The stage of Yunhan Society was still ablaze. The bodies of her parents and fellow disciples lay scattered across the ground.

 

As Yunjin’s spear pierced the throat of the third Oda soldier, Hayami Hidetada polished the blood off his blade.

 

“How dare a mere opera singer rebel?” Hayami Hidetada’s dagger pinned her to the ground with effortless ease.

 

The moment the blade drove into her abdomen, she bit her lip until it split open.

 

Amid excruciating agony, her fingers fumbled for her father’s dagger. The first thrust sank into his ribs; the second tore through his waist and belly; the third buried itself deep in his chest.

 

With one final flash of cold steel, she drove the entire blade into Hayami Hidetada’s neck.

 

Aether lifted her from the pool of blood. “Hold on…”

 

When the physicians of Liyue Harbor removed the broken shards of blade from her abdomen, they found her clenched fist still clutching a half-torn piece of bloodstained opera costume.

 

 

 

The fire raged fiercely.

 

The carved and painted stage of Yunhan Society had turned into a massive bonfire, crackling and groaning, painting the night sky an ominous shade of orange-red. The stench of burning wood, thick blood, and the pungent fumes of scorched paint permeated the courtyard that once echoed with melodic music and flowing silk sleeves. Flickering flames lit up the corpses strewn across the ground. The troupe master—her father—curled at the edge of the stage, a horrific wound in his back nearly splitting him apart. Old Zhang the luthier lay slumped over his broken qin. The young apprentice actors, with whom she had practiced and laughed only that morning, now lay cold and silent between fire and blood.

 

Yunjin stood in the heart of this blazing hell. Her spear Piercing Cloud trembled slightly in her grip, its tassel soaked through with thick, dark crimson. The third man. This was the third Oda soldier to fall beneath her spear. Gurgling air escaped the soldier’s throat as he stared in disbelief at the blood-soaked young girl whose eyes burned with terrifying brightness, before collapsing limply to the ground.

 

She gasped for breath, her lungs burning with searing pain. Sweat mixed with unfamiliar blood streamed down her forehead, blurring her vision. Yet she dared not close her eyes. Behind her lids replayed the haunting scenes: her mother shoving her away amid a storm of blades, shielding her with her own body; her father shouting hoarsely for her to run before being impaled by a spear.

 

Her gaze cut through the wavering flames, locking rigidly onto one figure.

 

Hayami Hidetada. The samurai clad in Nanban armor, the mastermind behind this slaughter. He stood leisurely in the courtyard, methodically wiping the blood from his katana with a white cloth. His bearing was not that of a battlefield warrior, but of a man admiring an antique in his private garden. Firelight glinted off his cold armor, casting flickering glints like the pupils of a demon.

 

Sensing Yunjin’s stare, he lifted his head. Beneath the shadow of his helmet, a faint, mocking smirk tugged at his lips—tinged with the cruel amusement of a cat toying with a mouse.

 

“How dare a mere opera singer rebel?” His voice was low, yet it cut clearly through the roar of flames and the crash of collapsing timber, a cold awl piercing Yunjin’s ears.

 

Yunjin gave no reply. Her answer came as Piercing Cloud split the air with a shrill whistle. She pushed off the charred ground and warm pools of blood, her spear tip darting with streaks of icy light, aiming straight for Hayami Hidetada’s face, throat, and heart. Every strike poured forth all her grief, rage, and strength—swift as lightning, fast as a shooting star.

 

Yet Hayami Hidetada only sidestepped slightly, parried, then shifted again. His movements were concise, efficient, honed by countless battles into icy precision. His katana arced through the air, effortlessly deflecting her fierce assault. The gap in their strength was despairingly vast. Yunjin’s spearplay, taught by her father, was lithe and quick, but against a seasoned battlefield killer like him, it seemed overly ornate, lacking the ruthless edge to strike a fatal blow.

 

Clang! Another brutal clash. Yunjin’s palm split open at the tiger’s mouth, her spear nearly slipping from her grasp. The impact sent her staggering backward, her breath falling into disarray.

 

Hayami Hidetada shook his head, faintly disappointed. He stepped forward sharply, a flash of steel—not a slash, but a brutal blow from the flat of his blade slamming into Yunjin’s wrist.

 

“Ugh!” A pained cry escaped her, and Piercing Cloud clattered to the ground at last.

