The Entity
Darkness. But not the kind that meant nothingness. This was a deep, shifting void, a place where light should not exist—yet it did, flickering in the distance like dying embers. The weight of something unseen pressed against Layla's mind, slipping through the cracks of her consciousness.
A whisper. Faint.
The voice was neither hers nor someone she knew, neither near nor far. It circled her thoughts, dragging her deeper into the abyss before she even realized she was falling. She felt her own mind unravel, threads of memory pulled and rewoven into something else. Something wrong.
The voice coiled around her ears, speaking in echoes that faded before she could grasp their meaning.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
Wake up, Layla.
The void cracked open.
—
Layla awoke in silence. Not the kind of silence that existed in the early hours of the morning, thick with the sound of distant wind and shifting branches. No, this was absolute stillness—the kind that made the air feel too thin, the world feel too hollow.
She sat up and immediately knew something was wrong.
The walls were too pristine, the floors too polished, the scent of burning incense too familiar. A wave of nausea coiled in her stomach as she scanned the chamber. It was not her room in the Silver Lotus Sect.
It was the royal palace she had died in.
Her breath quickened as she stumbled to her feet, reaching for a weapon she didn't have. She turned sharply, catching her reflection in the gold-framed mirror standing at the room's center.
And froze.
The woman in the mirror was not her.
Layla stared at the figure—identical to her in every way except for the robes she wore. Heavy, imperial red embroidered with golden threads.
Jinhai's robes.
Layla lurched back from the mirror, but the reflection didn't move with her. Instead, it smirked, a knowing, infuriating expression that did not belong to her.
The walls of the room melted away, dissolving like ink in water. The polished floors vanished beneath her feet, leaving her standing on the cold marble of her room.
She wasn't alone.
And at her feet, Shen Jinhai lay dying.
His breath was ragged, his once-mighty frame slumped against the stone steps. The golden embroidery on his robes was soaked through with red, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. He looked pitiful. Defeated.
But his gaze still burned.
Layla knelt beside him, her own body broken, battered. The world around them was crumbling, but her hands, trembling as they were, reached for something soft.
A pillow.
She placed it beneath his head. An emperor deserved dignity, even in death.
A cruel, echoing laughter filled the air.
The Dark Entity stood at the top, watching with something between amusement and disgust. It stepped forward, the flames behind it warping its form.
"How poetic." it purred.
"You, the queen who ruled by fear, the woman who demanded respect, the tyrant who crushed those who defied her—offering mercy to another emperor."
Layla's throat tightened. "I wasn't—"
"Wasn't what?" The Entity grinned, tilting its head. "Wasn't like him? Wasn't a ruler of steel and blood? Oh, Layla. You can lie to them, but you can't lie to me."
Jinhai's gaze flickered toward her. His lips moved, but no words came.
The Entity leaned in, its voice soft, intimate.
"Tell me, Layla, did he deserve dignity? And if he did, why not you?"
Layla's breath hitched.
"You wanted to be feared," it continued.
"You demanded unwavering loyalty, carved it into the bones of your people. And yet, here you are, giving him the very thing you would have denied anyone else."
The flames roared louder, a chorus to her silence.
"Tell me, Layla—why? Why save the man who would have let you die?"
Her lips parted, but the answer did not come.
The Entity's smirk widened. "You don't know, do you?"
Layla's hands curled into fists.
"You were weak in the end," it whispered. "That's the truth, isn't it? You weren't noble. You weren't just. You were pathetic. A queen who let herself be reduced to this."
The pillow under Jinhai's head burned away, turning to ash between her fingers.
"I wonder," the Entity mused, circling her, "if your new followers knew how you knelt at the feet of an enemy, if they saw you cradle the man who burned your past to the ground—would they still bow to you?"
Layla's pulse pounded in her ears.
"Or are you just a hypocrite wearing a dead girl's face?"
The weight of the words struck deep, sinking into the marrow of her bones. She opened her mouth to deny it, to refute every accusation, but nothing came.
The Entity stepped closer, its breath cold against her ear. And entity snapped its finger. Figures knelt before her—disciples, officials, warriors. The banners of the Silver Lotus Sect hung from the pillars, draped in regal elegance. This was not a rebellion's stronghold. It was a kingdom's court.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the vast chamber. Layla turned toward the sound, her heart pounding, her fists clenched.
The Dark Entity stood at the base of the steps, bathed in shadow, its form shifting like a specter. It had her face, but its presence was wrong—as if something ancient and rotted had wrapped itself in her skin.
"What are you building, Layla?" The voice was smooth, laced with mockery.
"This isn't real." she snapped, stepping back.
