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I'm still bleeding when she walks in.
Su Qing doesn't knock. The door to the Sect Leader's hall slams open and she's standing there in white silk that probably costs more than my life, hair pinned up with jade, eyes scanning the room like she owns it. Her gaze lands on me—kneeling on the floor, blood soaking through the back of my robes, hands still shaking—and her mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile.
"Hanchuan," she says, voice sweet as poisoned honey. "I heard you brought a servant girl back to your hall. I wanted to see for myself."
Gu Hanchuan's standing by the window. He hasn't moved since he ordered me to stay here an hour ago. Hasn't looked at me either. His shoulders are stiff under those black robes, and I can see the edge of the fire poison marks crawling up his neck even from here.
"Su Qing." His voice is flat. "You shouldn't be here."
"Shouldn't I?" She steps inside, and two of her personal guards follow. They're both inner disciples, both armed. "My fiancé brings a bleeding girl to his private hall in the middle of the night and I'm not supposed to ask questions?"
I keep my head down. My back's screaming where my uncle's whip tore through skin, and I can feel fresh blood trickling down my spine. The floor under me is cold. I focus on that—the cold, the pain, anything but the fact that Su Qing's walking closer.
"She's a prisoner," Gu Hanchuan says. "Punishment room business. Not your concern."
"Really." Su Qing stops three feet away from me. I can see her shoes—white silk embroidered with silver thread, spotless. "Because I heard she's Lin Yuan's niece. The one who's been locked up for years. And I heard—" Her voice drops, gets sharper. "—that you personally went to the punishment room to get her. That you killed two guards who tried to stop you."
Silence.
I risk a glance up. Gu Hanchuan's still facing the window, but his hand's on his sword hilt now.
"Rumors," he says.
"Are they?" Su Qing crouches down, and suddenly she's eye-level with me. Up close she's even prettier—perfect skin, perfect features, the kind of beauty that takes money and spiritual energy and a lifetime of never doing grunt work. Her eyes are cold. "What's your name, servant?"
I swallow. My throat's dry. "Lin Wei."
"Lin Wei," she repeats, like she's testing how it sounds. "And why exactly did the Sect Leader bring you here?"
I don't answer. Can't. If I say the wrong thing she'll know—she'll figure out about the spirit root, about the scent, about whatever the hell Gu Hanchuan recognized that made him look at me like I crawled out of his worst nightmare.
Su Qing's smile widens. "Not talking? That's fine. I have other ways to get answers."
She reaches out—fast, too fast for me to dodge—and grabs my chin, forcing my head up. Her fingers are cold. Spiritual energy crackles around them, just a hint, but enough to make my skin burn where she touches.
"Senior Sister Su," I manage. My voice comes out hoarse. "I don't—"
"Shut up." She tilts my face left, then right, examining me like I'm a piece of meat at the market. "You look half-dead. What were you doing in that punishment room? Stealing? Spying?"
"Neither."
"Then what?"
I meet her eyes. Big mistake. She sees something there—I don't know what, maybe the hate I'm trying to hide, maybe just the fact that I'm not cowering enough—and her expression goes ice-cold.
"You're lying," she says softly.
Then she pulls out a dagger.
It's small, decorative, the kind of thing a sect princess carries for show. The blade's silver, etched with formations I don't recognize. She doesn't threaten me with it. Just holds it up, lets me see it.
"This," she says, "is a truth-carving blade. One cut and you'll tell me everything. Every secret, every lie, every pathetic little thought in that servant head of yours." She leans in closer. Her breath smells like lotus tea. "Want to talk now? Or should I start cutting?"
My heart's slamming against my ribs. The spirit root inside me—what's left of it—pulses weakly, and I feel that familiar ache in my chest where my uncle's been draining it for years. If she cuts me with that blade, if it's keyed to spiritual energy, she'll find out. She'll know I'm not just some servant. She'll know I'm the only pure Yin root left in the sect.
And then she'll either kill me or drag me to the elders, and either way I'm dead.
"Su Qing." Gu Hanchuan's voice cuts through the room like a whip crack. "Put the blade away."
She doesn't even glance at him. "I'm just asking questions, Hanchuan. If she's innocent, she has nothing to hide."
"I said put it away."
"And I said—"
She moves. One second the dagger's in her hand, the next it's slicing across my forearm—shallow, barely more than a scratch, but the formations on the blade light up the moment they taste blood. Pain explodes up my arm, white-hot, and I bite down on a scream.
