CHAOS
Nana hid within the bamboo thicket at the side of Songhe’s residence. Taotao had left her there, urging her to stay hidden while he hurried off to find help.
Even though they had failed to summon the immortal with the talismans, they were still on a mountain filled with cultivators. Surely, help had to be somewhere nearby. Songhe’s residence was secluded, tucked away from the main paths, but Taotao believed that if he moved quickly enough, he would find someone willing to come.
Left alone, Nana could do nothing but wait.
She lifted her gaze to the full moon hanging above. As she watched, its light began to thin, fading little by little, as though something unseen were consuming it. The shadows crept closer, stretching inward until the night itself felt suffocating.
She shut her eyes tightly and clasped her hands together in a fervent prayer.
This time, she called upon Leizun himself.
She begged the Heavens to tear apart whatever illusion had settled over her and restore the world to what it should be. She begged for protection, for Taotao to return to her.
And in return, she made her promise.
If Leizun spared them, she would abandon her greed. She would no longer chase wealth or wish for more than she had been given. She would live humbly, remain faithful, and be grateful for whatever life was left to her.
She repeated the promise again and again, each time with greater desperation, clinging to the hope that sincerity alone might shake the Heavens.
“Leizun, hear me. Let us go home! I ask for nothing more. I won’t be greedy again. I will be content. Just let Taotao come back to me.”
Close to her ear, a voice slipped through the darkness, quiet and gentle.
He is not coming back.
Nana’s eyes flew open as the soft words struck her like a physical blow. Her throat tightened, locking in place so that no sound could escape.
Stiffly, she turned her head toward the source of the voice.
What she saw knocked the remaining air from her lungs.
It was Xuemeng.
Her cousin sat beside her as though she had never left this world, her presence impossibly whole. Yet Nana knew—she knew—that Xuemeng was dead. The certainty of that fact clashed violently with what sat beside her, leaving her mind suspended between denial and recognition.
“Xuemeng? You…?”
The moment the words left her, panic surged. It broke through the paralysis and twisted into something frantic and uncontrollable. Nana raised her hands and began striking her own face, again and again, the sharp impacts echoing through the confined space as she shouted at herself to wake up.
Wake up!
Wake up!
Wake up!
Xuemeng’s expression shifted, her beautiful face distorting into something harsher, filled with resentment.
Without warning, she lunged forward.
Nana was knocked backward, her already weakened body offering no resistance as she fell onto the ground. Before she could recover, Xuemeng was on top of her, her movements abrupt and forceful. The blows came quickly, striking Nana’s face with sharp, stinging force, each impact snapping her head from side to side.
As she struck her, Xuemeng’s voice rose, no longer gentle. The words spilled out with raw bitterness, each accusation driven by something festering and unresolved.
Dumb whore!
Stole my husband?
Stole my life!
Pinned beneath her, Nana could do nothing but endure it. Confusion and terror crashed together inside her, leaving her unable to tell where reality ended and illusion began.
When Nana could endure no further, she twisted sharply to the side, her body moving on instinct and forced her hands up between them. With a desperate shove, she pushed Xuemeng off.
She did not wait to see what happened. Nana scrambled to her feet, her balance unsteady, and fled. Her steps faltered at first, but momentum carried her forward as she ran toward the house.
Behind her, Xuemeng followed.
She did not give chase in any hurried sense. She simply walked, composed, as though she had all the time in the world.
As she moved, Xuemeng began to sing. It was a child’s song, one Nana knew too well.
The melody was soft and lilting, almost gentle, but the words carried a different weight. They circled old cruelties, half-forgotten taunts about Nana’s face, her worth, and the things whispered behind her back when they were young.
Nana stumbled into the kitchen and forced herself into a corner, her back pressing hard against the wall as if she could sink into it. The song followed her inside. It slipped through the doorway, through every crack, through the air itself, until it no longer felt distant.
It was in her mind.
Nana clamped her hands over her ears and screamed to drown it out, to break its rhythm, to force it from her mind. The screams tore from her throat without control, rising and breaking, calling for Taotao, begging Xuemeng to stop, pleading with the Heavens.
Still, the song remained.
Curled into herself, Nana felt herself slipping into a strange numbness. She was too exhausted to scream anymore, too exhausted even to breathe as her mind slowly began to surrender beneath the weight of it all.
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Without warning, a sharp crack sounded from the stove.
A blue flame rose.
It caught suddenly, the dry wood within the stove igniting all at once. The fire took quickly, casting a wavering light across the kitchen.
The sudden shift startled her, pulling her back.
