Chapter 2 – Ahsan the Wushang
The next day.
The Provençal sky was a stark contrast to the night of the tragedy.
After the hours of panic and emergency care in Monaco, Anastasia had insisted on leaving the city. Under the guise of discretion, she'd had Émilie transferred to her secluded estate in Digne-les-Bains, an old family property, discreet and hidden from prying eyes.
The journey passed in silence. Lucie, huddled in the back of the vehicle, hadn't taken her eyes off Émilie, while Michaël, at the wheel, watched every bend in the road as if fearing an ambush.
Upon arrival, the air was scented with lavender and fresh rain. The old manor, perched on the hills, breathed serenity and secrecy.
Émilie, pale and feverish, now rested under a warm blanket, while Anastasia watched her with contained worry.
In this room saturated with pain, every second seemed like a battle.
— Độc Lục Căn… Anastasia said in a grave voice.
Everyone turned to her.
— The Poison of Six Roots, she breathed.
Her gaze remained fixed on the small mark on Émilie's neck; it revealed a memory too heavy to bear. In a low voice, she confided only:
— I saw this poison once, in Vietnam. It devours the senses, one by one… until it reaches the mind. To my knowledge, there is no cure.
Her face closed like a wound.
Lucie burst into tears, clutching Émilie's icy hand.
— Dad… is she going to die?!
Michaël clenched his jaw, his fists trembling.
— Not while I'm still breathing, he answered in a hard, almost shaking voice.
— The poison is ancient, cruel… but there is a man who can save her.
Michaël stepped forward, wary.
— Who?
Anastasia's gaze drifted south.
— Ahsan.
The name resonated, heavy as fate. Michaël gritted his teeth. Lucie, still holding Émilie's hand, whispered:
— Then… we have to go.
A silence fell. Everyone understood that this night had opened a path of no return.
Upon hearing the name Ahsan, the silence in the room thickened like a shroud of lead.
Lucie, her eyes bright with anguish, suddenly broke the stillness:
— Dad, let's go! We have to find him!
But Michaël didn't answer. His gaze was lost in the void, his lips barely moving.
— Ahsan… he is the Wushang… the Unrivaled One…
Lucie frowned.
— What did you just say?
For the first time, Lucie no longer saw in him the unshakable man, the protective rock. She saw the shadow of a doubt, and it chilled her heart.
Michaël took a deep breath.
— In the jianghu, the world of secret societies, Ahsan is called the Wushang. It means: the incomparable, the absolute, the supreme.
Lucie swallowed. The gravity in her father's voice made her understand that this name wasn't just a legend: it was an insurmountable mountain.
— But why do we need the Wushang to heal her? asked Michaël, his voice tense.
Anastasia placed her hands on her knees, as if preparing to reveal a secret too heavy to speak aloud. Her voice became slow, almost ceremonial:
— Because he holds the secret Vajra Codex. In the world of martial arts, it is also called the Great Martial Sūtra, the ultimate treasure, the one that contains the essence of all lost techniques.
She took a deep breath before continuing:
— The title of Wushang comes from there. The one who possesses the Codex is recognized as the pinnacle of martial arts, the absolute Master. The one without equal.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then added more softly: To be Wushang is to know absolute power... but also the loss that accompanies it.
Her voice cracked slightly on the last sentence.
Her words faded into a heavy silence.
Her gaze seemed to drift far behind her, into a memory no one could reach.
Then she looked away.
Her attention settled on a framed photo…
She was smiling in it, younger, next to a boy in a wheelchair.
The light grazed the glass, making the image shimmer like a memory ready to fade.
Michaël and Lucie instinctively followed her gaze.
They glimpsed the photo, but didn't dare say anything.
The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock.
Michaël finally broke the tension, his voice deep, almost weary:
— Only… the Wushang is allied with the Baolong clan. Our sworn enemies. How could we convince him?
A broken breath answered him.
Émilie slowly opened her eyes.
Light wavered on her pallid face. Her lips trembled, her breath came in gasps. With a frail hand, she sought Lucie's and squeezed it.
She tried to speak to Michaël, but a coughing fit doubled her over.
Her body swayed, her knees hit the floor.
Anastasia rushed forward, catching her just before she fell.
— Émilie! she cried, her voice sharp with urgency.
Lucie leapt forward, her hands trembling.
— Big sister Meiqi!
Few people knew that name.
It was the name from before, the one Émilie carried far from the spotlights, far from the roles imposed on her.
Émilie Wong was only a stage name, chosen for her singing career, an identity shaped for the world.
Her true name, the one almost no one knew, was Lo Meiqi.
Only those closest to her had the right to use it.
A trickle of blood slid onto her ivory sleeve.
Anastasia supported the trembling body, her gaze already burning with a decision.
— Ahsan does not yield his knowledge, nor the Codex, for personal causes, she said slowly.
But he remains the guardian of a universal legacy.
An innocent like Émilie… he will not look away.
We will find him. Whatever the cost.
Without another word, she led her into an adjoining room, a sanctuary of warmth and silence.
Incense floated there, light as a suspended prayer.
Anastasia had the young woman sit down, placed her open palms on her back, and closed her eyes.
Her breathing became slow, regular.
A warm wave spread from her hands.
The air vibrated, saturated with an invisible Qi, that vital energy only the initiated could perceive.
Gradually, Émilie's breathing softened.
A bit of color returned to her cheeks.
Anastasia reopened her eyes, her brow beaded with sweat.
— This is only a respite, she murmured, her voice strained with exhaustion.
Her fingers trembled as they brushed Émilie's icy skin.
— She must stay like this… the cold slows the poison. If she warms up, it will reach her heart.
Lucie squeezed her friend's hand, her eyes misty.
— But you, Anastasia…
— It doesn't matter, she cut in weakly.
Her gaze turned to Michaël, pleading, almost imploring.
— Find Ahsan.
A breath.
— Quickly… before it's too late!