Blood & Night

Dong... dong... dong...

Ying jolted upright, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The night drums echoed in her ears, a resounding warning.

"Jing'er?" she called, waiting for the shuffle of feet, the creak of a door—anything.

Silence...

Jing'er always answered... 

She strained her ears, but only a deathly stillness came from beyond her corridor. A sense of unease crept over her, and Ying brushed it off—night had always unsettled her.

Maybe her maid had gone to check on the twins.

Ying shivered and pulled the thin robes bound loosely around her tighter. Had the fires died out? Their smoke usually filled the stone flues in the walls and floors until the room became stiflingly hot. Like most winter nights, she wore only a sheer robe to keep from sweating. But now, a chill seeped into the air.

She would have to light the brazier. Scooting out of bed, her bare feet tapped against the cold floor as she crossed the room. Strange for the heat to vanish so suddenly in the night. The duke could more than afford coal. Ying let the thought slip from her mind when she approached the brazier. 

Coal pieces were stacked in a pan neatly beside the brazier. Ying picked up a few of the black lumps and tossed them into the bronze pan. Reaching for the fire striker, she struck the flint against the steel, sending a shower of sparks onto the dried kindling nestled beneath the coals.

She blew gently, coaxing the embers to glow, until the kindling crackled with small flames. Taking the fire rod, she prodded the coals, feeding the growing fire and waiting for the heat to catch. Slowly, the coals darkened with heat, their edges glowing red, until the brazier came alive with warmth.

Gong... gong... gong...

Ying counted three beats before the sound drifted away, swallowed up by a howling wind that blew through the eaves. The duke had promised to return with the third watch. The palace gates weren't far—perhaps court duties delayed him longer.

Ying retreated to her bed, took a seat, pulled her blanket around her and waited for her husband.

Time inched slowly. Still, the Duke did not show up. The unshakable dread that had clung to her all day returned. Ying was certain third watch was nearing its end. Was it possible that the king had requested an audience with him instead?

The duke's legal wife was Dà Fūrén, who he married out of duty, nothing more. And Dà Fūrén, was the Queen's dearest cousin, and both despised Ying—not only for being a lowly concubine, or capturing the duke's heart, but for carrying the only surviving royal heirs to term. She had given birth to not one but two twins, nearly a year old. Had Dà Fūrén stirred up trouble again?

"Fūrén..."

A voice. Soft. Gentle. Familiar came from the doors. 

"My lord..." she breathed. 

"Let me in, please..." His voice drifted into her ear like a soothing lullaby.

She raced for the doors. Finally, the Duke had returned.

Ying hesitated when her fingers gripped the wooden latch but slid them aside. 

He was home. He was safe. That's all she could think about. 

Creaaak... the doors inched open.

A gust of wind sent her stumbling back, tossing her long hair into a tangled mess. She brushed it from her face. "My Lord-" Ying looked up her entire body locked in place.

A shadow from her past loomed in the dim light, his stretched smile greeting her, as if murmuring, finally, I found you.

No...

The figure standing in the doorway was not her husband. Not the duke.

No. No. No.

The words caught in her throat. The blood drained from her face.

There, beneath the ghostly light, he towered before her, wreathed in a storm of white. Black hair cascaded down his shoulders, his robes a liquid crimson against the stark snow, clinging to his taut frame—motionless, untouched, as if the wind itself bent to his will.

Ying stared in disbelief. Impossible. He hadn't aged. Not a single day.

"Mao—Mao Zhen..." she finally choked out backing as far away from the door as she could.

"Oh? You still remember my name." He let himself inside, moving with an eerie grace.

Ying's breath caught as his shadow stretched—thin and distorted—creeping unnaturally toward the lamp above the door, the brightest light in the room.

Then—it flickered out.

Mao Zhen was the greatest demon cultivator but not this powerful. His very presence seemed to devour the room, swallowing the air, drowning the space in a suffocating darkness.

Ying's gaze darted to the single candle sputtering atop her tea table. Then to the brazier. But its embers, too, flickered weakly, unable to hold back the void seeping in behind him.

"Ying..." Her name rolled out, low and hollow. "I thought you were dead."

Outside, the wind roared in anguish. Snow swirled into a violent storm, swallowing the courtyard whole.

"I survived..." Her gaze flicked to the open door.

She was in the duke's palace. The king's brother. Soldiers were everywhere.

So why had no one come?

