Ying knelt on the cold floor of Diyu Palace, her breathing shallow, her pulse a frantic drumbeat. A crackle shattered the silence as the orange glow of a whip soared through the darkness, illuminating the room for a fleeting moment and struck her cheek, then vanished, leaving only the sharp hiss of dying flames behind, and a searing pain that burrowed deep into her bones.
He was furious...
But she didn't cry out. She steadied her breathing. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. With every ounce of willpower, she stifled the pain.
"You can change your appearance, but you can't hide that demon stench from me," Mao Zhen spoke.
Ying stayed silent; her concentration fixed on the empty throne obscured behind a veil of curtains. Where was he?
"Give me the Duke's children," Mao Zhen said. "With the boy's hellfire, the primordial beast will awaken, and I will burn Haoran to the ground."
Panic twisted in her chest at the mention of her children. "He's dead," Ying said. "He never drew a breath." She would not hand her children over—not now, never. The boy would be on his way to the Duke, and the girl... To be sent where Mao Zhen's hand would never reach.
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"And the girl?"
"She died two days after birth."
"Liar." He roared. "Then who is this?"
The fire whip lashed out, tearing through the mesh curtains. Ying's heart plummeted seeing what it coiled around—a small, trembling figure clad in the pink and white dress of a Dong Hai palace maid.
The twins' midwife.
"No!" Ying surged to her feet. Where were her children?
"The duke has taught you well," he said bitterly. "Lies come so easily to you now."
She had nothing left. Nearly all her demon force had gone into crafting the jade hairpin for the girl. Without the midwife, her children's fate hung in uncertainty. Ying was out of options.
She would fight.
Defiance ignited the lingering remnants of demon force stirring within her. Crimson clouded her vision, and the night blazed with light. A low growl escaped her lips, raw and primal. Pain tore through her body as flesh ripped and bones twisted. White fur sprouted along her limbs, her body stretched and contorted as it reshaped itself. At last, nine tails unfurled behind her, rippling like a brewing storm.
Ying stood on all fours, the surviving matriarch of the Fox Spirt Clan. She let out another low growl and made for the throne.
"So, it's come to this..." Mao Zhen's icy voice seeped from the shadows. The silk curtains shifted as a cloud of black smoke pooled around the throne and the outline of a man appeared in the flickering light of the whip. "I brought you back here, thinking you'd see reason," he sneered. "That you'd return to avenge our clan. But no... You abandoned us for them."
The whip cracked. Ying snarled; that sound she hated it. She took a giant leap sideways just as it struck the spot where she'd stood—followed by another, and another.
Ying jumped and dodged, her eyes darting frantically as she tried to count. Eight—no, nine whips. He'd done it. He had taken on demonic power, embedded the whip core, and transformed his nine tails into living whips of hellfire.
What have you done to yourself, Mao Zhen? The thought burned heavily in Ying's mind.
Mao Zhen sent his whips furling through the air, relentlessly stabbing at Ying.
Her nine tails parried in defense, colliding with his in a furious battle. Sparks lit the desolate halls as tails and whips clashed, the sharp, ring of metal filled the corridor.
They fought on, though Ying had lost all sense of time. Exhaustion dragged at her limbs, her movements grew sluggish, her attacks faltered under Mao Zhen's relentless assault. She summoned any remnants of strength left, and lashed her tails in a desperate flurry, forcing the whips back briefly. Gasping for breath, she seized the opening and fled into the shadows.
"Stop before I kill your maid and turn every soul in Dong Hai palace to ash, starting with your duke."
"Consort, please..." the midwife's faint words came from somewhere in the hall.
Ying peeked out from behind one of the massive stone pillars. There she was... the midwife lay crumpled right outside the mesh of curtains. In her balled-up hands, Ying caught a glimpse of yellow paper.
Charms. Ying's pulse quickened. She's hiding them. Relief steadied her nerves. She must have created the charms to conceal the twins. That made her the only one who knew their location.
"Do not challenge me again!" He sent the whip back out and right into the midwife's chest.
"NOOOOO!" Ying locked eyes with the midwife, and dread sank into her gut. The boxes—the twins—could get lost forever if the midwife didn't release them.
"I'll stop..." Ying stepped into view. "Just—just don't kill her."
