ZE LU JIN (萴露瑾)

  Day 9, 5th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  Jin. Time to wake up.

  Shut up.

  You want to argue? Don’t you want to look at your darling daughter?

  A girl sat in the opposing cell.

  Under the faint light, her skin glistened: pale, near translucent. Like she’d never been touched by the sun. Smooth and pearly. As fresh as a newborn.

  What evil magic.

  I watched as they dragged her out.

  Watched as they dragged her back, as an unrecognisable mound of flesh.

  They dumped her carcass into the straw.

  Then the ritual began.

  They crowded her, right arms extended and palms facing her as they converged their magic. A glow, soft at first, then burning bright. Like starlight leaking from her broken ribs.

  They forced her bone to reform. Restitched her mangled flesh like woven fabric. Cleared the pool of blood from beneath her.

  Until everything was back to normal.

  As if everything had been some sick dream.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  As if the pain had never been real.

  Then they waited for her to stir. For her to awaken in disbelief.

  Only to drag her out and start again.

  What evil magic.

  The girl twitched violently against the rock wall, arms wrapping tighter around her frame. Her teeth bared, face twisted. Not in rage, not in defiance. Something else. Something worse.

  Su Tang.

  That was her name.

  She was meant to be Little Socks.

  Wasn’t that right?

  Smooth, chestnut hair like mine.

  Amethyst eyes like mine.

  Silver speckles hidden in her irises.

  You knew someone who had chestnut hair and eyes of amethyst sprinkled with silver slivers.

  You knew her.

  No. No I didn’t.

  Little Socks didn’t have chestnut hair like mine. She had that cursed flame-red mess, always tangled, always in her mouth. She’d inherited that from her father, and I always said so.

  Little Socks didn’t have amethyst eyes like mine. Hers were cold. So pale they turned the air around her brittle.

  Curse that girl. Those smiles. That hair. Those eyes. All of it screamed someone else’s name.

  Who was it?

  You know who.

  Say it.

  Say it.

  Say. It.

  I called her Little Socks, didn’t I?

  No.

  You were right to stab her. You were right. She’s a liar. A pretty little liar in a skin that doesn’t belong to her.

  They’re all gone.

  ***

  There was another girl who always walked around.

  She scarcely smiled.

  Many times, I’d seen her shadow pass; draped in that scarlet linen uniform, the one reserved for high attendants. Her sun-darkened hair was pulled taut into a high bun, stabbed through by a single silver comb. Always silent. Always with her head bowed. A blood-red silk veil hung from her face, swaying with her steps like an omen.

  A maidservant to the Empress of Taishan.

  She never looked up. Not once.

  Until the day I stabbed the liar.

  That was the first time I saw her face.

  Her eyes—crystal blue.

  Too bright. Too calm.

  A few loose threads had escaped her bun, fine strands brushing her forehead in deliberate disorder. The red glinted under the torchlight, forming a sharp widow’s peak that poured down into her fringe like a cut vein.

  I thought I imagined it.

  The colour. The face. The shape of it.

  My mind plays such tricks, after all.

  Red.

  Red.

  Red.

  Ze Lujin, she looks nothing like you. Are you sure she’s yours?

  What strange red hair. So vulgar. So loud.

  When she grows up, she could dye it.

  Ah.

  Yes.

  When she grows up.