No alarms. No footsteps. No warning.

Then—she saw them.

Outside, admist the swirling snow, shadows slumped motionless against the stone walls. The soldiers... were already dead.

"Ohhhh..." His voice was disturbingly calm, sending her stomach tumbling. "I even buried your corpse."

Ying knew there was no excuse that could hide the truth. She had faked her death. She had run. She had done anything to escape him.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked, careful not to show any aggression towards him.

Mao Zhen studied her in silence. Then—a slow, breathy chuckle. Hollow. Void of warmth answered her. "What am I doing here?" His voice was full of mockery. "What are you doing here? So far away from me, from home. You and our children." His fingers flexed at his sides.

Our children? Ying didn't like the sound of that at all but it was not the time to argue with him. "I'm not leaving with you." Her voice wavered, but she steadied herself. "I have a home. A husband. My children—"

A bitter smile flickered across his lips.

She knew that smile. What it meant.

"Ying... "

He stepped forward, no more like glided in effortless.

Ying felt it—the yin energy. A power not of the demon realm. Not of the heavens. Something beyond.

She forced herself to stand her ground. To not let him see her fear. But instinct screamed—run.

And she took a step back.

"I'm not leaving here without you,' he said. "Or our children."

There was a realization in his words that she knew he would make certain on.

"I buried you." Mao Zhen's voice was eerily soft. "Then, I went to the Bloodborn's tomb. A man with nothing left. A man ready to take revenge."

Ying's stomach twisted. To challenge the Bloodborn was suicide…

"I tried to break Haoran's Seal of Purgatory," he continued. "The one that cannot be undone."

His gaze darkened.

"It turned my own flames against me. Burned me. To near ashes."

"I never wanted you to suffer as you did," she said, she didn't want to be the cause of this. "You shouldn't have gone to the tomb. Haoran's seal is meant to kill."

"Death is beyond me."

In a blink, he was by the brazier. His hand hovered over the fire. The flames curled and licked at his skin—yet he remained untouched and dimmed.

"There's a different pain now." His voice dropped, low and dark. "A hunger. Ever burning."

A chill slithered down Ying's spine. Something monstrous had changed him. He was neither human nor fox spirit anymore.

She backed away until the tea table dug into her spine.

Mao Zhen turned to see her. His eyes glinted with amusement.

"We once scurried like rats beneath the Bloodborn's feet," he mused. "We cowered at the slightest shadow of Haoran. But there are more of us now, Ying. Including your children."

She would never let him have her children. Ying's blood boiled, her fox demon snarling within her. But she forced it down, biting back her fury.

"I will restore our clan. And soon… Haoran and the Bloodborn will die."

She had once believed those words. In that vengeance. They had whispered it to each other in the dark, when the world turned against them. They had sworn to rise again. But she moved on. Found the duke. Chosen peace. Chosen love. Mao Zhen had not.

"Do you know what I found when I awoke in the tomb?" His voice was distant, recounting a truth that twisted inside him like a blade.

Ying didn't want to hear anymore. "Mao Zhen, revenge will destroy you."

He ignored her. "A palace built for kings," he murmured. "For the celestials who slaughtered thousands. The ones Haoran claimed to have eradicated."

"And yet—" his eyes flickered with rage, "there they were."

"Four of them. The Heavenly Emperor's own generals. The Bloodborn. Sleeping beneath the Seal of Eternal Night. Preserved. Guarded. Protected by Haoran himself."

His smile stretched, slow and merciless.

"And us?" His voice was venom. "We were the stain on their legacies. The filth beneath their boots."

Mao Zhen lifted a hand, staring at it as if remembering the pain. "I was beyond healing. Even my fox demon spirit could not restore the damage."

She knew what was coming before he even spoke. Ying read all the scrolls.

"But there was a great power inside that tomb. One strong enough to save me."

Dread coiled deep in her gut. The Bloodborn survived on blood and qi. They carried an awful curse in their bites that could burse others.

"No…" Her voice barely escaped her lips. "What did you do, Mao Zhen?"

His next words sent ice through her veins.

"I drank from him. Until nothing remained but a husk."

Ying's breath caught. "You… you killed him?"

A slow, chilling laugh rumbled from Mao Zhen's chest.

"No. He is weakened but not dead."

"Why would you do this?" she whispered. "Mao Zhen—you've marked yourself for death. Haoran will hunt you the moment they find out."

