Chapter 2: Ashes and Embers
Jin Zhen sat in stunned silence, the chaos of the moment still ringing in his ears.
The Silver Talons lay groaning in the street—defeated not by brute force, but by music. By her.
Mei Lian rose to her feet, brushing dust from her leather corset with the indifference of someone who'd done this before—many times.
"You alright, street boy?" she asked, flicking a strand of raven hair from her cheek.
Jin's voice rasped. "What… was that technique?"
Mei Lian crouched beside him again, her fingers grazing the ruined guqin by his side. "A Song of Reversal. Not very subtle, but effective when someone's being a jackass."
She turned her golden eyes on him, gaze smoldering with something unreadable. "Your instrument's dead."
He winced. "It was already half-dead."
"Still. It's a shame. There was emotion in your playing."
Jin narrowed his eyes. "You could hear that?"
"I could feel it." She tapped her chest lightly. "Right here. That's rare."
He swallowed, unsure what to make of her. She wasn't just a rogue cultivator—she was dangerous, bold, beautiful, and far too confident. And she was looking at him like he was… worth something.
"I'm not a real cultivator," Jin muttered. "My dantian's twisted. Broken."
She smirked. "Maybe. Or maybe you've just never learned to play the right song."
Jin frowned. "What do you mean?"
Mei Lian stood, holding out her hand. "You want answers? Come with me."
He hesitated. The street behind him was dark and broken. His future here? Smaller than the broken coins in his bowl. But in front of him… something was beginning.
He took her hand.
---
They walked through the back alleys of Eastern Yu until the city lights faded behind them. Mei led him to a quiet hill outside the city wall, where lanterns dotted the tall grass like floating fireflies.
A lone pavilion stood near the top. Inside: incense smoke, faded scrolls, a polished zither.
"Your hideout?" Jin asked, still trying to catch his breath.
"Something like that," Mei said. "Now sit."
He obeyed, lowering himself onto a cushion. She sat across from him, legs crossed, her posture flawless.
"You said your core's broken. Who told you that?"
Jin hesitated. "Every sect that rejected me. Every master who tried to teach me and failed."
She nodded slowly. "And did you ever listen to your core?"
He stared at her. "What does that even mean?"
Mei's fingers danced over her zither, not playing, just touching. "Every cultivator focuses on force—qi techniques, spiritual beasts, talismans. But they forget something older. Deeper."
She looked up. "Emotion."
Jin scoffed. "That's weak."
She grinned. "No. It's pure. Raw. The first cultivators used music and feeling to shape the world. Rage to summon storms. Grief to bend rivers. Desire to create life."
Jin's breath caught. "Dual cultivation."
Her eyes sparkled. "Among other things."
Silence hung between them, electric.
Finally, she said, "Play something. Anything."
Jin looked down at the broken guqin slung across his back. Two strings remained. The wood was cracked, but...
He set it on his knees and closed his eyes.
The first note came out wrong. The second—offbeat. But he pushed through.
He played sorrow. He played hunger. He played the ache of a life lived without answers.
When he finished, Mei didn't speak right away.
Then she said, "Your core isn't broken, Jin Zhen. It's sealed."
His heart skipped. "How would you know?"
"Because I can feel it." Her hand hovered just over his chest, where his core pulsed weakly. "Like a candle behind glass. You need more than qi to open it."
Jin looked at her, uncertain. "Then what do I need?"
She leaned closer, her voice soft and low. "Passion. Trust. Intensity."
Her fingers brushed his.
He flinched.
"You're afraid," she said simply.
"Of what?"
Her gaze was fire. "Of feeling something too deeply."
Jin stood abruptly. "Thanks for the rescue. But I don't need—"
"You do," she cut in, her voice suddenly firm. "You have something inside you, Jin. And whether you believe it or not, others will sense it soon. The wrong kind of people."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying… if you want to live past next week, you need me."
He didn't answer. His heart thudded too loudly in his ears.
Mei turned away and pulled something from under a cloth—a worn guqin, dark with age but perfectly tuned.
She held it out to him.
"I'll teach you the old way. The real way. No sect rules. No fake honor. Just sound and soul."
Jin stared at the instrument.
Then he nodded.