The forest gave way to stone.

  Moss thinned, mist receded, and soon, the scent of pine gave way to carriage smoke, oil lanterns, and the iron-sweet tang of spirit-forged steel. The road that twisted down from the eastern ridge opened onto the trade path leading directly toward the outer ward of Huajing City.

  It had been years since Lian Xue and Lian Yue walked among civilization.

  And though they had changed… the world had not.

  Merchants bickered over jade weight.

  Alchemists squabbled in front of open cauldron stalls.

  Sect recruiters perched on corners, calling out with charm riddled smiles.

  Zhen’er, walking a half-step behind the twins, kept her eyes low and her hood drawn. The bruises on her face were fading slowly beneath the salve Yue had given her, but she still felt them like old shame.

  “You don’t have to hide,” Yue said softly, as if reading her thoughts.

  “Let them look,” Xue added, voice cool. “They won’t forget what they see.”

  Zhen’er said nothing.

  But she nodded.

  And let the hood fall back.

  ?

  The outer gates of Huajing loomed like stone fangs rising from the ground—etched with sect seals and adorned with banners bearing the crests of the Four Pillars. Guards patrolled the outer wall, but none dared block the three travelers.

  Not when the air around the twins shimmered with Core Formation pressure masked only by the thinnest veil.

  They walked through unchecked.

  And the city, in its usual rhythm, began to notice.

  “Did you feel that?” a talisman smith whispered to her apprentice.

  “Spiritual resonance… from them?”

  “That’s not just any pair of cultivators…”

  “Are they sisters? No… twins?”

  “From where? What sect?”

  “I’ve never seen them before—”

  Eyes followed them.

  Not with malice. Not yet.

  But with curiosity that bloomed like wildfire in a drought.

  ?

  They paused in a narrow alley between two incense shops to rest. Yue offered Zhen’er a steamed bun and a flask of bitter flower tea. The girl took it with trembling hands.

  “You still haven’t told us your name,” Yue said gently.

  Zhen’er swallowed, then bowed low.

  “My name is Zhen’er. My family was once part of a minor offshoot from the Azure-Root Sect… until we were exiled. I’ve lived on the edges of Huajing ever since.”

  Xue met her eyes. “You’re not weak.”

  Zhen’er flushed. “I… I was useless. If you hadn’t come, I—”

  “You survived,” Yue said. “You endured. That’s more than most.”

  “Do you wish to stay in the city?” Xue asked.

  Zhen’er hesitated.

  Then she shook her head.

  “I want to be strong. I want to protect people. I don’t want to feel afraid every time I close my eyes.”

  She bowed again, deeper this time—until her forehead touched stone.

  “Please… let me follow you. Let me learn.”

  The twins looked at one another.

  No words passed between them.

  But the answer had already been written.

  Yue smiled.

  “Then rise, Zhen’er. From this moment forward, you walk with us.”

  ?

  As they moved deeper into the city, the tone changed.

  Whispers had spread faster than feet could carry them.

  ? “Soul tablets shattered—”

  ? “Four noble families in mourning—”

  ? “A survivor returned speechless—”

  ? “They’re saying it was them. That they returned.”

  Yue flicked a glance at a passing group of young cultivators. One bore the sigil of the Shen family, badly stitched over his sleeve.

  He noticed her.

  Then froze.

  Eyes widened.

  He turned and fled.

  “We’re being recognized,” Yue said.

  “Good,” Xue replied.

  ?

  Unseen eyes turned in shaded corners.

  In a second-story teahouse, a figure veiled in dusk lotus robes activated a spiritual thread etched into her ring.

  “They’re here.”

  In a black-market stall run by an alchemist with a false smile, two attendants slipped through the back with word to the Lin family spies.

  In the hidden chambers beneath Starfire Pavilion, Elder Wei Jinhai raised his head mid-ritual.

  “So… it was you.”

  And far above, from the spires of the Jade Sky Temple, dream-scryers watched the image of the twins walking side by side, their soul harmonies unmistakable.

  The world knew now.

  The dead had returned.

  And the flames of the past were flickering once more.

  ?

  The sun dipped low behind the jade-tiled rooftops of Huajing, casting amber light through silken canopies strung between the merchant pavilions. Scented smoke curled from perfumed braziers, and colored lanterns began to glow like low-hanging stars. The city had come alive in its twilight rhythm.