He turned back to her, as though returning from a distant thought.

"Let them come."

Before she could respond, he crossed the room in one stride.

His vicious tone softened, replaced by something dangerously inviting.

"Do you still think of me that weak?" His voice dipped low. "I do not fear Haoran. I only fear losing you again…"

His words slid into her mind, intoxicating—

Love. Desire. Submission.

Ying's lips parted, but no words came. She was drowning in him. He was so beautiful. A nightmare dressed in crimson silk.

Her chin lifted, exposing the delicate skin of her throat.

"You and I…" His breath fanned across her lips, impossibly close, teasing. "Our children… We are bound, Ying." His touch traced the pulse at her neck, lingering where her blood thrummed. "We are all that's left of our Fox Spirit Clan." His voice was fire and water entwined, searing and soothing, threading through her veins like pure golden core energy. "We must remain together."

Her breathing slowed... Yesss… only they survived... He was right. Ying exhaled. "We must remain..."

Warm fingers cradled her face, his touch gentle—always safe.

Ying's lashes fluttered shut. Sweet memories of him surfaced. Ying sighed, her body relaxed. "I... I want..."

His fingers traced the delicate curve of her throat, his thumb ghosting over her pulse. "Your body remembers me… Tell me, do you still burn for me?" His ear rested lightly against the bosom of her chest. "You know it. I know it."

No... no. It wasn't true... She only thought of the duke... Or did she…

A sharp flick against her skin.

Ying flinched but it felt so good.

Fangs?

"Will you make me one of them now..." Her voice quivered, wanting to feel that satisfying pain once more.

"If we are to remain together, we must be of one, united..."

Ying found herself lost in the perfection of his face. He was so wonderful.

"Have you forgotten everything we promised each other?" His lips didn't move but she heard him clearly inside her head.

"No..." She could barely get out, followed by a subtle prick of pain. Ying gasped, satisfied... "Will it hurt?"

"I will never let it hurt you." He hushed her.

"Are you.. are you... A Bloodborn..." Ying tried to break free.

"I've only become a better version of myself, Ying. Let me show you…"

His hand withdrew, and the feeling of immense joy of a lovely dream slipping away saddened her she wanted that feeling back. "No… Don't stop…" She did miss him, but then—the duke. Her children. Ying let out a slow breath.

"I live for you only, my love…" Mao Zhen's hand hovered right above her skin, as if waiting for her answer.

Ying glimpsed a red-tipped fingernail, sharp as a sword, and swallowed hard, relieved he did not bite her. "I don't want... I can't..." The curse was in his bite, the poison came from his fangs.

Warm liquid dribbled down her neck.

His breathing grew heavy, ragged, as if he was the one who wrestled with control now. His nose grazed her cheek, lingering.

He paused.

"I want to see." His voice dripped with an insatiable hunger. "Why you keep resisting me, why you've ran from me these past ten years."

His tongue swept over her neck—slow, deliberate. Like a predator savoring its prey before the first bite.

"Let me in Ying." he murmured, his voice velvet-soft. "Show me your truths..." His fingers traced her throat, his touch deceptively tender—before his hand tightened. "You can't hide from me."

Her heart skittered. She didn't want this. But he was so, so convincing. Her body arched towards him.

His lips grazed over hers—sweet yet chilling, like the first taste of Tángrén. They trailed lower, leaving a lingering sensation against her skin, until his teeth scraped against her collarbone—a sudden crack in the sweetness that sent a shudder through her. Ying froze.

His tongue flicked over the spot where he cut her. A low hum vibrated in his throat. ""Even your body still remembers me..." Mao Zhen chuckled, inhaling deeply—savoring, drinking in the scent of blood. "It's exhilarating."

The room shrank. The walls, the air, even time itself folded in, pressing against her helplessness.

And—he drank.

Ying squirmed, twisting, struggling—but he was too strong.

Unmovable. Unrelenting.

Her lungs burned. "Mao Zhen, you're killing me..." she gasped, her fingers clawing desperately at his grip.

But he didn't stop.

His body tightened. His breathing grew ragged, his lips still pressed to her skin. He shuddered, a soft groan escaping his throat.

"Sweet... so deliciously sweet..." He sounded, dazed—almost drunk. His grip tightened around her. Shaking. Wanting more.

Ying's vision blurred her breath hitched. He wasn't just drinking her blood; he was consuming her qi. Terror shredded through her as her fox spirit drained.

