Meyu tightened her grip around Layla's body, the warmth of their shared blanket now overshadowed by the violent convulsions wracking through her body.
"Meilin?" Meyu whispered at first, her voice hesitant. Then she shook her.
"Meilin!" Layla's body twitched uncontrollably, her breathing shallow and rapid, beads of sweat forming along her temples. Her nails dug into her own arms, leaving red crescents behind.
Meyu felt fear crawl up her spine. She had seen Atlas restless before, but never seen anything like this—never so utterly trapped in something that couldn't be.
Panic surged. "MEILIN!" Meyu cried out, the name slipping from her lips before she even realized it.
"SOMEBODY HELP!"
The doors burst open, Lin Wuye stepping in first, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto Layla's convulsing form. Behind him, Meilin's mother stumbled inside, eyes wide with terror.
"Meilin!" Lin Wuye rushed forward, kneeling by the bedside as he grabbed her wrist, checking her pulse.
''What happened?"
"I—I don't know! She just—she won't wake up!" Meyu's voice cracked, her grip tightening on Layla as though afraid she would slip away entirely.
"Meilin, wake up! Please!" Yuxe Wuye's hands trembled as she hugged Layla's face, but the girl did not respond.
She was trapped inside her mind and she was fighting a losing battle.
The Entity's fingers closed around Layla's throat, its nails digging in with cruel precision. Its form writhed and twisted, shifting between something monstrous and something terrifyingly familiar.
It grinned. "You don't deserve this life."
Layla choked, clawing at its grip, but her fingers passed through it like smoke, unable to touch the nightmare strangling her.
The Entity leaned in, its voice suddenly soft, eerily familiar.
It was her voice now.
"You shouldn't be here." it whispered, but this time, it sounded just like Meilin.
Layla's breath hitched.
"You took everything from me!" the Entity growled, its voice rising into a wretched, agonized scream. "You stole MY life! MY family! MY name! YOU TOOK WHAT WAS NEVER YOURS!"
Layla gasped, her vision blurring, the darkness pressing in from all sides. The Entity's grip tightened.
"You were supposed to DIE!" the Entity shrieked, and the darkness collapsed in on her.
"Meilin! WAKE UP!"
Her father's voice pierced the haze just as his hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently. Layla gasped, her eyes flying open as she lurched forward, choking on nothing but air. Her entire body shook, the remnants of the Entity's grip still burning on her throat like phantom pain. She was awake, but the world still felt wrong.
Her mother's arms wrapped around her, rocking her gently, whispering words she couldn't hear over the pounding in her skull. Meyu was still holding onto her too, her forehead pressed against her shoulder, her body trembling just as much as Layla's.
Layla tried to speak, but no words came.
The Entity's last whisper still echoed in her head:
You were supposed to die!
Layla sat frozen in place, her breath still uneven. The warmth of her mother's embrace should have been grounding, but instead, it felt like a weight she didn't deserve.
Her mind raced, replaying the nightmare, the suffocating grip of the Entity still lingering around her throat. It had spoken with Meilin's voice. Had screamed with her voice.
Do I really deserve to be here? The thought burrowed deep, a question that had no answer.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Layla's hand reached toward her neck, fingers brushing against the tender skin—
And then she felt it.
A searing sting erupted beneath her fingertips. Her breath hitched, and as she looked down, horror clawed its way up her throat. Deep, reddened scars marred the delicate skin of her neck—identical to where the Entity had strangled her.
Meyu, still clutching her, saw it first. Her breath shuddered, her fingers tightening on Layla's wrist.
"Meilin… your neck—"
Lin Wuye and Yuxe Wuye followed her gaze. Their expressions shifted from concern to something close to horrified disbelief.
"That's not possible" Lin Wuye muttered under his breath, already reaching forward to inspect the wounds. His voice was calm, logical, but the look in his eyes betrayed his unease.
"You were just sleeping… so how did—"
Layla's throat felt dry. She wanted to tell them. Debated to whether or not to admit everything—that she was not Meilin, that she had stolen this life, that perhaps… the Entity was right.
