Chapter 2: Resurrection

With just a gentle swipe, she could be gutted, her belly split open, and the immortal fungus, which in a moment’s impulsiveness it had fed her, could be retrieved. Yet its claws seemed to slip from its command, unable to make that final incision. Its gaze shifted to the girl's face. Her long, slightly curled lashes resembled butterfly wings at rest, lightly veiling her pale small countenance.

Suddenly, the stranger turned and fled the house, plunging into the rain with a wild howl—a sound like thunder rolling across open ground—soaring upward, vanishing into the masses of storm clouds. All across the city, people were roused from their sleep; some threw on robes and stood at their windows, peering out only to see the sky shrouded in black clouds and the rain pouring down in torrents.

The girl lying on the brick floor awoke abruptly to excruciating pain. Her breastbone, split by a steel blade, crackled as it slowly shifted back into place, the break knitting together with astonishing speed. Torn muscles and vessels regenerated and fused at a miraculous rate, her split skin closing over with a faint hissing sound. The agony was so intense that her half-detached soul was yanked back into her body, only to almost slip away again.

Her small body writhed and twisted on the ground, a hoarse, desperate scream tearing from her throat. She fought for what felt like an eternity, until the fatal wound on her chest had healed as though it had never been, the pain finally subsiding. Drenched in sweat, she lay sprawled, dazed and trembling. Who knew how long passed before she slowly rose; through the ragged tear in her bloodied shirt, her skin was visible—stained with blood, yet whole. Not a trace of the wound remained.

With terrified eyes, she stared at the two corpses lying nearby. They were her family’s maids—one with her throat cut, the other cleaved from shoulder to waist, both bodies long since cold and stiff. Her memory slowly returned.

The masked men who had burst into her home. The flash of blades. The family’s frantic flight, the glint of steel, the blinding spray of hot blood filling her sight. A steel blade raised above her, the ferocious eyes behind the mask. Mother suddenly throwing herself over her, shielding her frozen body. The blade plunging down, her mother’s warm blood gushing forth to envelop her, then the cold bite of steel piercing her own chest.

When the cold receded, it left behind a pain as if her heart had been torn apart. She lost consciousness in the throes of agony...

Mother.

She suddenly sprang up and ran into the courtyard, calling “Mother! Mother!” over and over. At last, when she found her mother among the heap of corpses, the body was already icy.

A nine-year-old girl had no way of understanding what had happened. She did not know what she had lost, could not imagine what the future held, and scarcely grasped the meaning of death. She only vaguely understood that her mother would never wake again, never hold her or call her by her pet name in that gentle voice. She did not cry. The shock of the tragedy had petrified her; now she could only sit in stunned silence beside her mother’s corpse, her face blank and bewildered.

The rain continued to pour, soaking her through until she was freezing. After a while, she crawled to her mother’s side and lay down, resting her head upon the stiff arm, nestling against the cold chest, and closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep.

Perhaps when she awoke, it would all prove to be nothing but a nightmare, and she would find herself in her soft bed, her mother’s embrace still warm.

In the midst of the downpour, her body bathed in rainwater tinged with blood, pressed against a corpse, she truly did fall asleep.

She was roused by a sudden commotion.

“Someone’s dead—dead!” a voice shrieked as people ran about. She scrambled to her feet and saw her mother’s stiff body, the face tinged blue. In that instant, she understood that nothing could ever be undone.

Chaotic footsteps echoed outside the gate as more people rushed in. Instinctively, she realized she could not be discovered alive—she must hide. As her mind sharpened with alertness, a faint golden light flickered in her eyes, and her young face took on an icy, somber expression far beyond her years. Where to hide? She glanced around and spotted a tall camphor tree in the courtyard.

Up in the tree, she thought. Oddly, as she formed the idea, she wondered at herself—how could she possibly climb such a tall, straight trunk? Yet now she felt certain she could. Before she could question further, her body moved. She darted to the tree, placed her hand against the trunk, and her palm seemed to cling as if with suction; with a light push of her limbs, she swiftly ascended, her weight no burden, her body light as a feather.

There was no time to ponder—the gate had already been forced open and soldiers poured in. They gasped in shock at the carnage, too stunned to notice the little girl, nimble as a monkey, vanishing into the thick canopy.

“From the old master down to the newborn great-grandchildren, not one was spared. The cruelty is beyond belief. What could the Zhou family have done to provoke such a massacre?” an officer shook his head in grief.

Another soldier, trembling, replied, “Did you hear that thunderous explosion last night? It shook the whole city. I knew it was a bad omen!”

A voice called at the gate, “The magistrate is here—!”

The magistrate of Jiaozhou entered, clad in brocade official robes, a withered figure with a stooped back and a sparse goatee. As the highest-ranking official in the region, he had come in person to oversee such a major case.

With a grave face, he surveyed the bodies and ordered his men to count the dead and examine each corpse. By afternoon, the authorities had finished their grim tasks and had the bodies moved elsewhere.

The girl saw the magistrate arrive and hesitated, considering whether to reveal herself and seek protection. But her instincts warned her not to come out. She could not shake the feeling that the masked men were still lurking, watching unseen, ready to kill her the moment she appeared.

Hidden among the branches, she watched as her mother’s body was carried away. Only then did the pain of separation pierce her heart, wrenching and unbearable. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, letting her tears soak into her sleeve so she would not be noticed.

As night fell, the soldiers hurried to abandon the grim scene, leaving only a few to guard the main gate, none of whom dared step foot inside. The courtyard was deserted, chalk outlines marking where each victim had fallen, preserving their final postures. Even after a night of heavy rain, the air was thick with the stench of blood.

Seeing the place empty, the girl prepared to slip down from the tree. As she was about to move, she heard faint footsteps on the rooftop. Two figures, their origins unknown, drifted over like shadows, black cloaks billowing like night demons. They paused on the roof ridge, then leapt into the courtyard. Suddenly, she noticed her vision seemed sharper than ever; though the moonless night was pitch-black, she could see everything clearly. This change, she realized, had begun from the moment she awoke. Yet the two figures, faces hidden behind masks, remained unrecognizable despite her keen eyesight. They surveyed their surroundings, and the taller one asked, “How many in total?”

“One hundred and thirteen,” the short one replied respectfully.

At the sound of the voice, the girl shuddered. It was eerily familiar—she had heard it only recently. Focusing her gaze, she recognized the short figure’s slight stoop.

The magistrate.

It was the magistrate! Cold sweat broke out on her back. The magistrate, the highest official in the city, was in league with those who had slaughtered her family.

“Not a single survivor?” the tall one asked.

The short one hesitated. The tall one turned and fixed him with a piercing glare. The short one replied, “One is missing.”

“Who?”

“Zhou Yishu’s eldest daughter, called Qingtan. She’s nine this year.”

With a sudden sweep of his hand, the tall one struck him hard across the face, knocking him to the ground. Kneeling, the short one clutched his cheek and pleaded, “Master, please don’t be angry! She’s just a girl, so young—she won’t amount to anything even if she escapes. Please don’t trouble yourself over her.”

The one addressed as master kicked him in the face. “Better safe than sorry! If you’re so careless, do you mean to leave me something to remember?”

The short one kowtowed frantically. “Master, have mercy!”

“Go back and cut off your left arm,” the tall one said coldly.

Trembling, the short one pressed his forehead to the ground. “Yes.”

“If you find her, kill her.”