My nanny used to tell me a tale about a thousand-year-old snake who lived high in the Immortal Mountains. Humans feared the mystic creature, yet their greed was too strong. One after another, they kept venturing into its lair, only to be devoured, turned into nothingness.
Until one day, a golden-eyed eagle appeared, a sign of human triumph. It fought the evil monster to the death under human witness, and in the end, the eagle won and freed the people from their curse. So they made it a symbol of victory and nobility.
What a simple tale. Obviously told by someone who never understood the true tragedy.
The serpent in the story wasn't evil—it had lived in harmony for centuries before greed brought intruders to its sanctuary. And the eagle? Victory came with a price. The serpent's final breath carried a curse that would follow the eagle until its dying day.
Both creatures were destroyed by that encounter. One in body, one in spirit.
The only true winners were the humans—the ones who ruined everything.
"Young mistress, your evening tonic," Hua whispered from beyond the closed door.
I set down my brush, the ink still wet on the poem I'd been writing. Outside my window, the Palace of Chongniang lay shrouded in twilight, its corridors alive with the scurrying of servants preparing for the night. Even in darkness, this place never truly rested.
"Enter."
Hua stepped inside, silver tray balanced in steady hands. Two years she'd served me, and she still walked in like she wasn't sure she'd be able to walk out. I suppose I should still be thankful for her. After all, the other maids whispered that I could curse people with a glance, that my chambers reeked of dark magic, that I bathed in blood to maintain my unnatural beauty.
Not that they were entirely wrong.
"The physician's preparation," she said, setting the covered vessel on my table with practiced ease. "Shall I prepare your evening robes while you take it?"
"Yes, the white silk tonight."
She nodded and moved to my wardrobe while I lifted the ceramic lid. The liquid inside was dark as midnight, with a metallic scent that made something satisfied stir within me. To anyone else, it would seem like bitter medicine for a sickly princess.
I drank slowly, feeling warmth spread through limbs that had been cold and weak moments before. My chronic exhaustion lifted, my perpetual hunger quieted, and for a blessed moment, I felt almost normal.
Almost human.
The irony wasn't lost on me. I was the Fourth Princess, daughter of a concubine so forgettable even the palace records never mentioned her name. Born too weak to cultivate spiritual energy like my half-siblings, cursed with a constitution that made me easy prey for the very spirits that plagued our realm.
In our world, humans share the realm with spirits—beings that feed on our tears, our terror, our blood. Some devour souls entirely, leaving empty husks that walk and breathe but never truly live again.
To fight these monsters, humans had to cultivate and use the world's energy floating around them. Those who did were called spirit hunters, praised wherever they went. Everyone saw them as saviors. Reminds me of the cursed eagle-snake joke.
After Hua finished laying out my robes and departed with a respectful bow, I settled by my window to observe the night. The palace grounds stretched below, dotted with lanterns.
I'd grown up with spirits. Not the mindless beasts that devoured entire villages, but the smaller ones, creatures drawn to palaces by the concentrated emotions of ambitious courtiers. Most were weak things that fed on stray anxieties and fled at dawn. I'd learned to coexist with them, to recognize which were dangerous and which were merely annoying.
But lately, something different had been watching me.
A soft scratching drew my attention to the window. The curtains fluttered despite every opening being sealed. Something moved in the shadows beyond the glass, fluid, deliberate, patient in a way that made my skin prickle with interest rather than fear.
I'd sensed this presence for weeks, felt it lurking during my most vulnerable moments. At first, I assumed it was just another scavenger drawn by whatever strange energy I radiated. But tonight, the scratching was accompanied by a sound that made me lean forward with sharp attention.
Feeding.
The wet, tearing noise of something consuming what it had killed.
This wasn't a weak spirit surviving on emotional scraps. This was a predator, and it was getting bolder. Soon, others would notice the signs, servants going missing, strange sounds in empty corridors, the smell of blood where there should be none. When that happens, my half-brothers would have the perfect weapon to use against me.
The succession trials were only months away, and I already had no allies, no supporters, no hope of inheriting anything beyond comfortable exile. But if rumors spread that I was attracting dangerous spirits to the palace…
Things would get quite messy.
I needed to deal with this problem before it destroyed me. I needed to exterminate whatever evil spirit was lurking around my wing before I got falsely accused of summoning it.
The plan that formed in my mind was elegant in its simplicity. If I couldn't prevent the spirit's presence from being discovered, I could at least control the narrative around it.
I spent the next hour preparing my deception. Plum ink mixed with wine created believable "ritual circles" on my walls—nonsensical symbols that looked appropriately ominous to anyone unfamiliar with real spirit work. I practiced my screams, my convulsions, the glassy-eyed stare of someone fighting an internal battle.
Most importantly, I rehearsed my story: an innocent princess, suddenly possessed by an evil intruder, completely helpless. A victim worthy of sympathy rather than a suspect deserving investigation.
By the time I shattered my mirror and began my performance, I almost believed it myself.
The maids came running first, then the guards, and finally. exactly as I'd hoped, my father arrived with both my brothers in tow.
Ruler of Chongniang, Yu Weiming, stood in my doorway like a statue carved from disappointment. Tall, severe, with eyes that had never looked at me with anything warmer than mild irritation. Behind him, Tianyu maintained his usual expression of concerned nobility, while Jianyu, his twin, made no effort to hide his disgust.
"Possessed," Father said flatly, as if diagnosing a head cold. "How tedious."
"The markings suggest spiritual contamination," Tianyu observed, playing his role as the dutiful son. His voice carried just the right note of scholarly interest. "We should call for spirit hunters immediately."
Jianyu snorted. "Or we could save everyone the trouble and—"
"Brother." Tianyu's voice carried a gentle warning that made Jianyu's mouth snap shut. Ever the diplomat, even when discussing my potential execution.
Father studied me for a long moment, taking in my writhing form, my incoherent babbling, the dramatic symbols covering my walls. I saw the exact moment he decided I wasn't worth his personal attention.
"Confine her. Bring spirit hunters to deal with whatever's infected her. Keep this quiet until the succession trials are concluded." He turned to leave, pausing only to add, "Try not to let her die before then."
Such paternal warmth. Well, I've grown used to it by now.
As they departed, I caught Tianyu lingering in my doorway. His smile was perfect, concerned, loving, everything a devoted older brother should display. But his eyes held something else: pure hatred.
I get that our mothers are different: his, the beloved holy first love of the sovereign, and mine, a nameless pleasure worker, but is that enough of a reason to look at your own sister like that?
"Don't worry, little sister," he said softly, his voice pitched so only I could hear. "This ordeal will end soon."
He stepped closer, and I caught the scent of expensive incense clinging to his robes, the kind used in memorial ceremonies. "You know, I've been thinking about my mother's portrait lately. How beautiful she looks in her eternal rest. How... fitting it would be if her troubled stepdaughter could find the same tranquility."
His words made my stomach twist. I don't know if it was the comparison to his mother, the death promise, or the way he played with my hair while gently telling me he wasn't planning to let me live long enough to see the succession trials.
"rest well," he murmured, and swept away with that gracious smile intact.
The man was a predator wrapped in silk and scholarship. Unlike Jianyu's hot-tempered brutality, Tianyu's cruelty was surgical in its precision, and infinitely more dangerous.