Chapter 7: The Lantern Keeper
The night was thick with fog.
Not the gentle sort that clings to mountains and rivers.
No — this fog moved. It breathed. It whispered. It watched.
Jiang Fan walked through it with steady steps. His cloak, dark and torn, dragged behind him like an old sin. The Whispering List had already set forces in motion. The hounds had been released.
But tonight… tonight he was looking for something else.
A light.
And there it was.
A lantern swayed in the distance — dim, flickering. Yet it held the fog at bay.
He approached.
The flame was held by a girl no older than sixteen. Her eyes were strange — too old, too tired — like someone who had wept for centuries and just now learned to forget.
She raised the lantern.
"You look lost," she said.
Jiang Fan said nothing.
The girl tilted her head. "You don't have to speak. Most don't, when they come here."
He narrowed his eyes. "Where is here?"
The girl smiled faintly. "Where you find yourself… or lose yourself. Whichever you need more."
They walked.
The lantern carved a narrow path through the fog. Jiang Fan could feel it — something ancient in that light. Not spiritual. Not demonic.
Something… in-between.
"You hold that flame like it's a burden," he said after a while.
"It is," she replied.
"What's your name?"
"I don't have one."
He didn't push.
They reached a cottage nestled among broken statues — saints without faces, gods with shattered mouths.
The girl gestured. "You can rest here."
"I don't rest."
"Then don't."
He stepped inside.
It was warm. Silent.
Old books lined crooked shelves. A single tea set sat on a low table. No dust. No cobwebs. As though time here had agreed to pause.
The girl remained outside, holding the lantern.
Days passed.
Jiang Fan didn't know why he stayed.
Maybe it was the quiet.
Maybe it was the way the girl never asked questions, never feared him, never lied.
She simply was.
And for the first time since arriving in this cursed world, Jiang Fan didn't feel like he had to watch his back every second.
One evening, he asked, "Why do you carry that flame?"
The girl sat across from him.
"Because someone must."
"Why you?"
"Because I'm not afraid to burn."
He studied her.
And for a moment, he saw something crack behind her eyes — a flicker of guilt. Of memory.
"You're not just some lost soul," he said. "Who were you?"
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Someone who failed someone else. A long time ago."
On the seventh night, the fog grew violent.
Spiritual pressure surged outside the cottage. Jiang Fan stepped into the storm, senses flaring.
Three figures stood in the dark — robed, masked, drenched in qi twisted by hatred.
Crimson Falcon Pavilion.
Jiang Fan's eyes narrowed. "How did you find me?"
The one in front laughed. "You think you can hide behind children and firelight, heretic? The List never forgets."
Jiang Fan looked to the girl.
Her hands trembled.
"I didn't tell them," she whispered. "I swear."
He believed her.
But then the lead assassin laughed again.
"Don't blame her. We didn't need her to talk. That lantern of hers? It's alive. It sings when a Heart Demon draws near."
Jiang Fan froze.
The girl's eyes widened.
"No… I didn't know…"
She stepped forward.
"Let me help—"
But Jiang Fan raised a hand.
"Don't."
His voice was ice.
"I don't need help."
He stepped forward.
The assassins never stood a chance.
Jiang Fan didn't fight like a man.
He fought like grief given flesh.
His shadows peeled from his feet, singing in tongues that bent the air. His gaze alone cracked bone. And when the last assassin tried to scream, Jiang Fan stuffed his own regret into the man's mind until he drowned in memories not his own.
The fog died with them.
Only silence remained.
He turned.
The girl still held the lantern — but now, she was weeping.
"I didn't know," she whispered. "I swear on whatever's left of me. I didn't know."
Jiang Fan walked past her.
Paused.
"You shouldn't swear. Not in this world."
He left her there — trembling in the light of a flame she no longer trusted.
Emotion Logged: Doubt. Disappointment. Restraint.Seed Progress: 46.7%
Trust not yet broken… but fraying.
Elsewhere
In a temple without walls, three old men sat cross-legged beneath a black sun.
"He did not kill the girl."
"No," one muttered. "He still hasn't let go."
"He will."
"And when he does?"
"Then the next betrayal can begin."
End of Chapter 7