The scrolls lay scattered before her, ancient and brittle, their edges fraying with time. The characters on them, blurred before her tired eyes. Shuo Jin had ordered her to study these martial arts scrolls—something about hidden techniques long forgotten—but Anchhi could barely keep her focus. Her mind wandered to other places, other memories that seemed to loom just beyond her reach.
The soft flicker of candlelight played tricks on her vision, and before she knew it, her eyelids grew heavy. The weariness overtook her, pulling her into an uneasy sleep. The study room dimmed, the warmth of the fire lulling her. And then, in the depths of her mind, the past returned.
Anchhi found herself standing at the cliff once more. The same dark woods, the same suffocating silence, and the same sickening sense of dread that clung to her skin like a second layer. The scene unfolded before her as it had that unfateful day—the brutal torture, the cries of her brother, Jiang, his voice so weak yet seared into her memory.
"Jiang…" her voice cracked as she relived the horror.
The men—their cruel laughter, the crack of the whip, and the sting of the needle—everything was so vivid. Anchhi could feel the pain again, the suffocating helplessness, and the unimaginable strength that had surged through her, pushing her to fight back. It was as if something else had taken over, an untapped power she hadn't known existed.
She had survived, but at what cost? Someone tried to assassinate her brother and she had been branded a traitor. Her father had been executed. Her family's noble name had been torn to pieces.
But something had always been missing from her understanding of that day. And now, standing in the thick of the nightmare again, watching it unfold like a haunting play, Anchhi saw it more clearly. Jiang, her cousin, had not been tortured by ordinary men—they had been skilled assassins, their faces masked, their methods too precise for common thugs. And whoever had hired them had made sure she would take the fall.
Who did this?
Anchhi jerked awake, her eyes flying open to the dim light of the study room. For a moment, she was disoriented. The air was colder, and as she blinked and tried to steady her breathing, she noticed the snow outside. It had begun to fall softly, blanketing the courtyard in a serene layer of white.
But her mind was far from serene. Her pulse still raced from the dream—or rather, the memory. She stood and moved toward the window, her breath fogging the glass as she watched the snowflakes drift lazily downward.
Her reflection stared back at her, and for the first time in a long time, she saw not just the girl who had lost everything but a woman burning with questions, with rage.
How had I survived that day? Anchhi wondered. The strength she had felt, the power coursing through her—it wasn't something she had known was inside her. It was something more, something beyond her. But more than that, why had Jiang been targeted in the first place? What had he been involved in? And who had set her up?
Her thoughts twisted into knots as the gravity of her realizations sank deeper. The truth had been hidden from her for months. She had never truly questioned it before, too consumed with her family's downfall and her own survival. But now, as the details resurfaced with clarity, she felt a burning desire to know the truth, to expose whoever had done this to her.
Whoever did this... Anchhi's fingers tightened around the window frame, her knuckles white. I will never forgive them.
A new sense of purpose filled her chest, like a flame roaring to life after being smothered for too long. Revenge. She had never thought herself capable of such raw emotion, but the rage that now coursed through her veins was undeniable. She had been wronged. Her family had been destroyed because of a crime she hadn't committed. Someone had manipulated everything from the shadows, and she swore to herself, standing there in the snow-draped silence, that she would find out who.
"I will avenge you, father," Anchhi whispered, her breath barely a wisp of fog against the cold glass.
Just then, a voice pulled her sharply out of her thoughts.
"Fallen asleep on duty, haven't you?" Shuo Jin's deep voice carried through the room.
Anchhi spun around, startled, her heart still racing. Shuo Jin stood at the door, his arms crossed over his chest, a half-smile playing on his lips. He stepped into the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor as he approached her.
"You were supposed to be studying," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as they fell on the scattered scrolls. "Not dreaming of whatever it is that keeps distracting you."
She flushed, heat rising to her cheeks as she tried to compose herself. "I wasn't distracted," she shot back, though her voice betrayed her. "Just… tired."
"Tired, sure. Falling asleep in the middle of a lesson is definitely a sign of focus and diligence," he teased, raising an eyebrow.
Anchhi scowled, brushing past him to return to the scrolls. "You have no idea what I was thinking."
"Oh?" His tone shifted, curiosity piqued. "Then enlighten me, Fei Jia. What exactly were you dreaming about that was so important?"
She hesitated. She could feel his gaze boring into her, sharp and unyielding as always, but this time, she didn't want to banter back. The weight of her dream, her memories, still hung heavy on her heart.
"Do you remember the attempted assassination of the Fourth Prince… my cousin brother, Jiang?" Her voice was softer now. She couldn't shake the images, the questions.
At the mention of Jiang's name, his expression faltered, barely for a second, but it was enough to unsettle him. His eyes darkened, and though his demeanor remained casual, something deeper flickered in his gaze—a shadow he quickly buried beneath.
"I do," Shuo Jin replied evenly, though his voice had taken on a careful tone. "Why are you asking about that now?"
Anchhi met his gaze, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed forward. "I've been thinking about it. About what really happened. And I want to know… has there been any new information about who was behind it?"
His chest tightened. Her words, so innocent on the surface, cut into him like a blade. Of course, he knew who had ordered Jiang's assassination. He knew because it had been him—the Master of the Underworld, the one no one suspected. The truth lurked in the shadows of his mind, where no light ever touched.
Shuo Jin had manipulated everything. And yet, as he stood before her now, watching her struggle to understand a reality she had been blind to for so long, he felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt.
"It's well known that the attack was carried out by a group of assassins from the underworld," he said quietly. "Dangerous, highly skilled. The kind who leave no trace."
His words came out effortlessly, but inside, his mind raced. Anchhi was dangerously close to digging too deep. The last thing he needed was for her to start asking questions he couldn't answer without unraveling everything.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She had heard of these assassins before, from Shoumen, but she had never known the full truth. "Underworld assassins…" she repeated. "I… I was framed by them. They made me a scapegoat."
"They needed someone to take the fall. Your family became their scapegoat."
His jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel the full weight of her words. Anchhi had no idea that the man she was speaking to, the one standing so close to her now, was the very person responsible for her ruin.