Xu had lived in the Zhao Manor long enough to feel as though her years had been stitched into the very beams of the old house. She had come as a small girl, barely tall enough to carry a teapot without stumbling, and since then had drifted from one post to another like a wandering leaf in the wind.
At first, she worked among the chefs. Her hands, deft and steady, brought out flavors so pure and fragrant that even the visiting elders once nodded their heads in approval. That alone should have been harmless, but in Zhao Manor, talents that drew too much attention were like sparks falling in a dry forest. Yue, the second daughter, with her perfect image and need for all eyes to rest on her, had thrown a tantrum so violent that Xu was promptly removed from the kitchens.
Her next post placed her in the service of the eldest daughter, Mei. Unlike Yue, Mei was fair and restrained, her eyes often buried in scrolls, her days measured in the turning of pages rather than the turning of heads. Xu carried for her tomes so heavy that even young men of the manor muttered under their breath at the sight, yet never once did Xu falter. Mei, soft-spoken as she was, praised Xu's diligence, saying that such steadiness was rare in a world where even servants schemed for higher favor.
But such peace never lasted. Yue's jealousy was like a tide—relentless, returning again and again. During Mei's absence at the Spirit Healing exam, Xu was suddenly accused of theft. The charges were baseless, the evidence laughable, but in the politics of Zhao Manor, truth often bent to favor.
That day, Xu's place in the manor nearly vanished. Her name was dragged through the mud in front of both parents and daughters, Yue's lips curved in cruel satisfaction. Yet, when the silence of judgment pressed in like a heavy shroud, it was Zhao Lian—mischievous, often overlooked, but sharp as the edge of a blade—who stood.
Her words had cut through the accusations:
"You shall not always shine. Because she does her work doesn't give you the right to belittle her. I'll take her, if you don't value a good gift."
The air had shifted in that moment. For Xu, who had stood trembling at the brink of disgrace, it was as if a hand had reached into the abyss to pull her back. When Lian later asked softly, almost casually, "Will you serve me?" there had been no hesitation. Xu's bow had been low, her voice steady. "Yes, Mistress."
And so began their bond. A year they spent together, mistress and maid, weaving a quiet loyalty that could not be seen by outsiders but was etched deeply into Xu's heart. Lian, for all her mischief, was kind in ways the others were not. She allowed Xu to speak, to laugh, to exist without fear of Yue's shadow.
Then came the sickness, and with it, Xu's temporary transfer to Yue's endless train of servants. When she returned from a long errand in the outer villages, it was to a scene of upheaval—the infamous embroidery party, where Zhao Lian's wit had sliced through the family's favoritism, exposing the Zhao household's cracks before the village chief and his sons. Xu had stood at the edges that day, chest swelling with pride. That was her mistress, unafraid, unbending.
From then on, her loyalty was sealed in blood and bone. She had pledged it openly: to follow Lian, to serve her, to protect her.
And yet… now, watching her mistress these past days, Xu could not deny that something had shifted.
The previous Zhao Lian had been like a playful breeze—restless, mischief always on her tongue, but humble before her parents, never daring to defy too strongly. She would tease, yes, but bow her head when the moment demanded.
The current Zhao Lian, however, was something else entirely. Like a hidden fire awakened, she burned with sudden unpredictability. At times, she was laughter and mischief, yes—but beneath it, there was steel. She moved with the reckless boldness of someone unafraid to topple the very pillars of the household if they tried to cage her.
A mischievous explosion, Xu thought privately. A sleeping dragon that had finally stirred.
The servants whispered about possession. The elders whispered about ill omens. But Xu, standing silently at her mistress's side, knew better. She had seen the faint flickers of weariness in Lian's eyes when no one else looked. She had caught the whispers muttered under her breath to someone unseen.
Something had happened the day her mistress fainted. The girl who had risen from that bed was not the same as the one who had collapsed upon it.
And yet—did that change Xu's loyalty? No. If anything, it deepened it.
For Xu was not a woman who bent her vows to convenience. She had been saved once from ruin, and she would repay that debt until her last breath. If her mistress had become fire, then Xu would become the shield that held back the world's water. If Lian had become unreadable mischief, then Xu would become the silent anchor at her side.