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, her mother cupped her face again, forcing Layla to meet her tear-filled eyes.
"You're here" Yuxe Wuye whispered, almost as if convincing herself.
"You're here, my love."
Layla's chest ached at those words.
Lin Wuye sighed, pulling back. "The wounds aren't fresh, but they shouldn't be there at all. We need to treat them before they worsen."
Meyu nodded quickly, already moving to retrieve the medicinal salves. But as she moved away, she hesitated, glancing back at Layla. The look in her eyes was uncertainty.
She had seen something. Something that terrified her.
Layla said nothing. She only reached up again, fingers lightly tracing the scars on her throat.
Because deep down, it still felt like the Entity's hands were there.
The soft scratching of charcoal against wood filled the air, broken only by the occasional murmur of instruction.
Inside the newly built schoolhouse, a group of young disciples sat hunched over their makeshift desks, frowning at the strange symbols drawn before them. Zhao Lihua, her silver hair tied back neatly, squinted down at the numbers scrawled across her paper, tapping her fingers against the surface.
"I don't understand" she muttered. "What does 'six times four' mean? Six what?"
The instructor, a thin man with ink-stained fingers, let out a patient sigh.
"Think of it this way—if you had six baskets, and each one held four peaches, how many peaches would you have in total?"
Zhao Lihua brows knitted together as she whispered under her breath, tracing invisible patterns on her desk.
Zhu Fen peeked over her shoulder and said to Elder Jian. "Twenty-four, Elder Jian. It's easy!"
Jian Bo huffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Easy for a brat like you. My generation didn't waste time with numbers—we settled things with our fists!"
The class chuckled, though some continued scribbling, their expressions ranging from concentration to frustration. The cold wind rattled the wooden shutters, but inside, the warmth of the stove and the low hum of voices made it bearable.
Outside, in the open courtyard, two figures moved in a brutal clash.
Snow clung to their robes, their breath misting in the freezing air. The rhythmic clash of wooden staves echoed across the training grounds, punctuated by the dull thud of one body hitting the snow-covered ground.
Bao groaned, rolling onto his back. "You—you're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Jiang twirled his staff effortlessly, his breath steady despite the cold. "That's a strong accusation."
Bao scowled as he pushed himself up, his arms shaking. "This isn't training. This is torture."
Jiang didn't reply immediately. Instead, he lunged forward with merciless precision, his staff a blur of motion. Bao barely had time to react, raising his own weapon to block. The impact reverberated up his arms, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his shoulders.
"Complaining wastes energy." Jiang said, pressing the attack. His strikes were relentless—sharp, controlled, unforgiving.
Bao gritted his teeth, forcing himself to counter. "If I freeze to death, I'm haunting you."
Jiang sidestepped a desperate swing with effortless grace. "You'll have to catch me first."
Bao shifted his stance, exhaling sharply before launching forward in a blur of movement. He initiated Step One: Whispering Breeze, his staff striking out in a fluid motion. Jiang met it instantly, matching his speed with his own version of the technique.
Bao smirked. "Trying to match me now? I can outlast you."
Jiang's response was to press harder. His strength was superior, and his experience far greater. The snap of wood against wood cracked through the frozen air, each impact sending vibrations up Bao's arms.
What began as a test of agility erupted into a brutal contest of endurance. Jiang's blows carried raw force, each strike meant to break past defenses rather than simply test them. Bao countered with speed, ducking low and using every ounce of flexibility to avoid being overwhelmed.
But Jiang was relentless.
Their staves clashed, sparks of frost flying as they locked into a deadlock. Bao gritted his teeth, his muscles straining. The cold bit into his exposed skin, his breath coming in short bursts of mist.
"Still think you can match me?"
Jiang smirked, eyes sharp with focus. Then, without hesitation, he twisted his grip, using his superior strength to wrench Bao's weapon wide. In the same fluid motion, he brought his staff down—hard—into Bao's ribs.