A flaming whip hoisted the midwife's frail body high above Ying. It hissed and crackled as it raced forward, dropping her lifeless form at Ying's feet. 'You did this,' he said.
The midwife struggled to speak. "Consort... I know it's you. Don't let him hurt the duke, and I'll release the boxes."
Ying swallowed the rage clawing at her throat. How could the midwife bargain with the lives of the duke's children to save him? The duke would not agree to such a trade. Yet she understood how deeply the midwife loved him, having raised him as if he were her own. The betrayal became a dagger twisting in her back. But with no other choice, Ying nodded.
A barely audible "Release..." escaped the midwife's lips.
As the word left her, a golden box shimmered into existence beside her, its intricate patterns glowing faintly in the dim hall.
No! Panic surged through her veins. The box wasn't supposed to appear here. She lunged for it, desperation propelling her forward, but before her jaw could even graze its surface. In a blur of flames, the whip wrapped around the box and yanked it away.
A torrent of hellfire poured from the whip into the midwife. Her screams were a harrowing sound that seemed to go on forever until the hall fell silent.
Ying stood frozen in terror, the acrid stench of charred flesh flooding her nostrils. What had once been her robust midwife was now a lifeless heap of ashes. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of dread. Fear gripped her—she couldn't bear the thought of being trapped here once more.
"Revert to your human form," Mao Zhen commanded.
The whip retracted, its once-orange tip now stained a deep crimson.
"Change back NOW! Or watch your son suffer the same fate. After that, I'll head to Dong Hai Palace. Do you think I can't create another child without you?"
Her lungs constricted as if the very life was being drained from her. The faces of those she cared for at Dong Hai Palace, and above all, her Duke raced through her mind—the twins...
A raw cry of anguish burst from her mouth. Ying shifted back into her human form, her body heaving from sweat. "Spare them," Ying finally could speak. "I've done what you wanted."
Another crackle sounded, and a razor-sharp tip pierced slightly above her armpit. "My lord." She keeled over, coughing up a mouthful of blood. He broke her heart meridian. She could never escape from here.
"Oh. You still know my name." Mao Zhen mocked.
"Yes, my lord." The words were poison in her mouth.
The whip curled away, only to plunge into her lung meridian. Pain exploded as blood spattered onto the stone.
"Do not FORGET my name again," the whip dug into Ying's shoulder. Then the smoky silhouette of a man solidified on the throne before her and the whips retracted.
With both her lung and heart meridians broken. Even when her demon force returned if blood and breath didn't flow freely throughout her meridians. She could not use it. Ying wouldn't see the duke again.
Her attention flicked to the golden box a few feet from the throne. She moved slower but continued on.
"It was me," her voice raspy. "I left. I seduced the duke." She was closer to the box now, her legs shaking under the weight of her injuries. "I—" her breath hitched, "It was all me." Now, she was only a foot away.
"SILENCE!" His voice imploded from inside the curtains. "I gave you everything! You were... you were" His words faltered. "But good has come from your betrayal. I have the boy and soon his hellfire."
The whip circled towards the box. Ying could barely breathe. When it cracked against the box. The last fragments of Ying's strength shattered, and she collapsed on all fours.
But to her surprise, the lid snapped open. A nest of black hair spilled out, framing the tiny face of a sleeping child.
"I sense no hellfire." Mao Zhen's whip coiled, its tip sharp as a blade, poised to strike. "Broken, like his mother."
Ying found what little strength remained and crawled towards Mao Zhen. "Please," her hand stretched towards him.
Mao Zhen's laugh filled the hall. "Your love for that mortal filth has blinded you. Look at the proud consort of the duke himself, now groveling at my feet."
Relief swept over her when she reached the box. Ying threw herself over her child. "He's not broken," she added quickly. "He's half mortal. His hellfire it won't... He won't have it until he's older."
Ying knew the boy possessed no hellfire, only the girl did, but she couldn't see him killed by Mao Zhen. "I'll stay. I'll do whatever you want. Just... don't hurt him."
"Prove it to me," he said. "Show me I can trust you again."
Ying's throat tightened as she raced for words... Anything to save her son. Then she forced the words out. "I'll marry you." This was why she had fled. She felt nothing for Mao Zhen—nothing but hatred.
