nothing.
"They belonged to them. They gave them to me. I keep them here."
She continued her circuit, studying each face, each treasure. Then she stopped, turning to him. "Where is yours?"
"I do not like portraits of myself."
A small laugh escaped her. "Me neither! I hate getting my picture taken." She gave a firm nod. "It's a shame, though. Having such a face and not painting it."
His eyebrow twitched, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
She came to a stop before the largest portrait. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, her smile gentle and knowing. Her hair was a rich, warm brown, her eyes the same soft earth tone. They were Anna's eyes, Anna's hair. Before her rested a necklace of breathtaking workmanship—a cascade of rubies like falling drops of blood, set in intricate, pale gold.
Shou Feng came to stand behind her, so close she could feel the heat of him. "This is my mother."
"Isn't she beautiful?" he asked, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.
Anna could only nod, swallowing hard. "Well," she whispered, trying to lighten the weight in the air, "you're a real mama's boy, aren't you?"
The insult, if it was one, rolled off him. He simply stared at the portrait. "Only if she were alive."
A cold knot of guilt tightened in Anna's stomach. She pretended not to hear, hastily moving away to stand before Kiyoshi's painting. She looked down at the book on his shelf—a volume of strategic theories. It seemed familiar, the leather binding, the gilt-edged pages… where had she…?
Her thoughts scattered as a sudden, cool weight settled on her collarbones. She gasped. Shou Feng had taken the ruby necklace from its place and fastened it around her neck. The jewels lay against her skin, heavy and shockingly cold before warming to her touch.
"What are you doing?" she breathed, her hand flying up to the stunning piece.
"Giving it to someone who is worth it," he said, his voice a low murmur just behind her ear. "It has been centuries since I have met someone worthy of its fire."
In the dark, polished surface of Kiyoshi's shelf bracket, she saw their reflection. Her, eyes wide, the rubies blazing like captured embers against her fair skin. And him, towering behind her, his long black hair framing a face of impossible severity and focus, his dark eyes fixed on her throat where his hands had just been. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of her ear. She let out a shuddering breath, one she hadn't realized she was holding.
They were so close.
"It looks perfect on you," he whispered, the sound vibrating in the tiny space between them.
"Thank you," she managed, her voice barely audible.
He stepped back, the moment breaking. "Go and get changed. I will send appropriate clothing."
"What? Why?"
"Keep the necklace on. Just change the robe. I am summoning the court painter."
Dread washed over her. "No! I don't want a painting! I told you, I hate it!"
"You have no choice," he said, and though his tone was final, it lacked its usual edge of cruelty.
Moments later, a flock of efficient maids descended, whisking her away. They dressed her in a magnificent robe of deep, sunset red, tying the sash with an intricate knot. They arranged her brown hair, weaving a single red camellia bloom into the braid now coiled at her nape. They seated her on a high-backed chair in the gallery.
Shou Feng entered, and even the maids paused, blushing at the sight of their lord. He surveyed her, and a slow, genuine smile touched his lips—a rare and dangerous beauty.
Anna, heart pounding with rebellion, saw her chance. "If I have to get painted," she declared, lifting her chin, "then so do you! You don't like it either! Otherwise," she threatened, shifting in her seat, "I'll keep moving. I won't sit still. He'll never finish."
A long, silent moment passed. Shou Feng looked from her determined face to the empty space on the wall beside his mother's portrait. He saw the future again: a defiant, moving Anna, a frustrated painter, a spoiled canvas. And then he saw another: two portraits, side by side.
A low chuckle escaped him. He strode to a second chair and sat, his robes settling around him like a pool of night. "As you wish, my lady," he conceded, his black eyes holding a glint of amused surrender. *What are laws and edicts, when I would rewrite them all for the defiance in your eyes?*
The painter, trembling, lifted his brush. And in the hall of memories, a new one began, with two subjects sitting perfectly, unnaturally still, a thread of scarlet jewels and shared understanding stretching silently between them.
End of the Chapter