The courtyard was packed.
Nobles in silk. Elders on raised daises. Servants craning from rooftops. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
This was the Trial of the Five Flames — a test for young alchemists to refine the Basic Qi Reinforcement Pill, a simple formula meant for beginners.
But everyone knew the truth.
It wasn't about skill.
It was about status.
And today, the stage belonged to Lin Rui — my cousin, Level 6 cultivator, golden child of the Lin family.
He stood at the central furnace, smirking, adjusting his jade-tasseled sash.
"Poor Xiyue," he said loud enough for all to hear. "At least she's not here to embarrass herself."
Laughter rippled.
I stepped forward.
"I am."
Silence.
Every head turned.
I wore plain gray robes — no embroidery, no insignia. My hair was tied back with a strip of black cloth. No makeup. No aura. Just presence.
Elder Mo stood. "You have no flame core. You cannot participate."
"I don't need one," I said. "I'll use Ashvine Root."
Gasps.
Ashvine? A weed pulled from ditches. Worthless. Useless.
Even beginners didn't use it.
Lin Rui laughed. "She's not here to compete. She's here to beg for attention."
I didn't look at him.
I walked to the empty station.
Placed the root on the table.
The Head Examiner, Master Fen, frowned. "You may observe. But if you waste ingredients, you'll be punished."
"I won't waste anything," I said.
"I'll only use one herb.
And I'll finish first."
Laughter erupted.
Even the servants snickered.
Only one person didn't laugh.
A man in blue and silver robes stood at the far gate, half-hidden in shadow.
Tall. Still.
One eye covered by a blindfold of moonstone.
The other — pale, sharp, seeing.
Murong Yan.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
But his gaze locked onto me like a blade finding its mark.
I held it.
And smiled.
The timer began.
Fire roared.
Everyone rushed — grinding herbs, adjusting flames, chanting formulas.
Lin Rui worked fast, confident.
His pill glowed a healthy gold — standard, but impressive for his age.
I did nothing.
I stood.
Watched.
Waited.
Until the final three minutes.
Then I moved.
No frantic grinding.
No desperate chanting.
Just calm, precise motion.
I crushed the Ashvine Root with my pestle — not into powder, but into juice.
Added three drops of my blood — drawn from a needle hidden in my sleeve.
Poured it into the cauldron.
And whispered:
"By venom's breath, by shadow's name,
let the silent flame arise."
The fire didn't turn red.
It turned black.
Not with smoke.
Not with ash.
With living darkness that coiled like a serpent.
Master Fen staggered back. "That's… that's Forbidden Alchemy! The Black Flame Invocation!"
I didn't flinch.
I stirred.
And from the cauldron, a single pill rose — obsidian, pulsing like a heart.
Not golden.
Not white.
Not even red.
Black.
And in the center — a single red dot, like a watching eye.
I lifted it.
The courtyard was silent.
Even Lin Rui looked afraid.
"This isn't a Qi Reinforcement Pill," I said, voice clear, cold.
"It's a Soul Mirror Pill.
Take it… and see the truth of your own heart."
I turned to Lin Rui.
"Would you like to go first?"
He backed away. "Witchcraft! She's using demonic arts!"
"Or," I said, "she's using knowledge you erased."
I looked at Elder Mo.
"At your orders."
Elder Mo's face darkened. "Seize her! That formula was banned three centuries ago!"
Guards moved.
But before they could reach me —
a voice cut through the air.
Cold.
Calm.
Final.
"Stop."
Everyone froze.
Murong Yan stepped forward.
The crowd parted like water.
He didn't look at the guards.
Didn't look at Elder Mo.
He looked at me.
And for the first time, he spoke.
"That formula hasn't been seen in three hundred years.
The Black Flame Invocation…
belongs to the Poison Queens."
His pale eye narrowed.
"Who are you?"
I held up the pill.
And smiled.
"The one you killed seven times.
And the one who keeps coming back."
I took a step toward him.
"Tell me, Crown Prince —
do you serve the Azure Sect…
or do you serve the truth?"
His expression didn't change.
But his hand clenched.
And in that silence —
the entire world held its breath.
Author Note:
They say the truth sets you free.
But in this world, the truth gets you killed.
Good thing I stopped caring about living.
— Gopalakrishna