Mao Zhen stepped from behind the curtains, his hardened eyes softening ever so slightly as he watched her. His gaze was calculating, unyielding. Slowly, the whip recoiled, retreating into obscurity. "Tao Tao!" he barked.
The doors creaked open, and a young woman entered, her bright, cheerful voice jarring against the suffocating tension in the great hall.
"Yes, master," Tao Tao said, kneeling beside Ying.
"Take the child and Ying back to her quarters. Give her the healing elixir," he ordered.
"Yes, master."
"If she runs this time–"
"She won't. I'll make sure of it, master." Tao Tao quickly picked up the box.
Ying stammered ahead unsteadily, heavy as stone with step by agonizing step, she followed Tao Tao towards the door.
They were almost out when Ying heard a sharp hiss. In an instant, the whip snaked around Tao Tao.
"Mao Zhen! Please!" Ying dropped to her knees, bowing so low her forehead tapped the stone floor. "I won't leave anymore."
The whip hovered, its tip flowing with hellfire flickering dangerously close to Tao Tao's throat. "Your decisions have consequences. I hope you know that now."
"Yes, my lord." Ying pressed her head to the floor a second time, raised it and tapped it against the floor a third time. "It was a mistake. I know now, I do." She had to appease him.
"Tomorrow. You'll become my concubine." Mao Zhen closed the distance between them, his hands firm on her shoulders, pulling her upright. A smile formed across his malicious face. "A fox spirit can only give birth once. You squandered that gift on the duke. I have no reason to make you my first wife."
"Yes, my lord." Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. The humiliation burned hotter than the whip had.
"Return to your quarters," he released her.
Ying dipped her head in submission and trailed behind Tao Tao. With no further hindrance, they passed down the dimly lit halls. When they reached Ying's old room, Tao Tao opened the doors and led them inside. She rushed with one arm outstretched, the other carrying the small box.
"Ying, you're back! I knew you weren't dead. I kept everything exactly as you left it."
Tao Tao's voice was as sweet and familiar as Ying remembered. She wanted to pull Tao Tao close to her but couldn't. "Stay away." Ying slapped Tao Tao's hand away. Mao Zhen would use anyone she cared about to break her.
Tao Tao staggered back, clutching the box. "Ying, it's me." Tears were ready to spill forth.
"Leave," Ying glared at Tao Tao.
Tao Tao carefully set the box on the floor. "The boy looks more than a year old. He should have a name."
"Out," Ying growled. The thought of Mao Zhen's whips strangling Tao Tao's neck, twisted her gut.
Tao Tao lingered for a moment, then spoke. "Drink this to heal your wounds, Ying, please." She conjured a glass bottle filled with black liquid and handed it to Ying. Ying accepted the bottle but didn't drink.
Tao Tao didn't argue. "I will bring ointment and new clothes later," she then turned and left.
When the door finally closed and Ying was alone, she shuffled to the bed, her legs unsteady. The tears she'd fought to hold back spilled over as she sank onto the mattress. "Duke Chen... I'm sorry."
He had taught her forgiveness, most importantly love—driven out all the hate that had once consumed her entire existence. He had given her hope, shown her a future she had never believed she could have. And Mao Zhen destroyed it all. I can't let him win.
Her gaze swept through the room. His cage. His control. Everything was disgustingly pristine—white linens, white pillows, white walls, all so pure. What Mao Zhen wanted for her. Her stomach churned with fury.
Without a second thought, Ying smashed the elixir on the ground. The bottle shattered, sending fragments of glass shimmering across the ground. Ying grabbed the largest piece, its jagged edge cold against her fingers. She pressed it against her neck, her hand shaking.
Then she heard it—a faint, broken cry from the box.
Ying froze, dropping the shard of glass. She had distanced herself from the children the moment they left her womb, convinced it was the only way to protect them. Ying wasn't so sure anymore and slowly approached the box. She lifted the lid, bracing herself, for Ying had never seen her children close.
Immediately, the boy stopped crying. His little round face lit up at the sight of her, his eyes a dark color, the same as the duke's. Tiny hands reached toward her. Then he tried to climb out.
Ying's resolve crumbled. Without thinking, she scooped him up for the first time. His body was so light, so frail, so familiarly warm, as his father's. "Chen Huoshing," she whispered, the name trembling on her lips. Her arms encircled around him. "My son. I won't let him kill you. "