Snow crackled beneath her hurried steps, the sound too sharp, too loud in the suffocating silence.
The moment Wenlan arrived in front of Ling Yuan's main gate, she froze.
Blood.
It stained the pristine snow in cruel scarlet streaks, seeping into the frost like ink spilled upon untouched paper.
Yuebao was already there, his body curled tightly around Xiao Zhu, his silver form tense, unmoving, as though sheer presence alone could guard her from slipping further away.
But Xiao Zhu was fading.
Her pearl mark had dimmed to a faint glow. Her small frame rested against Yuebao's side like a broken porcelain doll, fragile and fading.
Wenlan's heart tightened.
She quickly knelt, pressing her fingertips to Xiao Zhu's wrist, her brow, the hollow of her throat, each touch careful, desperate.
Each pulse was shallow. Each breath barely there.
This wasn't merely poison.
It was worse: a spell crafted not to kill instantly, but to erode, to burrow deep within her soul, corroding her essence little by little.
A soul-poisoning curse.
Unforgivable.
Wenlan clenched her jaw. Now wasn't the time to grieve or rage. She had to move quickly.
She had to act fast.
Without hesitation, she uncorked a jade vial and tilted a single drop of golden essence to Xiao Zhu's lips. The tonic glowed faintly, reacting to her blood as it slipped past her tongue. A soft shimmer passed through her veins, patching ruptured channels, sealing the worst of the bleeding.
The spell stabilized.
But the curse remained.
Beneath the surface, Wenlan could feel it writhe, black tendrils coiling through Xiao Zhu's spirit, gnawing at her soul.
Without a word, she flicked her wrist, calling forth earth spirits from the snow. They rose in gentle silence, forming around Xiao Zhu's body like mournful guardians. Together, they lifted her with reverent care.
Wenlan led the way through the barrier. Yuebao followed close behind, his golden eyes never leaving Xiao Zhu.
The barrier sealed shut behind them with a soft hum.
As they rushed toward Qinghui Courtyard, something gnawed at Wenlan.
How had Xiao Zhu passed the barrier?
Mo Chen had crafted it himself, meant to be impenetrable. Only trusted individuals could pass through. Even the moon fox could not cross without her.
And yet, Xiao Zhu had passed through it as if it were nothing.
Something wasn't right.
But Wenlan couldn't afford to dwell on that now.
She needed to stabilize the poison, which, even now, was corroding Xiao Zhu's soul.
Inside Qinghui Courtyard, Wenlan laid Xiao Zhu gently on the bed. She scattered talismans across the mattress, some for warmth, others for protection. Then, she placed a jade crystal at each corner to anchor the girl's spirit.
Yuebao curled up beside her without a sound, his silver tails wrapping protectively around her like a shield against the void.
Without wasting any more time, Wenlan pressed her palm against Xiao Zhu's chest, closing her eyes, summoning ancient energy, a sealing spell meant to halt the poison's spread.
Her voice dipped into a murmur, each syllable woven with celestial weight, pulling at the threads of Xiao Zhu's unraveling spirit, binding them together before the curse could tear her apart completely.
Hours passed. Her voice never faltered, though sweat beaded on her brow. Only when the curse quieted, when Xiao Zhu's breath deepened by a fraction, did she finally release the spell.
Xiao Zhu was out of immediate danger.
For now.
But if they couldn't find a cure soon, her soul would continue to erode until there was nothing left.
Wenlan sat motionless, her eyes trained on Xiao Zhu's fragile, pale figure, her breaths steady yet unbearably shallow.
She looked at Yuebao.
The moon fox had not moved. His head rested beside Xiao Zhu's hand. His ears twitched with every shallow breath she took. Occasionally, he let out the softest whimper.
Wenlan let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against her temple.
She needed to decide.
Should she send word to Mo Chen?
Should she risk his distraction, pull him from war, where thousands depended on his strength?
This war was too important.
If Mo Chen faltered, even for a moment, it could cost not just his life, but the lives of countless others.
And yet...
