The hidden hall beneath the jade chambers was warm with candlelight.
Velvet shadows flickered along stone walls, cast by the soft flame of spirit lamps. It had once been a place for quiet meditation, now, it pulsed with something far heavier.
Huolian stood near the altar, her back to Zhao Fei.
"Close the door," she said.
Zhao obeyed without hesitation.
The latch clicked shut behind her.
Silence bloomed, stretched. Only the soft rhythm of breath between them.
Zhao stepped forward. Her face was flushed, not from exertion but something deeper, confusion, need, aching devotion.
The silver hairpin Huolian had gifted her was still tucked into her bun, crooked slightly from trembling hands.
"I-" Zhao's voice faltered. "I don't understand what's happening to me."
Huolian turned, slow and graceful, like the unfurling of a serpent from a coil.
"You think too much.," she said softly while smiling.
'What an idiot.' She thought.
Zhao looked down, shame and longing twisting in her chest.
"I just... when I see you, it's like I can't think. Like there's no one else. I, I thought maybe I was cursed, but then... I didn't want it to stop."
She stepped closer, eyes shimmering. "I want to stay near you. Even if it hurts."
Huolian watched her with cool, unreadable eyes. "Then come closer."
She knew she had to go along with it and do it.
Zhao obeyed. Her steps were uncertain, hesitant, still caught in the illusion that this was something tender.
Huolian touched her cheek.
Zhao leaned into the touch like it was a lifeline.
"It's not weakness," Huolian said gently. "You're just tired of pretending to be strong. This is love."
Zhao's lips parted as if to protest, but nothing came out. Her shoulders slumped, the strain of discipline and expectation leaking out of her in waves.
"You've carried yourself like a sword," Huolian murmured, tracing her fingers down Zhao's jaw, "but even swords break when they're held too tight."
Zhao closed her eyes.
Huolian leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. Zhao trembled, not with fear but with relief. She was unraveling, thread by golden thread, caught in something deeper than seduction.
It was devotion, coiled around her ribs like a second skin.
When Huolian kissed her, Zhao responded like she had been waiting for it since the moment their eyes first met.
Soft, desperate, and lost. Her hands tangled in Huolian's robes. Her body arched toward her with reckless surrender.
They sank to the polished stone floor together, breath mingling, skin flush with rising qi. Their energies touched and twisted, red-black and silver-white merging in strange, delicate spirals.
Huolian guided it. Let it coil, slip and bond.
And then she shifted it.
The moment their qi locked into rhythm, the chains snapped shut.
Zhao gasped.
Her whole body shivered as something within her realigned, perfectly, irrevocably. Her spirit bent toward Huolian's like a flower to sunlight.
She didn't know it, but she had fallen past the point of return.
When it was over, Zhao lay with her head on Huolian's shoulder, the curve of her spine pressed into the crook of Huolian's arm.
"I've never felt anything like this," she whispered, voice raw.
"I know," Huolian said.
Zhao's fingers trailed lightly across Huolian's chest, drawing idle circles, her breath slow and even. "Was it always like this for you?"
"No."
Zhao looked up, blinking. "Then why me?"
Huolian didn't answer right away. She ran her hand down Zhao's back with the same slow precision she used to sheath a blade.
"Because you were the strongest," she said finally. "And the easiest to break."
Zhao didn't flinch. She smiled, a soft, ruined smile. "Then break me again."
Huolian stared at her, studying her expression, the openness, the need. She had used this technique as Boluo countless times.
The effects were always miraculous.
The bewitching had taken root deeply, but it wasn't demonic qi anymore.
Not exactly. She had peeled that back with the intimacy, with the qi synchronization, leaving behind something more pliable.
Obedience born not from qi and dao, but through choice.
Zhao loved her now. Or thought she did. The difference didn't matter.
"Do you remember what I said?" Huolian asked.
Zhao blinked sleepily. "When?"
"At the lake."
Zhao nodded. "You said I should rest. That I should sit out the tournament."
Huolian turned her head, her lips near Zhao's ear. "I still think you should. It's too much for you."
Zhao's voice was barely a breath. "Alright. I'll forfeit."
Huolian closed her eyes.
That was the last thread she needed.
They went back to their 'frolicking.'
Later, as Zhao dozed in the hollow warmth of the secret chamber, Huolian dressed in silence. Her motions were precise. Unhurried.
She adjusted the jade token at her belt and checked her sleeves for powder residue, spiritual slips, anything left behind.
There was none.
She looked down at Zhao for a long moment.
The girl's face was soft in sleep, utterly unguarded. Her fingers curled toward the space Huolian had left, reaching even in dreams.
Huolian had removed the bewitching residue during their embrace, not out of mercy, but strategy.
Anyone skilled enough to investigate Zhao's spirit would find nothing unnatural now. No trace of coercion. Only bonded qi, a product of mutual cultivation. A lover's imprint, not a master's chain.
Perfect.
Clean.
If anyone questioned it, Zhao herself would defend the connection. With tears, if needed.
Huolian stepped over the threshold and closed the secret door behind her.
The air outside was cold. Mountain wind slipped through the trees, sharp with pine.
She took a breath and smiled faintly.
Zhao Fei was no longer a rival. She was an anchor, a shield, a witness who would bend the truth in Huolian's favor without even knowing why.
The perfect slave
And the tournament would begin in three days.
And she was ready.