The breath ripped from Bao's lungs as he stumbled, feet sliding over the slick, frozen ground. His vision blurred as he landed hard on his back, the snow beneath him crunching sharply.
For a moment, only the sound of his ragged breathing filled the air.
Bao wheezed, curling slightly as he coughed. "I hate you."
Jiang extended a hand, utterly unfazed. "Then stand up and prove it."
Before Bao could retaliate, a third voice cut through the icy air.
"Enough." Lin Wuye's voice was firm but carried a weight behind it. Both Jiang and Bao turned to see him standing at the edge of the courtyard, his expression unreadable.
Jiang lowered his staff. "What is it?"
Lin Wuye exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. "It's Meilin. Something happened."
Bao immediately sat up, ignoring the ache in his ribs. "What? What do you mean? Is she okay?"
Jiang narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. "What happened?"
Lin Wuye's jaw tightened. "I don't know how to explain it, but she won't talk about it. And… there are scars on her throat."
Silence fell between them, the cold suddenly feeling far less important.
Bao and Jiang exchanged a glance, their spar forgotten.
Jiang clenched his fists, but his voice remained calm. "How bad is it?"
Lin Wuye hesitated, his usual composed expression showing a rare flicker of unease.
"Bad enough. She's awake, but she won't speak. And the scars... they're real."
Bao wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing still uneven. "Real? As in—"
"As in she woke up with them." Lin Wuye cut in.
"I don't know how, but something happened to her in her sleep and she's not telling us what."
Jiang exhaled sharply, grabbing his outer robe from the snow and throwing it over his shoulders. "Let's go."
Bao grumbled under his breath, rubbing his sore ribs. "You know, I was really hoping for a warm meal after this beating."
Jiang didn't respond. His pace was already brisk, his mind elsewhere.
Lin Wuye turned, leading the way, his footsteps slow but deliberate.
"She needs to see familiar faces. Maybe she'll talk to you two."
The cold no longer mattered. Bao and Jiang followed without another word.
As they stepped into the dimly lit room, the warmth from the brazier did little to chase away the heavy atmosphere. Bao's usual smirk faltered as he took in the sight before him.
Meilin sat propped against the headboard, her shoulders tense, her gaze distant. The usual fire in her eyes had dulled, replaced by something unreadable—something broken. Her mother knelt beside her, dabbing herbal salve onto her throat with steady but trembling hands. The dim light made the raw, red scars along her neck look even more pronounced, a brutal contrast against her pale skin.
Bao swallowed hard. He had seen Meilin injured before, seen her bloodied and bruised from battle. But this? This was different. This wasn't just a wound—this was something that had reached into her and taken something away.
Jiang remained still, his sharp gaze flickering from the scars to her vacant expression. He didn't speak, but his jaw tightened.
"Meilin." Bao finally said, forcing his voice to be light, casual.
"You look like shit, leader."
She didn't react. Not even a twitch.
Yuxe Wuye glanced up, her eyes tired and wet, but she managed a small smile.
"She woke up not long ago. Her pulse is steady, but…"
"She won't speak." Lin Wuye finished, arms crossed.
"She hasn't said a word since she woke up."
Bao let out a forced chuckle. "C'mon, you? Not talking? I must be dreaming."
Still, nothing.
Jiang stepped forward, his voice measured but firm.
"Meilin. Look at me."
For a moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, her gaze lifted. Her eyes met Jiang's, and Bao felt an uneasy shiver crawl down his spine.
She looked lost.
Jiang's voice didn't waver. "What happened?"
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, her hand twitched, moving toward her throat as if to touch the scars.
The moment her fingers brushed against them, her breath hitched—and she flinched.
Yuxe Wuye grasped her wrist gently, guiding her hand back down.
"Shh, sweetheart. It's okay. You're safe."
Meilin swallowed hard, and for the first time since they entered, she whispered—so faint, so hoarse, Bao barely caught it.
"No… I'm not."