  Lian Xue and Lian Yue strolled side by side beneath a colonnade of peach blossom trees, Zhen’er trailing just a respectful step behind. Though cloaked in calm, both twins observed their surroundings with the eyes of warriors—not tourists.

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  Vendors called to passersby with honeyed voices.

  Talisman writers painted names into spirit paper.

  A masked storyteller recited tales of ancient beasts in a circle of firelight.

  “We’ve never walked among the people like this,” Yue murmured.

  “Not since the fall,” Xue said.

  “Do you think they can tell who we are?”

  “Not yet. But soon.”

  Zhen’er stopped beside a stall selling glazed spirit cakes and stared longingly at a green one shaped like a lotus.

  Yue followed her gaze, her eyes softened. Then without a word, purchased three cakes.

  “Eat,” she said, handing her one. “We’re not in the mountains anymore.”

  Zhen’er took it with both hands, murmured her thanks, and bit into the cake. Her eyes widened.

  “This is… warm.”

  Yue chuckled. “So is the world—once you stop running from it.”

  ?

  As night deepened, they arrived at a modest inn tucked behind a crescent-shaped koi pond and weeping willows. Its name, carved into red lacquered wood, read: Veiled Courtyard House.

  The matron bowed low, her eyes lingering just a moment too long on Xue and Yue.

  She didn’t question their presence.

  She simply offered keys.

  “Two rooms. Discreet. Top floor,” she said, bowing again. “No questions. Meals delivered at your pace.”

  “Perfect,” Xue replied.

  Zhen’er was given the room nearest the stairwell.

  The twins’ room was at the very end of the corridor—tucked beneath the eaves of the slanted roof, with a high window that looked out onto the lantern-lit streets.

  ?

  Once the door clicked shut, the air shifted.

  The weight of the day fell from their shoulders like a robe slipping to the floor.

  Xue removed her sash slowly, her movements fluid, deliberate. Her hair spilled like silver silk down her back, catching the candlelight in soft waves.

  Yue leaned against the wooden screen, her gaze never leaving her sister.

  “We’ve made our return,” she said. “And already the world begins to tremble.”

  “We’ve only taken a single step,” Xue replied. “They haven’t seen what we truly are yet.”

  She turned then.

  And their eyes met.

  What passed between them wasn’t sudden—it had been building for hours, days, years. Since the first time they chose each other not as sisters, but as something more.

  Soulmates.

  Reflections.

  Lovers.

  ?

  Yue crossed the room in a breath.

  Their lips met like the clash of blades—sharp, seamless, and inevitable.

  Xue’s hands slipped into the folds of Yue’s robe, tracing familiar lines over newly-hardened muscle. Yue’s fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently as their mouths deepened.

  No words.

  No need.

  They had written this language in silence and dreams.

  The world outside faded to shadow.

  Inside, only heat remained—drawn slowly from skin, from breath, from years of restrained longing made holy in motion. They collapsed together onto the tatami, breathless, tangled, whole.

  “Yue…”

  “I’m here.”

  “Always?”

  “Always.”

  The night held them.

  ?

  Dawn crept gently through the frost-etched window, casting golden bars across their bare shoulders. Xue stirred first, brushing her fingers along Yue’s collarbone.

  “The world’s watching,” she whispered.

  “Let it.”

  They dressed in silence, movements languid but practiced.

  By the time they stepped into the corridor, Zhen’er was already waiting—freshly washed, dressed in a simple navy robe provided by the inn. She bowed when she saw them but didn’t speak.

  She didn’t have to.

  They were already walking as one.

  ?

  As they exited the inn, the wind shifted.

  A single paper crane—delicately folded, traced with a faint silver rune—fluttered down from above and landed on Yue’s palm.

  It pulsed with residual qi.

  She unfolded it.

  The ink glowed faintly as the message revealed itself:

  | To the ones who bloom from ice and shadow—

  Your presence has not gone unnoticed. The sects stir. The blood you spilled belonged to wolves with long teeth and longer memories.

  If you seek truth, seek it where masks dance and names burn.

  At moonrise, behind the Jade Silk Theater.

  Come alone. |

  ?

  Yue handed the paper to Xue.

  “A trap?” she asked.

  “A test,” Xue replied.

  “We’ll pass it.”

  Zhen’er watched them, brows furrowed.

  “Are we being hunted?”

  Yue turned, smiling.

  “Zhen’er. We were hunted before we were ever born.”