Would he ever forgive her if Xiao Zhu died while he was gone?
Could she forgive herself?
Wenlan closed her eyes, trembling.
Then her gaze returned to Xiao Zhu, the girl she had guided, protected, and grown to love as her own.
Xiao Zhu's small, fragile breaths filled the silence, each one feeling too light, too uncertain, like she was slipping from the world one heartbeat at a time.
Her throat tightened.
Her hands curled into fists, tremors running down her fingertips.
She had spent centuries mastering control, knowing when to act, when to stay composed.
Yet now, she was drowning in uncertainty.
Her gaze lingered on Xiao Zhu's face, still as delicate and beautiful as ever, even as her body fought to hold on.
Tears pricked at the corners of Wenlan's eyes, but she forced them back. Her voice, always steady, always serene, shook as she reached out and brushed back a strand of Xiao Zhu's hair.
"Hold on, my dear," she whispered. "We will save you. I swear it."
Her voice broke, so soft, so raw, barely above a breath.
Xiao Zhu drifted in a vast, endless void, her bare feet touching water that rippled with every uncertain step.
But there was no warmth, no light.
Just darkness. Just silence.
She called out.
"Master...?"
Her voice was small, trembling.
"Yanxia? Wenlan? Yuebao?"
But the void devoured her words.
No answer came. Not even an echo.
"Where are you..." she whispered, but the words dissolved as if the air refused to carry them.
She wandered endlessly, aimlessly, time stretching and folding over itself until she forgot when she had begun walking at all.
Had it been minutes? Hours? Lifetimes?
Her limbs grew heavier, her heart slower, her spirit dimmer.
Until...
A voice.
Soft. Gentle as an autumn breeze, woven with something achingly familiar.
"Poor child. My child."
Xiao Zhu halted, her breath catching.
A pale light flickered in the distance, dim at first, then swelling, swirling like a memory waking from slumber.
From the light, a figure began to form, slowly, gracefully, like moonlight diffusing through water. Her outline shimmered, cloaked in veils of mist and ocean blue, but soon, the fog peeled away to reveal her fully.
A woman.
She wore an ethereal gown woven from moonlight and silver thread, the fabric flowing like mist around her slender frame. Delicate white blossoms bloomed on her sleeves and hem, glowing softly like drifting petals caught in a dream.
Upon her forehead, barely visible beneath the radiance surrounding her, was a faint mark, ancient and divine, the emblem of a race older than time itself. Her hair cascaded like silver rivers, luminous and flowing, eerily similar to Lord Xingyao's. Yet her features...
They mirrored Xiao Zhu's own.
A strange, aching weight pressed against her chest.
She did not know this woman.
And yet she did.
"Where am I?" Xiao Zhu whispered.
"And who... are you?"
The woman stepped forward slowly, her voice, when she spoke again, was soft and unbearably sad.
"You are in your sea of consciousness, my dear."
Then, with the lightest touch, she brushed her fingers against Xiao Zhu's cheek, delicate, infinitely tender.
"I didn't want to appear to you this way."
Her smile was gentle, but filled with endless sorrow.
"But I had no choice."
Xiao Zhu's throat tightened.
"Why?" she asked. "Why now?"
The woman hesitated, her voice a hush against the dark.
"Because... you are dying."
The words struck like a bell in a frozen temple.
Xiao Zhu didn't move. Couldn't.
Time seemed to stretch into silence until the woman spoke again, her voice threaded with fragile warmth.
"You carry what's left of us," she said. "Our bloodline... older than the heavens, older than stars. I hid you where no one could find you, not even the gods. It was the only way I knew how to keep you safe."
Her voice caught.
"But fate... fate still led you here."
Xiao Zhu looked up slowly. Her eyes shone, too wide, too wet, reflecting the endless void around her.
Her lips parted, but the words barely escaped, trembling like something fragile, hesitant, afraid to be real.
"Are you... my mother?"
The woman's gaze flickered.
And in it, grief, joy, heartbreak, braided into one.