The night sky bled.
The moon—usually pale and cold—burned deep crimson, casting the mountains in a sickly glow. Snow, normally pristine, looked like a sheet of frozen gore beneath the red light. Mo Lianyin stood at the highest ridge of the Broken Peaks, her black robes snapping in the wind like torn wings.
The world below was silent. Too silent.
She could feel it—the absence of life. The peaks were normally haunted by night-beasts, their cries echoing in the dark, but tonight, not even the wind dared to howl. The only sound was the faint hum of the Seven Forbidden Arts pulsing through her meridians, restless and hungry.
A shadow flickered in the corner of her vision.
"You've finally come," Lianyin said without turning, her voice calm but edged.
From the darkness between jagged stones emerged a figure, tall and cloaked in robes the color of drying blood. His face was hidden beneath a bone mask carved into the likeness of a snarling demon.
"You speak as if you were waiting for me," the man said, his tone slow and mocking. "Tell me, Mo Lianyin… do you welcome death?"
The Forbidden Arts stirred again, and she felt the ancient seal within her dantian throb painfully.
"Death?" She let out a quiet laugh. "You overestimate yourself."
The masked man's hand twitched, and in an instant, the snow around them erupted. Spears of ice shot upward, each one tipped with flickering red flames—the Blood-Fire Ice Technique, a hybrid art long thought extinct.
Lianyin moved before they could pierce her. The world blurred as she channeled the Third Forbidden Art – Shadow Step Beyond the Veil. Her figure split into a dozen afterimages, each one scattering across the ridge, vanishing into the red mist.
"You've mastered it," the man said approvingly. "But tell me—" He suddenly appeared behind her, his blade arcing toward her neck. "—have you mastered killing?"
Steel met steel. Sparks exploded between them.
The impact sent Lianyin skidding backward, her boots carving deep trenches in the frozen stone. Her opponent's strength was monstrous—comparable to the elders of the Five Immortal Sects. But his strikes… they were familiar.
Too familiar.
"Who taught you that sword form?" she asked coldly.
The masked man tilted his head. "Why ask a question you already know the answer to?"
A pang of realization stabbed through her. The Reaping Moon Sword Form—it was the very technique her master had used, the one only passed to the sect's heir.
But her master was dead.
"Impossible…" she whispered.
The man's chuckle was deep and resonant. "Do you still believe the dead stay in their graves, Lianyin?"
The moon above flared brighter, the crimson deepening until it was almost black. The mountain groaned, and fissures split open, releasing streams of molten light. The Blood Moon's influence was awakening the dormant formation buried beneath the peaks—an ancient killing array designed to annihilate sects in one sweep.
Her opponent stepped forward, the heat of the array making the air shimmer around him.
"Tonight, the Broken Peaks will become your tomb," he said. "And the Forbidden Arts will die with you."
The Arts within her responded violently, coiling like serpents, whispering promises of overwhelming strength… if she let them take more than just her spiritual energy.
If she let them take her humanity.
The Third Forbidden Art pulsed again, but this time it wasn't alone. The Fifth Forbidden Art – Soul-Rend Invocation pushed against the seal, urging her to call it forth. If she did, she could destroy him. Destroy the array.
But the Fifth Art demanded a price—her soul would fracture, scattering pieces into the void.
She closed her eyes.
She thought of the betrayals, the faces that had smiled at her while holding blades behind their backs. She thought of the night her sect burned. She thought of the moment she realized no one was coming to save her.
When her eyes opened, they glowed with a light that didn't belong to mortals.
"If the peaks become my tomb," she said softly, "then I will make sure your bones are buried beneath mine."
The Fifth Art surged.
Her blade erupted with black fire, its edge whispering in the voices of a thousand restless spirits. She moved—and the world seemed to stop. Snow hung suspended in the air, flames froze mid-flicker, and her opponent's stance faltered for the first time.
The killing stroke descended.
But before it landed, the Blood Moon shattered.
Not in light—no, it broke like glass, jagged shards of crimson tumbling through the sky. The land convulsed as the ancient array collapsed, releasing a shockwave that hurled both combatants across the ridge.
Lianyin crashed against the mountainside, her vision going white from the impact. Her body screamed in protest, but she forced herself up, searching for the masked man.
He was gone.
Only the faint imprint of his boots in the snow remained… and a single fragment of the bone mask, cracked down the middle.
Lianyin picked it up, her fingers tightening around the jagged edge until blood dripped between them.
The night had grown darker now that the Blood Moon was gone, but she knew—
This was only the first time she would face him.
And next time, one of them would not walk away.