Old Flame

Ye Huan stepped out of her carriage, her crimson hanfu was flowing liquid fire in the lantern-lit night. Every embroidered phoenix on the silk shimmered as she moved, each step regal—a peek at her past life. The intricate golden hairpin coiled in hair twinkling under the moonlight.

Behind her, Lian Ku followed, eyes downcast, her footsteps ghost-like. She dared not speak, not even to breathe too loudly lest she provoked Ye Huan's anger. Her mistress was not easy to deal with when enraged.

Lian Ku missed the girl Ye Huan once was—a pampered princess with pride as high as the heavens yet a kindness that softened her edges. The sheltered jewel of the Ye household, a gentle girl who saw the world through rose-tinted glass. But the naïve and innocent little girl she had grown up with was gone, replaced by a sadistic mistress—a creature of malice and control. The feared demon of the Prime Minister's household, a woman who thrived on fear and ruthlessness. Yet, Lian Ku understood that her duties remained the same.

Ye Huan's presence was overpowering the moment she stepped through the door. Her reputation as the demon of the prime minister's household had spread far beyond the city. Her ruthless and sadistic tendencies had engraved fear in many of the Qin Kingdom's residents, and that was what she lived for. The more people feared her, hated her, loathed her, and envied her, the more powerful she became. The Domain of Darkness had chosen her as its Reverend, and she was going to take full advantage of that.This time, she would not be a pawn, nor would she fall as mere collateral in the endless web of schemes and political intrigue.

She had come to Jin Lan Pavilion at her father's request. Her younger brother was stubborn and unruly, but when Ye Huan spoke, the entire Ye mansion listened—even him.

The air was thick with an intoxicating blend of negative emotions—greed, envy, lust. Sin clung to the hall like a dense fog, a perfect feast for someone like her. With her traits, she could amplify these emotions, turning them into a powerful source of cultivation. Truly, attending the Moonlit Golden Overture was more than just an obligation; it was an opportunity for her abilities.

Then she smelled it. A familiar scent—one that sent a jolt through her senses.

Her curse lingered strong in the air. Which meant—

Ye Huan's pupils contracted, shifting from icy blue to a haunting rosy pink before deepening to crimson.

The change was so abrupt that Lian Ku stiffened, stepping back instinctively.

"I knew he faked his death," she muttered already moving, her eyes slicing through the sea of guests, honing in on the trail of that familiar scent.

Her memories wavered slightly as she pursued the trail, forgetting her previous mission. Did she truly want to see the person at the end of that scent?

Ten years. She had given him ten years of her life, yet what had she received in return?

Her steps faltered when she saw the back of a man. The scent of her curse clung strongly to his body. She thought she was over him, but unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case.

A single tear slid down her cheek, but she swiftly wiped it away. A demoness had no room for weakness.

Straightening her posture, she walked straight toward him. It is for the mission, not for my own sake, she murmured.

With a breath, she reached for him, her fingers curling, tightening around the man's shoulder. "Turn around."

He obeyed.

Her heart clenched as the man turned, and then—

Disappointment.

The face before her was unfamiliar. It was not him.

A cold silence settled between them before Ye Huan's expression darkened.

 "You're not him." Her voice was sharp. "Who are you, and why do you have my Curse of Uncultivation on you?" 

Her crimson eyes burned into a furious amber.

The lanterns flickered. A pulse of abyssal darkness rippled from her, staining the air with suffocating dread. The crowd cowered, the weight of her presence pressing against their lungs.

"Lady Ye, I don't understand what you mean," the man stammered, struggling against the suffocating pressure.

Ye Huan studied him closely. He did not appear to be lying. Demon's Window—her ability to perceive all negative emotions, hidden fears, desires, and falsehoods—revealed no deception in his words. Instead, she sensed sorrow, grief, guilt, and doubt.

After a pause, she relaxed her aura. "My apologies, sir. I mistook you for someone else."

Like a spell breaking, the hall returned to its usual state. Conversations resumed, and the guests who had cowered moments ago acted as if nothing had happened.

The man exhaled shakily, regaining his composure. "No harm done, Lady Ye."

She studied him for a lingering moment before tilting her head. "Your name?"

"Chen Xiao. Your Ladyship."

Ye Huan hummed in acknowledgment. "Ah, I have heard of you."

His jaw tensed. "I can imagine."

"As a token of my sincerity, allow me to offer you assistance. The affliction upon you is not mere poison—it is a curse. A strong one, rendering you incapable of practicing martial arts."

"I am aware." His voice was even.

"Oh?" Her lips curled. "I can remove it for you—for a price."

"Thank you for the offer, but I am fine."

Foolish, she thought, but did not press. "Very well." She turned, pausing only to add, "Be wary, Chen Xiao. Someone close to you harbors a vicious heart."

She turned to leave but paused. Another wisp of her curse drifted through the air—fainter, but undoubtedly from another source. Her gaze swept the room, but before she could investigate, a familiar voice interrupted her search.

"My dear didi," she called, her tone light yet laced with an unmistakable edge. "You haven't run yet?"

Ye Ziyang, caught mid-celebration over his poems advancing, stiffened. His plan to evade his sister's scrutiny had failed.

Lian Ku, silently observing, wisely prioritized survival and took a cautious step behind Ye Huan. The last thing she wanted was to become the target of any misdirected fury.

Ye Huan's gaze was piercing. "Since you're already here, make sure one of your poetry servants wins. The Ye family must not be humiliated."

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her focus already shifting back to her true hunt.

The hall came alive as the contestants were announced. Ye Huan found it difficult to track the scent of her prey amidst the constant movement, so she decided to settle in and watch the contest. She would pursue the trail when the scent became stronger. Even without it, she knew she would recognize her former husband the moment she saw him.

Thirty contestants took their places, each facing an opponent in a battle of couplets. Poetic lines would be exchanged like drawn swords until only two remained.

The host's voice rang out: Spring River at Dawn.

The first challenger stepped forward, his voice booming:

"The jade river winds, clear as a mirror wide,Morning sun kisses waves in golden tide."

His opponent barely hesitated before countering, confidently:

"Yet fleeting ripples break that tranquil hue,Like hidden sorrows no light can undo."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The answer was flawless. The victor stepped forward.

The next match began before the previous winner could even bask in his triumph. One after another, contestants clashed and fell. The duels were swift, efficient.

Ye Huan listened, her mind slipping into the past. Poetry had once been her bridge to a man who had remained just out of reach. She had traced meaning in his words, hoping they would lead her to his heart. But in the end, all they had left her with were echoes.

Then, something in the air shifted. A cadence, a rhythm—so familiar it sent a shiver down her spine. Her ears honed in on a voice. High, almost delicate.

But the structure, the flow, the lyricism.—unmistakable.

Her icy blue eyes flickered, deepening into a rosy pink as she searched for the source. From her position, she couldn't make out his face clearly. Yet something about him gripped her, like a thread pulling taut between them.

The contest continued. Thirty-two became sixteen. Sixteen became eight. Eight became four.

Then two.

Ye Ziyang's hired poets had fallen like dry leaves. The only ones left standing were Chen Xiao and Mo Wenqing.

And then—

The scent returned.

At first, she dismissed it as lingering from Chen Xiao. But no—this was different. Subtler. Fainter, yet insidious in its familiarity.

Her breath hitched.

"Could it be…" she murmured, stepping forward, her heartbeat a restless drum.

Her eyes locked onto the hat-wearing man. The distance between them suddenly felt unbearably vast.

Ye Huan's world tilted.

Had her prey finally surfaced?