The cold that accompanies spiritual awakening is not the chill of death, but the frost of transformation. As winter precedes spring, so too must the body’s warmth yield to the spirit’s ice before new growth can begin.
—Sage Li Wei, Keeper of the Eternal Patterns
Incense smoke curled through the morning air, mingling with the earthy scent of rain-soaked earth. Xiulan’s white silk robes whispered against stone as she led a procession toward the Lin Family’s ancestor hall. Each step echoed against cobblestones worn smooth by generations of mourners.
Monks flanked the path, their yellow and crimson robes stark against the misty gray backdrop. Bronze bells chimed softly as they waved smoking joss sticks in practiced motions. The sweet, heavy scent of sandalwood drifted past.
Behind Xiulan, the steady thud of ceremonial drums marked time with funeral dirges. Mourners dressed in coarse hemp shuffled forward, heads bowed in respect or fear—perhaps both. Their quiet sobs punctuated the monks’ rhythmic chanting.
Each careful step brought her closer to the carved dragons guarded by ancient tablets. The weight of tradition pressed down like the heavy clouds overhead.
Smoke stung Xiulan’s eyes as she passed another group of monks. Their low voices rose and fell in sutras, prayers for the dead echoing off stone walls. The bitter scent of medicinal herbs mixed with the incense—purification rituals for the departed souls.
Zhao Lian sat straight-backed near the altar in pristine white, accepting condolences from a steady stream of visitors with practiced grace. Her perfect composure befitted her new status as regent for Zhang Wei. Each bow and murmured response followed the exact dictates of propriety—no more, no less.
The wooden floorboards creaked under Xiulan’s feet as she stepped into the hall. A sudden gust of wind swept through the space, extinguishing every candle in rapid succession.
The temperature plummeted. An invisible weight pressed against her chest, making each breath shallow and sharp.
Two monks shot accusatory glares at her from beside the altar. They waved their ceremonial sticks in frantic patterns while chanting.
She ignored the suspicious stares that trained upon her. But Zhang Wei’s tear-stained face struck deeper than any prayer. His red-rimmed eyes fixed on her along with every other gaze in the hall—a collective weight of judgment and fear.
Xiulan plucked an incense stick from the bronze holder. The familiar motions carried her through lighting it and performing the ritual bow.
"May the ancestors guide and protect our family through this time of transition." The formal words fell from her lips without emotion.
She spun on her heel and strode from the suffocating hall, leaving the whispers and stares behind.
Xiulan quickened her pace as soon as she was outside, only for a procession of officials to block the main path. Their silk robes rustled against the cobblestones while servants scurried around them like mice. She cut through a side garden instead, crushing dew-laden grass beneath her feet.
The morning air carried whispers that stung worse than the incense smoke.
Despite her mother’s careful misdirection about a vengeful cultivator’s attack, truth proved more enticing to wagging tongues. The real story spread like wildfire—how the rebellious Lin daughter had cleared her path to power with ruthless efficiency.
Let them whisper. Let them stare. Xiulan lifted her chin as she crossed the central courtyard.
Servants scattered before her, averting their eyes. A group of wives huddled near the moon gate pressed their fans to their lips, but their judgment radiated clearly. The ’proper’ meek young lady they’d known existed only in memory now.
The thought brought a bitter smile to her lips. She’d never wanted to be their kind of lady anyway.
The doors to her new pavilion—Madam Zhang’s former residence—stood open. Fresh paint gleamed on the carved panels where servants had spent days scrubbing away old stains.
Inside, stacks of ledgers and letters provided ample evidence of her family’s corruption. The papers formed a shield against the officials who’d descended like vultures on the manor.
But now...
The formal funeral proceedings would finally conclude.
A sharp knock echoed through the cold room.
"Enter," Xiulan called.
Doctor Jin Wei stepped inside. The temperature shift made him shiver as he offered a deep bow. "Miss Lin."
"Have you discovered anything?" Xiulan watched his face for any hint of hope.
"My deepest apologies." Jin Wei shook his head. "This condition lies far beyond my expertise. I have no knowledge of immortal ailments. From a mortal perspective, I would say a spirit possesses her body—moving it despite the absence of a heartbeat."
"The room grows colder each day." Xiulan gestured to the frost forming on the window frame.
"The phenomenon must relate to her Qi." Jin Wei studied Mei Chen’s still form. "Without proper understanding, I fear her condition could deteriorate further."
"I lack the necessary expertise to help her." Xiulan clenched her fists.
"Perhaps Blackmere City holds someone with the knowledge we seek." Jin Wei straightened his robes. "If not, the ducal capital of Aeris might provide answers."
"Yes." Xiulan nodded. "I’ll travel to our family manor in the city. Further if needed."
Jin Wei adjusted his sleeves. "Travel poses significant risks, Miss Lin. The roads hold many who would harm you, especially given recent events."
He produced a lacquered box from his robes and placed it on the low table. The lid creaked open to reveal twelve perfectly formed pills nestled in silk. "These may not match cultivator medicine in potency, but they should aid recovery when needed. Your immortal constitution should minimize any toxic effects and allow unlimited use."
Xiulan leaned forward to examine the pills. Half shimmered with a deep blue sheen, while the others maintained a rich brown color. "What’s the difference?"
"The blue ones contain a higher dosage—potentially lethal to mortals. The brown are safe for anyone." Jin Wei straightened. "I cannot guarantee enhanced effects for the blue, but they should be more potent. I can’t be sure without testing—I’ve never worked with someone on the path before."
"Thank you." Xiulan touched the smooth surface of a brown pill. "For everything. Without your care after the carriage accident, I likely wouldn’t have survived the fall from the cliff. Or all the other times..."
"I merely performed my duty." Jin Wei bowed deeply. "Your recovery brings me satisfaction, despite the dark cloud recent events have cast over us all."
A sharp pain shot through Xiulan’s chest. "Yes, everything has been... unfortunate. I hope circumstances improve."
Jin Wei departed just as Lan Zhao entered with a tea service, missing the offered refreshment. Steam rose in a cloud from the porcelain pot as Lan Zhao arranged the cups with practiced efficiency.
Xiulan poured herself a cup, letting the fragrant steam wash over her face. The empty room pressed in around her as she sat beside Mei Chen’s still form.
Recent events had solved nothing. Some things had gotten worse.
There was blood on her hands that could never be washed away, no matter how justified it had been.