"Stop!" Gu Hanchuan's suddenly right there, hand locked around Su Qing's wrist. His face is furious. The fire poison marks on his neck are spreading, crawling up toward his jaw, black veins pulsing. "I told you to stop."
Su Qing blinks up at him, all innocent confusion. "Hanchuan, I barely—"
"Get out."
"But—"
"Now."
For a second I think she's going to fight him. Her guards tense, hands moving toward their weapons. The air in the hall goes tight, crackling with the pressure of two high-level cultivators about to clash.
Then Su Qing smiles. It's a terrible smile, the kind that promises this isn't over.
"Of course, Sect Leader." She pulls her wrist free, sheathes the dagger with a soft click. "I'll leave. But—" She glances down at me one more time. "—you should know that Lin Yuan's looking for his niece. He filed a formal complaint with the elders this morning. Said someone abducted her from lawful punishment."
Gu Hanchuan's jaw tightens. "Lin Yuan can take his complaint and—"
"The elders agreed to a search," Su Qing interrupts, voice light, pleasant. "They'll be here tomorrow morning to inspect your hall. Just routine, you understand. Making sure you haven't been—" Her gaze flicks to me, lingers. "—hiding anything you shouldn't."
She turns and walks out, guards trailing behind her. The door closes with a soft thud.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My arm's still burning where she cut me, and I can see the formations glowing faintly under my skin, trying to worm their way deeper. They're looking for something—spiritual energy, probably, or secrets locked in my meridians.
I can't let them find the root.
My hands are shaking as I press my sleeve against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. The formations pulse brighter. Shit. Shit shit shit.
"Let me see." Gu Hanchuan's crouching in front of me now, and I flinch back on instinct. He freezes. Something flickers across his face—regret, maybe, or just annoyance that I'm being difficult.
"I'm fine," I lie.
"You're not." He reaches out, slow this time, and takes my arm. His grip is careful. Gentle, even. It throws me off more than if he'd just grabbed me. "That blade's keyed to spiritual detection. If we don't neutralize it, it'll dig into your meridians and broadcast whatever it finds to every formation master in a ten-mile radius."
I go still. "Can you stop it?"
"Maybe." He's studying the cut, frowning. The formations are already burrowing deeper, thin silver lines spreading under my skin like cracks in ice. "If I can disrupt the formation before it reaches your core—"
He stops. Goes completely rigid.
I follow his gaze. The formations have reached the edge of my sealed spirit root—just a hair's breadth away from the chains my uncle wrapped around it years ago—and they're starting to glow brighter, reacting to something they've found.
"No," I whisper. "No no no—"
Gu Hanchuan moves fast. He slams his palm over the cut, and I feel a surge of cold spiritual energy flood my arm. It's like being dunked in ice water. The formations scream—I can actually hear them, a high-pitched whine that makes my teeth ache—and then they shatter, silver light exploding outward before fading to nothing.
The pain cuts off like someone flipped a switch.
I'm gasping, head spinning, and Gu Hanchuan's still holding my arm. His hand's warm now. His fire poison's acting up—I can see it in the way the black marks are spreading faster, crawling up his face, but he's not letting go.
"What—" His voice is rough. "What the hell do you have sealed in there?"
I yank my arm back. "None of your business."
"Lin Wei—"
"You want me to stay here? Fine. I'll stay. But don't pretend you care what happens to me." I'm shaking, from pain or fear or anger I don't even know anymore. "You didn't care three years ago. You don't get to care now just because you need something from me."
His face goes blank. For a second he looks like I slapped him.
Then he stands up, turns away. "The elders will be here at dawn. I'll tell them you're under my protection, that you're—" He pauses. "—assisting with sect business. That should buy us time."
"And when they ask what kind of business?"
"I'll figure it out." He walks back to the window, shoulders tense. The fire poison marks are still spreading. "Get some rest. You look like death."
I want to laugh. I do look like death. I feel like it too, what's left of my spirit root aching where Su Qing's blade almost found it.
But I don't rest.
Instead I sit there on the cold floor, press my hand against the cut on my arm, and let a tiny thread of my sealed spiritual energy slip out. Just a whisper. Just enough.
It floats across the room, invisible, and sinks into Gu Hanchuan's shadow.
He doesn't notice. He's too busy staring out at the sect grounds, trying to figure out how to hide me from the elders, from Su Qing, from Lin Yuan. Trying to stay in control.
He doesn't feel it when that little piece of me finds his fire poison and curls up inside it like a seed in fertile soil.
Doesn't feel it start to grow.
By tomorrow morning, his poison won't just crave my scent anymore.
It'll be addicted.