The Lin residence stood on the outskirts of Yan city, its walls high and its courtyards deep, where even daylight struggled to seep in. Within its confines, time seemed to slow, and the days grew heavy with silence. Since her arrival, the bride—Yu Yan—had endured each day like a prisoner locked within a golden cage, her youth slowly consumed by gloom and cold stone.
Lin Shirong, her husband, was a man of violent temper. Wine was his true companion; when drunk, he would strike, and when displeased, he would hurl curses more venomous than blades. His mother, the old madam of the house, treated Yu Yan as no more than an unwanted burden, often scolding her with clipped tones and sharp eyes. "A woman must learn to endure," she would say, every word another nail in Yu Yan's heart.
The servants, seeing the winds blow cold, turned their faces away, pretending neither to see nor hear. In the dining hall, she sat alone; even the maids brought cold tea when hot was requested. Only one person in the vast estate showed her the slightest kindness—a mute stableman known as Ah-Lü. On a frostbitten evening, she had given him warm porridge when he lay shivering near the stables. Since then, he had bowed quietly whenever she passed and offered what small help he could, always from the shadows.
It was now early spring. The chill had yet to retreat, and the air carried drifting tufts of willow fluff. The moss-covered flagstones in the courtyard remained damp and slick. Yu Yan felt increasingly unwell: her face grew pale, food turned to ash in her mouth, and each morning brought waves of nausea that left her breathless.
At first, she blamed sorrow and confinement for her ailments, but as the days passed, doubt gnawed at her. Quietly, through the stableman's help, she summoned an old physician through the side gate—a man who had once treated members of the Lin household.
The old doctor, cautious and solemn, took her wrist and listened intently. After a long silence, he gently stroked his beard and murmured:
"Your pulse is slippery and rapid. It indicates a joyous condition… You are with child."
The words struck Yu Yan like distant thunder. A whirlwind of confusion stirred within her, yet a fragile warmth—so long absent—rose gently in her chest. She walked back to her chamber in silence, sat before her dressing table, and placed a hand upon her abdomen. In the bronze mirror, her reflection looked worn and weary, yet a ghost of light flickered behind her eyes.
She whispered to herself, half in hope, half in disbelief:
"If he knows… perhaps he'll treat me differently. A child binds hearts, doesn't it?"
She laughed softly, though tears welled in her eyes. That laughter held a bitterness—like a petal blooming in frost, doomed to fall before it ever fully opened.
As dusk fell, Lin Shirong stumbled through the threshold, reeking of wine. His robes were loose, his hair disheveled. He paused in the doorway, a strange smirk on his face.
Yu Yan stood and stepped forward. "Shirong," she began gently, "I have something to tell you…"
But before she could finish, his eyes darkened. He stepped closer, seized her by the collar, and snarled:
"So this is why you've been glowing lately—scheming behind my back? With whom? That stable rat? The gardener?"
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What… what are you saying? This child—it's yours!"
But reason had long fled his mind. Days ago, he'd heard mutterings of Yu Yan meeting a physician in secret. Drunk and twisted by jealousy, he struck her across the face, sending her reeling to the floor.
"You lying whore!" he shouted. "That bastard child will never bear my name!"
He kicked her hard in the belly. A sharp pain, searing and deep, tore through her. She crumpled, hands clutching her abdomen, blood blooming beneath her dress like red blossoms in snow.
"Please… stop…" she gasped, eyes brimming with fear. "It's yours… our child…"
But he would not hear her. His fists rained down like thunder, until at last, panting and spent, he spat toward her and staggered out, slamming the door behind him.
Silence fell.
Yu Yan lay on the icy floor, soaked in blood and tears, staring blankly at the ceiling. The pain in her body had dulled, but the pain in her heart screamed louder than ever.
At length, she pulled herself up, step by step, and slumped before her broken mirror. The copper surface, once dull, now lay shattered, jagged shards scattered like fallen stars. Her blood had streaked across them, and in the fractured reflections, she saw a hundred versions of her pain-stricken face.
A laugh escaped her lips—low, hoarse, hollow.
"So even hope was a cruel lie…"
She recalled the joy she had held mere hours before, the trembling warmth she'd dared to cradle. Gone. All gone, trampled beneath her husband's fists.
Her tears fell again, striking the mirror shards. One droplet touched the largest fragment, and suddenly, ripples of blood-red light spread from it like ink in water.
Then—A whisper.
Soft, yet clear.Low, yet filled with ancient weight.
"Do you wish to end your suffering…?"
She froze.
The voice was not her own. She turned—no one was there. But again it spoke, this time unmistakably from the mirror itself.
"I can help you. All I ask… is your consent."
Hand trembling, she reached toward the shard. Her fingertip brushed the edge; blood welled again, dripping onto the glass. The mirror pulsed. A faint silhouette emerged—feminine, draped in shadow, long hair obscuring her face.
"Who… are you?" Yu Yan asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"The guardian of this mirror," the voice replied. "Bound by blood. Awakened by suffering. I can be your blade… your vengeance. But power always demands a price."
Yu Yan gripped the shard. Her blood mingled with the mirror's crack. Her heart, broken and bleeding, flared with something new—not fear. Not sorrow.
Hatred.
She remembered the humiliation. The fists. The loss.She remembered the cold stares. The sneers. The child that would never see spring.
She had no more tears left. Only this flame—sharp and bright.
"If there's a path to make them pay…" she said, voice cold and resolute, "then I will walk it."
The mirror flared, red light flooding the chamber. The figure within tilted her head, as if smiling.
"Then we are bound. At the stroke of midnight, feed me three drops of blood from your heart. I shall lend you my strength."
As the light faded, Yu Yan stared at the mirror's cracked surface—her reflection once more fractured, but changed.
Her wound had stopped bleeding. Her body still ached, but inside her… something else stirred. Something vast and ancient.
She clenched the shard tightly.
"You will pay, Lin Shirong," she whispered.
She did not yet know what the mirror truly was.Nor what she had just awakened.
But she knew this:
There was no turning back.