For a long moment, she could only stare.
The fire continued to burn, its presence solid and reassuring in a way nothing else had been.
Something in her steadied.
Slowly, Nana pushed herself out of the corner. Her legs still trembled, but they held. She moved toward the stove, her gaze fixed on the flames. They did not die.
Her eyes shifted toward the doorway.
Xuemeng had stopped singing. She stood perfectly still, watching Nana with a menacing look.
A sudden thunderclap split the cloudless sky.
Nana swallowed hard and looked back at the flames. A thought slipped into her mind, quiet as a whisper.
The flames were keeping Xuemeng outside.
She searched through the seams and pockets of her clothing for a talisman.
The memory surfaced, they had dropped them earlier, back in their sleeping quarters, scattered across the floor in their haste.
They were still there.
Nana reached into the stove and pulled free a small piece of burning wood. She held it carefully, tightening her grip despite the heat.
“Don’t die.”
The flame held.
It did not flicker. It burned steadily, answering her in the only way it could.
Nana understood with sudden, painful clarity what she had to do. She had to get past the ghost, reach their room, find a talisman, and burn it.
She began to move, walking slowly with the burning wood held firmly in her hand.
As she passed, Xuemeng did not attack. Instead, she spoke.
You used to wait outside our door for leftovers. Pretending to forget?
Nana kept walking.
You smiled at him before my body was cold.
She did not look back.
You think this life fits you? You’re pathetic.
Nana carried on, forcing herself not to listen, and only when she had put enough distance between them did she turn to look back. The ghost had not followed. It had vanished.
When Nana reached their bedchamber, she could not believe her eyes.
The door stood open.
Inside, Taotao lay on the floor.
Quite dead.
Beside him stood the monster that had taken his life.
Nana saw the smear of blood across its lips. Its tongue passed slowly over them, savouring its kill.
Nana’s reason left her.
Taotao lay upon a sea of talismans, thousands of them scattered in disarray.
Her fingers loosened, and the burning wood slipped from her grasp, striking the wooden floor.
She collapsed where she stood, the room receding around her, the monster becoming distant and indistinct as her mind refused to hold what she was seeing.
* * * * * *
In the common room of Songhe’s residence, Taotao dropped to his knees.
Before him stood Xuemeng.
In many ways, she looked as she had in life, and yet she did not. Blood ran from her eyes in unbroken lines, tracing the curves of her cheeks without end. She did not wipe it away.
Taotao lowered his gaze. He could not bear to look at her. Not like this. Not when the memory of her face, living, warm, whole, still existed somewhere inside him.
“I loved you,” he said.
The words came quietly, without strength or defense.
Then why did you replace me?
Xuemeng’s voice was not loud, yet it carried through the room with a clarity that left no space to hide.
Why? she continued. Why did you replace me with her?
Taotao’s mouth opened, searching for something, an explanation, a justification, anything that might hold against the accusations.
Nothing came, not because there was nothing to say, but because every word felt smaller than the truth it would have to carry.
His hands rose slowly, covering his face. A quiet, broken sound escaped him. He began to sob, each breath catching and failing before it could steady.
Xuemeng watched him.
If you truly loved me, she said, her voice lowering, losing its sharpness in favor of something hollow, then come to me.
The blood continued to fall from her eyes.
Choose me over her.
Taotao’s hands fell from his face.
He looked up at her then.
Tears blurred his vision, but he forced himself to see her.
Slowly, he shook his head.
Xuemeng’s expression broke. What had held together in her face twisted all at once, restraint collapsing into something violent.
She lunged.
Her body struck him with sudden force, driving him backward onto the floor.
He let it happen.
Each strike carried more than anger. It carried everything she had been denied, everything she believed had been taken from her.
I hate you! she screamed.
How could you do this to me?
Her voice broke apart as she struck him again and again, the words losing their shape.
Taotao did not fight back. There was no desire to defend himself, no instinct to survive, only acceptance.
Slowly, steadily, the air around them began to change as a warmth spread through the room.
The first flames caught near the edge of the room, small and uncertain.
Xuemeng’s assault slowed. She turned toward the approaching blue flames, her next strike did not land, confusion crossing her face as the world changed without her consent.
Then she looked back at Taotao.
The rage had not left her entirely, but it no longer held the same shape. Something else moved beneath it now, something uncertain.
I hate you.
Those were the last words to leave her lips before her form began to disintegrate, slowly breaking apart until she dissolved into nothing.
Taotao watched.
He did not reach for her.
He did not speak.
He did not try to get up as the flames closed in around him.