 

The next moment, a brutal kick struck the back of her knees. She crumpled to her knees involuntarily. Before she could rise, Hayami Hidetada planted his foot on her back, pinning her firmly to the cold, filthy earth. Dust and blood filled her mouth and nostrils in an instant.

 

“Is that all you have?” Hayami Hidetada’s voice came from above, dripping with undisguised mockery. He bent down, pressing his knee into her lower back, and grabbed her hair roughly, twisting her face sideways to force her to gaze upon the burning stage and the bodies of her slain family and kin.

 

With his other hand, he drew a tantō from his waist. The blade was little more than a foot long, narrow and glinting with a cold, eerie light.

 

“I’ve toyed with you long enough. Time to send you to join your family.”

 

The icy tip of the dagger pressed against the small of her back. Every muscle in Yunjin’s body tensed instantly. She thrashed like a fish out of water, yet against his overwhelming strength, all resistance was futile.

 

Then came the tearing pain.

 

An indescribable, raw, violent agony exploded from the point of contact, surging through every limb and bone, shattering her will and consciousness entirely. The dagger slid unimpeded into her abdomen, twisting deeper downward with cruel slowness. Her vision blazed red then plunged into blackness. In her ears roared the rush of blood and the grinding crunch of her own teeth biting down hard. Her lips were mangled, her mouth filled with the sickening taste of iron.

 

She thought she would die at once.

 

But on the brink of being swallowed entirely by darkness, her right hand, convulsing in agony, brushed against something cold and familiar on the blood-soaked ground beneath her cheek.

 

A hilt. The hilt of a tantō.

 

Her father’s dagger. The small blade he kept close daily for trimming paper and mending stage props. It lay not far from where he had fallen.

 

The instinct to survive—or the obsession for revenge—crushed the throes of dying pain. From nowhere surged a burst of desperate strength. She curled inward sharply, her right hand closing tightly around the heirloom dagger.

 

Hayami Hidetada sensed his prey stirring beneath him, yet he paid it no mind. He twisted the blade buried in her abdomen harder, revelling in the thrill of holding another’s life in his hands.

 

Now.

 

Yunjin let out an inhuman, bestial snarl. Her body twisted at an impossible, contorted angle. With her father’s dagger clutched in her right hand, she drove it upward with every last spark of life she had left.

 

First strike! The blade sliced through the seam of her skirt armor and sank into Hayami Hidetada’s ribs. His body stiffened, the mockery on his face freezing solid.

 

Second strike! Ignoring the blade still embedded in her own body, letting it carve deeper wounds, she twisted her wrist and slashed horizontally. The scrape of steel against bone set her teeth on edge.

 

Hayami Hidetada roared in agony, instinctively trying to yank his dagger free and retreat.

 

Yunjin gave him no chance. Third strike! Summoning her final ounce of strength, she raised the dagger high then drove it down with merciless force. This time, the tip slipped perfectly through the gap in his armor, burying itself deep in his chest.

 

Hayami Hidetada’s eyes bulged wide, filled with shock, rage, and the terror of death. His mouth gaped open, yet no coherent sound escaped him.

 

Yunjin stared at him, her bloodstained face devoid of all emotion—only a cold, hollow stillness. She released the hilt lodged in his chest, then seized his wrist still gripping the dagger inside her abdomen. With unnatural strength, she wrenched the blade partway out of her own wound.

 

In that split second, her right hand closed again around the slick, blood-soaked hilt—this time, Hayami Hidetada’s own tantō. Seizing the moment his guard dropped in agony, she drove the entire blade, along with his hand still wrapped around it, deep and unyielding into his neck.

 

Squelch—

 

The dull, clear sound of steel severing tendons, piercing the windpipe, and grinding against cervical bone.

 

Hayami Hidetada’s movements froze completely. The light faded rapidly from his eyes. His body swayed, then crashed heavily backward, stirring a cloud of dust.

 

The world spun and crumbled before Yunjin’s eyes. The wound in her abdomen became a black hole devouring all sensation, agony crashing over her like a tidal wave, shattering what remained of her consciousness. She did not even have the strength to glance at her fallen foe before collapsing limply to the cold ground.

 

Before darkness claimed her entirely, a flash of brilliant gold drifted into the edge of her blurred vision.

 

Someone had broken through the flames, stepping into this field of death. The figure rushed toward her, carrying an air of urgent anxiety.