"You cannot escape me." Mao Zhen looped an arm around her waist, pinning her against him.

And he drank more.

And he squeezed harder.

 A darkness encroached on her mind, and sifted through her thoughts, her memories. It was Mao Zhen peering at each one. Ying closed off her thoughts, tried to bury as much away as she could the things she didn't want him to see, but she couldn't.

Thump... thuummp... thuuump...

Ying's heart faltered. Her Fox Spirit core flickered—its protective force slipping through her grasp. Her blood drained, her qi nearly gone. She wouldn't last if he didn't stop.

A final thought entered her mind.

If she was to die, at least—at least she had known love, the love of a real man.

A great man.

A man like the duke…

"INSOLENCE!"

Mao Zhen ripped himself away, his voice a jagged snarl. His fingers snapped open. Ying collapsed, crumpling like a discarded petal. The cold seeped into her bones, her vision blurring.

He staggered backward, lips crimson-stained, breath ragged. His hand trembled.

"You…" His voice cracked—full of fury and pain.

Ying dragged in a breath, the pain sharp and raw. Her trembling fingers pressed against her bleeding neck, smearing warmth across her palm.

Her eyes locked onto his—dark, furious.

"Serves you right," she rasped, no longer under his compulsion.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze. A fracture. A terrible, aching hurt.

Then, it was gone.

A deep voice shattered the silence between them.

"Fūrén! Fūrén!"

Ying's breath caught.

The duke!

He was here.

Her head turned towards the opened door, where a shadow moved beyond the swirling snow, one she recognized. The sharp ring of steel clashing against steel reaching her ears.

A surge of determination crashed through her.

She had to survive.

She clenched her jaw, inhaling sharply, and released her what little remained of Fox Demon qi. The rush of warmth ignited through her veins, jolting her heart into a faster rhythm. The fog over her mind thinned, her limbs regained feeling.

Move…

She forced herself to her knees, dragging in ragged breaths.

Stay alive—for the duke, for the children.

Her gaze darted frantically.

There.

The lacquered table.

A small porcelain bottle sat at its edge—a gift from the duke. Qi restoring pills.

Pills that could restore her qi. That could stop her waning life.

"Ying…" Mao Zhen howled, his back to her, his entire frame bent in raw, seething rage. His hands twitched at his sides, his body tense—ready to strike.

Ying staggered forward, nearly falling as her fingers brushed the table.

A sharp cry tore from her throat as her hands fumbled, knocking the bottle over.

Pills scattered across the floor.

No. No. No!

She snatched the bottle, tipping what's left, desperately. The small pills tumbled into her mouth. Dry. Choking. She forced them down.

Behind her, a guttural snarl erupted.

"That fox demon blood..." Mao Zhen's voice was thick, almost breathless. "I had forgotten how intoxicating it is."

She had to get out.

She turned—

But it was too late.

A blur and air rushed around her.

Then—iron fingers clamped around her throat.

Ying barely had time to gasp before ice crushed against her chest.

"Mao Zhen…"

His arms tangled around her, his body pressing against hers, unyielding, stealing her warmth.

His fingers tightened at her throat. Not enough to choke—just enough to hold. To claim her.

Ying trembled.

His lips curled back, fangs gleaming like ivory daggers.

"So, it's true," Mao Zhen murmured, his grip bruising. His breath cold as death against her skin. "You always saw me as nothing more than filth."

His voice darkened, sharp with venom.

"A mongrel. Weak and lowborn wretch. A servant to be discarded."

"That's not true." Ying needed to reassure him, to buy herself time. "You are the great Lord of our Fox Spirit clan. The strongest demon cultivator." Ying turned towards the door. Her eyes searching for the duke.

His chuckle slithered over her skin. Low. Amused. Dangerous.

"How come you won't look me in the eyes then?" He fisted a lock of her hair, yanked her head back. "Let's see if your duke will still want you now."

Terror spiked through her.

"Please, don't Mao Zhen…"

She struggled, twisting in his grip, but—

Mao Zhen's lips brushed against her neck—

"You made me do this, Ying."

Then—

Fangs. Piercing. Sinking deep into her.

A tearing pain erupted through her throat, her veins igniting with searing agony.

All the pleasure, the intoxicating lure she had felt before—gone.Replaced by something far, far worse.

She screamed.

Darkness crashed over her like a wave, dragging her into its abyss.