Part E – Whispers of the Mask
The great black door had scarcely closed behind Gu Kuangren when another name was spoken into the torchlit corridors.
"Bring me the girl," the Master said.
Zhu Zhuqing's amber eyes narrowed as the guards found her where she lingered in the shadows of the arena gate. She did not resist when their hands gestured, though every instinct coiled within her body told her to vanish into darkness, to dissolve into the alleys where even the Master's reach could be dulled.
But running now would mark her. Running now would make her prey.
So she walked.
Her steps were noiseless, feline grace carrying her through the corridors Kuangren had just stormed down. The air was still charged with the echo of his defiance — she could almost taste the iron of it. The guards, jittery in his wake, barely dared glance at her.
The great black door opened again.
She entered.
The chamber still burned with blue fire, shadows twisting across the walls. The courtesans lounged like predatory cats, their eyes narrowing as she stepped into the light. Some sneered. Some smiled, sharp and curious. A few whispered to one another, no doubt recalling her family name, her cold reputation, the rumors of a runaway heir who had chosen slaughter over obedience.
On the throne, the Master waited.
His mask gleamed in the shifting firelight, black streaks etched down like tears frozen into steel.
"Zhu Zhuqing," he said at last, his voice lower now, smoother than when he'd addressed Kuangren. "Or should I say… the stray cat of the Zhu Clan?"
The words sliced through the chamber. The courtesans smirked, leaning closer as though scenting scandal.
Zhu Zhuqing's face remained still, unreadable. Her amber eyes glinted once. "You know my name."
The Master chuckled, rising from his throne with unhurried grace. "I know many things. Your bloodline. Your disgrace. Your flight into this city. You thought yourself hidden, perhaps? Slaughter City is a graveyard, yes — but even here, old names carry their stink."
He circled her slowly, much as he had circled Kuangren, though his steps were softer now, his presence more serpentine than oppressive. "I have always wondered… what drives one such as you to crawl into this pit? It is not ambition. Your clan would have provided that. It is not survival. Few survive long here. So tell me… what did you hope to find, little cat?"
Zhu Zhuqing did not answer at first. She kept her eyes forward, watching the blue fire twist and coil. Her heart thudded once, sharp.
He wanted her words. But words were weapons, and weapons misused could be turned.
Finally, she spoke. "Freedom."
The Master paused. "Freedom," he repeated, savoring it like wine. "Freedom from what? From duty? From your sister? From the cage of your bloodline?"
Zhu Zhuqing's hands curled briefly into fists at her sides. That small tell was enough for him. His laughter slid through the chamber like oil.
"Yes. From her. The elder sister who claimed what should have been yours. The heir who walks the path you despise, while you flee into blood and shadows."
He leaned close, his mask gleaming. "But freedom, child, does not exist. Not here. Not anywhere. Only chains. Only who holds them. Do you understand?"
Zhu Zhuqing's amber eyes flicked up to meet the dark voids of his mask. For a moment, the two stared into one another, predator to predator.
"I broke one chain," she said quietly. "I can break others."
The chamber hissed with soft laughter from the courtesans, cruel and mocking. But the Master raised his hand, silencing them.
He studied her. Long. Careful.
"You have teeth," he murmured at last. "But teeth alone do not keep one alive. Tell me, then — why do you linger near him? That crimson-eyed beast who spits on my throne. Are you bound to him already? Is your freedom so frail that you would chain yourself to another?"
The question struck sharper than she wanted it to. Her mind flicked to Kuangren: the way his phantom had shattered stone, the way his laughter had rumbled low when he defied the Master, the way his presence unsettled her even as it drew her closer.
What was she to him? Witness? Companion? Follower?
Her silence stretched.
The Master chuckled, circling back to his throne. "Ah. Silence again. He keeps his silence, you keep yours. Perhaps you are well-suited after all."
He sank into his throne, spreading his hands lazily. "Know this, Zhu Zhuqing. You are alive because I permit it. You will fight when I say. You will bleed when I say. And if I so wish… you will be set against your crimson demon one day, for my amusement."
Gasps rippled through the courtesans. Eyes gleamed with excitement at the thought.
Zhu Zhuqing's gaze did not falter. She lifted her chin, voice steady. "If that day comes, I will not run."
The Master leaned back, the mask tilting. "So fierce," he whispered. "So certain. Perhaps there is use for you yet."
His hand waved, dismissive. "Go, little cat. Stay close to your demon. Watch him. Study him. Perhaps even… tame him. If you can."
His laughter followed her as she turned, every step deliberate, her spine straight despite the heat of eyes tracking her departure.
The door closed behind her.
She exhaled once, long and silent, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. Her claws ached from where they had pressed into her palms.
Freedom. That was what she had said. But here, in these walls of fire and shadow, she could feel the chains tightening again.
Only now, one of them gleamed crimson, and it was tied to a man whose eyes burned like blood and madness.
And she could not tell if that terrified her more… or less.