Qingxue
The steel of her sword had always been enough. Every trial, every wound, every battlefield — all she needed was her blade and the discipline that bound it to her hand. But discipline could not erase what she had seen.
Hei Long's lips on Yuran's.
She replayed it again and again, each repetition sharper, crueler, until the blood from her clenched fist began dripping onto the tiles of her room. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cut the world in half. Instead, she sat alone in the dark, her reflection staring back at her from the blade across her lap.
"I will not lose," she whispered, her voice steady even as her chest burned. "Not to her. Not to anyone."
The night gave no answer, but her sword gleamed as if it understood.
Yexin
For Yexin, it was not pain. Not yet. It was fury wrapped in laughter.
