By morning, the air was thick with fog, curling like silk through the ruined stone pillars that rose from the earth like forgotten teeth. The basin they had crossed was gone behind them, swallowed by mist and memory.
Yujin walked slightly ahead, her pace brisk, but her eyes distant.
Wuyin noticed.
She always noticed.
"You haven't said a word since dawn," Wuyin said as they came upon an old shrine tucked between two cliffs, the carvings worn smooth by time.
Yujin glanced back. "It's nothing."
Wuyin tilted her head. "Liar."
Yujin exhaled slowly, setting her bag down near the shrine's steps. She stared at the broken statue—some forgotten river goddess, its arms missing, its face cracked—and said, "What you told me yesterday… about your past life. It made me think."
Wuyin sat beside her, silent.
Yujin continued. "You were raised as a blade. I was raised as a pawn."
Wuyin didn't interrupt. Her gaze stayed steady, but not pressing. A quiet invitation.
Yujin's fingers trailed over the carved offerings bowl.
"My mother died when I was young. My father—" She paused. "He turned cold. Not grieving. Just… calculating. I became a face for his caravans. A symbol of trust. A girl with pretty smiles and soft eyes. Behind closed doors, I was taught politics, coin, manipulation. Never affection. Never comfort."
Wuyin listened.
"There were days I felt like a porcelain doll. Too perfect to be touched. Too empty to be real. I used to look at my reflection and wonder… if the person in the mirror was really me. Or just something painted to please."
She laughed, bitter and soft. "You were a weapon. I was a decoration."
Wuyin's hand reached out slowly, brushing her knuckles against Yujin's knee.
"You're neither now," she said.
Yujin looked at her.
"You're not a tool. Not a doll. You're stubborn. You're clever. You're annoying."
Yujin blinked.
"And you're mine," Wuyin finished, voice softer than the wind.
The silence that followed was a little too long.
Then Yujin looked away, biting back the tremble at the edge of her mouth.
"I hate how easily you make me feel things," she muttered.
"I know," Wuyin said. "That's why I keep doing it."
They rested a while at the shrine, sharing silence and dried tea leaves. When they rose again, something between them had shifted—like a knot coming loose. Not fully undone. But eased.
—
By nightfall, they reached the outskirts of the southern marshes—an expanse of tangled water paths and half-sunken trees. The map Yujin carried showed an old supply route once used by traveling merchants, now abandoned due to bandit raids and beast-infested paths.
"This is the fastest way to cross into the northern river provinces," Yujin said, tying her hair up as they prepared the raft.
"I don't like it," Wuyin replied, scanning the shadowed reeds. "Too many places to hide. Too few to run."
Yujin smirked. "Didn't you grow up in a forest?"
"I grew up killing people in forests," Wuyin corrected. "That's different."
As they drifted into the water maze, silence settled thick over the world. The only sounds were the drip of oars and the distant cry of swamp birds.
It was in that quiet that Wuyin felt it.
A presence.
Not Qi. Not quite spiritual either.
A weight.
She rose slowly, sword in hand.
The water near them rippled.
Yujin tensed. "What is it?"
"Don't speak," Wuyin murmured. "Just… listen."
Then came the sound. Faint. Whispering. Like laughter from deep underwater.
And then, eyes—glowing softly beneath the raft.
A spirit beast.
But one unlike Wuyin had ever seen.
From the black water, it rose—a creature shaped like a snake, with antlers of coral and a mane of river-light. Ancient. Elegant. Not hostile. But watching.
"It's not attacking," Yujin whispered.
"No," Wuyin agreed. "It's waiting."
The creature's gaze met hers, and Wuyin suddenly saw—visions not her own. A broken sword buried under a drowned tree. A child's hand reaching through mud. A single word etched into stone.
Remember.
The same echo as the one in her dreams.
She gasped.
And the creature vanished, its form swallowed by water.
Yujin reached for her. "What did you see?"
Wuyin's hands trembled. "A memory. Not mine. Not the original girl's either."
Yujin's brow furrowed. "Then whose?"
Wuyin's gaze was distant.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But someone doesn't want me to forget."
—
Far above, in the highlands of Jiangzhou, beneath the halls of the Ghost Needle Sect, a message was delivered to a silent hall.
A man with needles for eyes unrolled the scroll.
Two names inked in blood.
Lin Wuyin. Bai Yujin.
Below them, a simple command:
Retrieve the girl. Kill the vagrant.