The Eyes of the Dead Still See
The morning air was brittle, the kind that cracked against your skin like dry porcelain.
Ye Qingran and Zhi Lan stood once more before the grave in Xiang Hollow, this time with offerings—burnt incense wrapped in willow bark, and water drawn from Qingran's spiritual spring. The flowers had wilted completely overnight. Not one remained. In their place, the soil had dried into jagged lines.
"It's here," Qingran said. "The seal."
She pressed her hand once again to the cold earth. This time, she didn't flinch when the pulse of spiritual energy surged into her palm. She welcomed it, allowing her Emotion-Devouring cultivation to drink in the lingering sorrow.
The soil shifted with a groan.
And beneath the earth, a stone tablet slowly rose.
Carved into its surface was a spiral sigil—ancient Yin script, long outlawed by the empire. Its center bore a name, scratched out violently.
But Qingran could still read the pressure markings beneath the ruined script.
"Lady Bai Yan," she murmured.
Zhi Lan stepped forward. "Who was she?"
Qingran's jaw tightened. "A daughter of the Bai clan. They were the Emperor's maternal bloodline. This grave… this woman… she may have been his aunt. Or older sister."
Zhi Lan's eyes widened. "Then why was she buried here, like a criminal?"
Qingran didn't answer.
Instead, she reached for the base of the tablet and pulled. Dust, bones, and earth gave way to reveal a sealed jade scroll, wrapped in silk as dark as pitch.
She unwrapped it slowly. The scroll shimmered faintly, resisting touch—but the lotus petal inside her skin pulsed once, and the seal broke with a whisper.
Inside was a map—not of roads or borders, but of names.
Each name was etched in elegant calligraphy, and next to each was a symbol: fire, dagger, cage, or crown. Some were marked with red crosses.
Zhi Lan frowned. "These aren't locations."
"No," Qingran whispered. "They're women."
She traced her fingers over the scroll.
Lady Wen Ling – Caged for refusing a marriage.
Concubine Yu – Burned for speaking of war plans.
Commander Lu Mei – Executed for overstepping rank.
Minister's Daughter Han Eri – Disappeared after surviving the harem selection.
Each one… silenced.
Each one… erased.
"This scroll wasn't meant to be seen again," Qingran said, rolling it back up. "It's a death list."
Zhi Lan's voice was soft. "But why collect their names?"
Qingran looked at her. Her voice was cold, certain.
"Because someone remembered them. Someone loved them enough to keep their stories alive. And now we'll finish what they started."
She looked toward the north.
Toward the Imperial capital.
"I don't need to burn the empire to the ground... I just need to give their ghosts the eyes to watch it rot."
Inside was a map—not of roads or borders, but of names.
Each name etched in faded, golden ink. Next to each, a delicate but haunting symbol: a flame, a dagger, a cage, a crown. Some were marked with red slashes. Others with tiny blooming flowers.
Zhi Lan frowned. "These aren't locations."
"No," Qingran whispered. "They're women."
She ran her fingers gently across the scroll. Names long forgotten by the empire—buried not only in death but in memory. Some names made her hands tremble.
Lady Wen Ling – Caged for refusing a marriage.
Concubine Yu – Burned for speaking of war plans.
Commander Lu Mei – Executed for outshining a male general.
Minister's Daughter Han Eri – Disappeared after surviving a harem selection.
There were at least forty names on the scroll.
Each one… erased from history.
Each one… a ghost waiting for vengeance.
At the bottom corner of the scroll was a final symbol: a broken sword dripping with ink.
Beneath it were just two characters: Xue Yan.
Qingran froze.
"…That's me."
Zhi Lan looked over her shoulder. "Someone knew this would happen."
Qingran nodded slowly, her jaw clenching. "Not just someone. Lady Bai Yan. She was a seer. A spiritual memory keeper. Her gift allowed her to see pieces of the future—moments of almosts and might be's."
"She saw you coming?"
"She saw that someday, one woman would walk back from death. And give these forgotten women a voice."
Suddenly, the scroll trembled in her hands.
A gust of spirit wind burst from the grave, and the air shimmered.
Qingran's eyes rolled back as a vision surged through her mind—not of the past, but of a memory buried deep in Lady Bai Yan's bones.
🌫️ Fragmented Vision: The Day She Was Buried
Lady Bai Yan sat in a cold chamber, dressed in white mourning robes. Her hands shook as she sealed the scroll and whispered blessings over it.
"They burned my name. They chained my voice. But the shadows always remember."
A child's laughter echoed from behind her.
"Run, my child," she whispered to someone small and unseen. "Even if they call you cursed. Even if the Emperor calls you a traitor's seed."
A guard slammed the door open.
"Lady Bai Yan, by decree of the court—"
She turned, no longer afraid.
"One day, the one they exile will return. And when she does... may this scroll guide her hand."
Qingran gasped and fell to her knees, the scroll slipping from her hands.
Zhi Lan caught her. "What did you see?"
"She had a daughter," Qingran murmured. "A child the empire never found."
"Do you think she's still alive?"
"I don't know."
But she looked down at her shaking hands.
What if...?
Later that night, while Zhi Lan slept beside the fire, Qingran walked alone into the trees. She stood among the snowdrifts, holding the scroll like a blade.
"I don't know what kind of Empress you were," she whispered into the night. "But I will not let them erase us."
The wind shifted. And for a fleeting moment, she felt she wasn't alone.
Someone stood in the shadows beneath the trees.
Tall. Cloaked. Watching her.
He said nothing. But Qingran's hand moved to the dagger at her waist.
The figure bowed slightly, then vanished into the dark.
Back at the fire, the scroll burned faintly with new light. The last name on the list—the one closest to the edge—changed.
It now read:
"The Songstress of Red Valley – Alive"
And beside it, the symbol of an eye wide open.