Pride filled her chest where others only felt fear. This is my mistress, she thought as she watched Zhao Lian laugh at the chaos she herself created. Let the world misunderstand her—I will not.
And in that quiet certainty, Xu's eyes shone. She would protect Zhao Lian, no matter what storm this new life brought.
---
Back at the Chaos of Doom Heaven.
The air was thick—so thick that even the smallest breath felt like swallowing fire and ash. Shadows slithered across the jagged black walls of the cavernous pit where Dark Lava roiled and hissed, each bubble releasing a whisper that sounded almost human. Rows upon rows of demons stood in eerie silence, their crimson eyes flickering like dying embers as they gazed upon the molten abyss before them.
Mist—dark, sentient, and pulsing with malevolence—coiled through the assembly like smoke from a thousand cursed candles. Every breath carried the taste of brimstone and blood.
At the front of the gathered horde stood a figure both beautiful and wicked: the Seductress of the Abyss. Her robe—a revealing hanfu spun from black silk and dripping in demonic energy—clung to her form as though it were alive. Her lips curled into a languid, dangerous smile as she traced her finger through the air, gathering threads of hellfire that danced to her whim.
Beside her stood the Sea Demon, his scaled arms crossed, each movement causing ripples of dark energy to shimmer across his skin like reflections from a cursed ocean. A serpent-like tongue flicked from his lips as he glared toward the Dark Lava's center, his gills flaring in irritation.
Around them, the Snake Demon coiled her long body in restless anticipation, her golden eyes narrowing as the chains above the pit began to tremble. The entire chamber was a symphony of restrained chaos—the groaning metal, the beating of demonic wings, the low hum of ancient power beneath their feet.
The Dark Lava itself was bound by colossal chains of blackened metal, forged from divine iron stolen from the heavens themselves. Each link glowed faintly red, like a heartbeat struggling against its bonds. Deep within, something stirred.
The Seductress tilted her head, her voice a silken whisper.
"Ten thousand years of silence… and still he moves."
The Sea Demon sneered, his voice guttural and deep, like waves crashing against stone.
"I heard the Dragon Melody has returned."
A flicker of disgust passed through the crowd. The Snake Demon's tail lashed.
"That cursed melody again? Then the Saintess's soul must have survived."
"She must not return," the Sea Demon growled. "If the Saintess lives, she'll finish what her dragon bloodline began."
The Seductress smirked, lifting her hand to her lips. Her long nails glimmered with crimson flame as she whispered,
"Then let her come. Let her watch the world burn as her light dies once more."
The pit shuddered violently. A roar—ancient and world-breaking—echoed from within the Dark Lava. Molten waves crashed against the chains, sending showers of sparks into the air. Cracks began to spread across the obsidian surface, thin as hairlines at first, but growing wider, deeper… alive.
The demons fell to their knees, their power trembling beneath the sheer presence awakening beneath them. The Snake Demon hissed, unable to look away.
"It's him… the Grandmaster of Chaos…"
The Seductress's smile deepened. Her eyes glowed red as her voice dripped with reverence and sin.
"After ten thousand years… the true master of this realm awakens."
A heartbeat—slow and thunderous—echoed through the depths. The air split. The lava blazed white-hot, and the world seemed to inhale.
Then came the first crack.
A single, thunderous snap as one of the divine chains split in two.
The Dark Lava shimmered, boiling with light and shadow alike. Within it, a faint outline of a man—ancient, dreadful, and divine—stirred as if waking from an eternal dream.
The Grandmaster of Chaos was awakening
Ten thousand years ago, the Grandmaster of Chaos had risen, his shadow blotting out the sun, his laughter bringing kingdoms to ruin. He had brought calamity upon the realms, threatening balance, destiny, and every thread of existence itself. For over a thousand years, the world trembled under his hand, until the Dragon Saintess appeared. With the last of her divine strength, she had bound him—sealed him into this Dark Lava at the cost of her life.
And now, after a thousand years of silence, the prison groaned with his return.
The fissures spread wider. A faint, rumbling growl echoed from within, vibrating through the chains. The demons shivered—not from fear, but from exhilaration.
The Grandmaster was awakening.