 

She felt herself gently lifted by strong arms, spared from slamming hard into the earth. A strange voice, laced with a foreign accent yet thick with desperation, sounded beside her ear.

 

“Hold on… don’t fall asleep.”

 

The words seemed to drift from an immeasurable distance, carrying an unshakable resolve. Then came endless darkness, and the swaying motion as if adrift upon storm-tossed waves.

 

……

 

Bubu Pharmacy, Liyue Harbor.

 

Thick medicinal fragrance drowned out the lingering stench of blood in her memory. Her consciousness reassembled slowly, like fragments sinking up from the deep ocean.

 

Agony still throbbed through her body, yet it was no longer the tearing, destructive torment—muted into a dull ache, soothed by cooling salves and tight bandages. She struggled to lift her heavy eyelids. Blurred sight cleared to reveal plain linen curtains and the familiar sea-scented daylight filtering in from Liyue Harbor beyond the window.

 

A blond figure slouched over the bedside, asleep from utter exhaustion. The traveler… Aether.

 

She tried to flex her fingers, only to jolt her abdominal wound and draw a sharp gasp.

 

The small noise roused Aether from his light slumber. He lifted his head at once, bloodshot eyes lighting up the moment he saw her awake.

 

“You’re awake! Don’t move—your wound is far too deep…” His voice held hoarse relief and lingering dread.

 

Yunjin parted her lips, her throat too parched to speak. Aether promptly handed her a cup of warm water, lifting her gently to sip it slowly.

 

The warm liquid soothed her raw throat and cleared her foggy mind. Fragments of memory crashed over her: fire, blood, falling bodies, Hayami Hidetada’s ferocious face, the cold steel piercing her flesh, and finally—the dagger driven into her enemy’s neck.

 

She had survived.

 

He had saved her.

 

“…Thank you.” Her voice was faint as a mosquito’s hum.

 

Aether shook his head, his expression tangled with relief and sorrow. “I arrived too late… I could only get you out alive.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Hayami Hidetada is…”

 

“He’s dead.” Yunjin cut him off calmly, her tone flat as if speaking of a stranger. “I killed him.”

 

Aether fell silent for a long moment, then nodded softly.

 

Just then, the elderly pharmacist Baizhu stepped into the room. He exhaled in relief upon seeing Yunjin awake. “It is a blessing you have roused, Miss Yunjin. A true blessing.” He stepped forward to check her wound and pulse carefully. “Your injuries are grave, yet no vital organs were harmed. With proper rest and care, you will heal in time.”

 

As he spoke, Baizhu seemed to recall something and picked up a tray from the medicine cabinet, holding several twisted shards of metal stained with dark dried blood. “These were removed from your abdomen… fragments of the broken dagger. It took great effort to extract them all.”

 

Yunjin’s gaze fixed on the shards, her pupils narrowing slightly. This very blade had stolen everything she held dear, and nearly claimed her life as well.

 

Yet her eyes soon drifted away from the metal fragments to her own right hand. Wrapped in clean gauze, her fingers were still clenched tight, knuckles white with unyielding pressure.

 

Aether and Baizhu both noticed the gesture.

 

“Miss Yunjin, your hand…” Baizhu spoke gently, fearing she might unknowingly lacerate her palm.

 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Yunjin uncurled her fist.

 

Resting in her palm was not nail marks of blood, but a scrap of fabric. Half a tattered piece of opera costume, stained black with old blood, its original lavender hue and delicate cloud embroidery still faintly visible. It was a scrap she had secretly kept as a memento, cut from the new costume her mother had sewn for her with her own hands.

 

She had clutched it tightly even through her deepest coma, never letting go.

 

A heavy silence settled over the room. Only the distant bustle of the city market and the soft simmer of medicinal herbs broke the stillness.

 

Yunjin bowed her head, staring long and hard at the bloodstained scrap in her palm. Then slowly, she closed her fingers once more, gripping it firmly and pressing it to her heart.

 

Beneath her chest lingered no longer only heart-wrenching grief. Something cold and unyielding had sprouted quietly from the ashes.

 

Her stage was burned to the ground. Her family was gone.

 

But her opera was far from over.

 

She lifted her gaze to the sky of Liyue Harbor beyond the window, her stare piercing the lattice toward some distant, unknown horizon.

 

Her blood feud had only just begun.