"You're just a parasite."
The Entity tilted its head, almost amused.
"Am I? Then tell me—what's the difference between you and me?"
Layla gritted her teeth.
"Ah, but don't they kneel just the same?" The Entity gestured to the silent figures at her feet. "You demand loyalty. You call for structure. You make decisions for them. Dictate their futures. But tell me—have you ever asked them if they wanted this?"
Layla's nails bit into her palms.
"How easily you slip into power frankly it suits you. More than you want to admit." the Entity mused.
She shook her head.
"I don't control them. I—"
"You don't?" The Entity chuckled. "Then why do they follow? Why do they cling to your every word?"
Layla's breath hitched.
"You are not Meilin.''
The Entity whispered, circling her now. "You are not this girl they love. You are a ghost wearing another's skin. A thief in a life that isn't yours."
Layla staggered. The words dug under her skin, peeling at something raw, something she refused to acknowledge.
"Tell me, Layla—do you deserve a parent's love?"
Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat.
"Your parents in this life hold you, cherish you. Your mother kisses your forehead. Your father teaches you lessons. But you? You were never a daughter. You were a noble. A ruler. A queen."
The air around her felt tight, suffocating. The weight of unseen hands pressed against her shoulders, her chest.
"Isn't it funny? The girl who never had parents in her past life has stolen the love of another child's. Meilin's parents love you, not her. Would they still, if they knew who you really were?"
Layla's hands trembled.
"No?" The Entity laughed, dark and rich.
"Then why do you still pretend?"
Layla's vision blurred. Images of Yuxe Wuye warm smile, of her mother's gentle touch, of Bao's laughter—all of it flickered like flames in a storm.
"Your humor, your joy, your friendships—all of it is a lie." the Entity murmured.
"You are playing pretend. Tell me—when did you last feel like yourself?"
Layla staggered as the room melted away, morphing into a battlefield drenched in blood.
Shen Mu towered above her, eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. The battlefield was exactly as it had been that night—the shattered earth, the bodies strewn across the war-torn field, the acrid scent of charred flesh hanging in the air.
And she was on her knees.
The Entity's voice slithered through the carnage, mockingly soft. "Oh, this scene. A true masterpiece of failure, don't you think?"
Layla gritted her teeth, struggling to stand, but her body refused to move. Just like that night.
"Your father saved you." the Entity sighed.
"You. The brilliant, untouchable queen—reduced to a helpless little girl, waiting for a hero to pull her out of the abyss."
Shen Mu's fist gleamed as it came down, and Layla braced for the strike—
But the moment never came.
Instead, the scene froze, leaving her trapped in the moment of her greatest weakness. The Entity's fingers traced the air, almost playful.
"I wonder," it mused, "how did it feel? Knowing you were going to die? Knowing that all your planning, your wit, your iron will—none of it mattered in the face of raw power?"
Layla's breath came ragged, her pulse thundering in her ears.
"You are pathetic." the Entity whispered, stepping beside her, its tone almost… pitying.
"Tell me, Layla—what would have happened if your father hadn't arrived?"
Layla tried to answer—but she couldn't.
"Ah. Silence again." the Entity chuckled.
"You're consistent, I'll give you that."
The frozen battlefield shifted—the soldiers, the blood, the destruction fading until it was only her and Shen Mu.
"Let's change the story, shall we?" The Entity's smirk widened.
"This time, there is no father. No savior. Only you. Let's see what happens."
Time lurched forward. Shen Mu's fist came crashing down.
Layla screamed.
Pain erupted through her body, sudden and overwhelming, as if the very nerves beneath her skin had caught fire. Her breath hitched, her limbs spasming. But this wasn't real—it couldn't be real.
Yet it felt real.
The battlefield replayed itself in agonizing detail, but she wasn't inside her own body anymore. She watched herself from above, as if she were nothing more than a spectator in her own tragedy.
"You never wondered, did you?" the Entity continued, voice a breath against her ear. "What would have happened if this girl's father hadn't arrived? If you had been left to die here, alone?"
Layla's heart pounded.
"Stop."
But the scene did not stop. It shifted.
In this twisted, reimagined battlefield, her father was nowhere in sight. The Silver Lotus Sect warriors were dead, their bodies reduced to mere shadows against the blood-soaked ground. And she—
She was still kneeling before Shen Mu, except this time, he did not hesitate. His fist came down.
A sickening crack echoed.
Layla choked on her own breath as she felt it—pain that did not belong to her present self, yet coursed through her like a tidal wave.
"Ah, do you feel that?" the Entity cooed, tilting its head. "That's the sensation of reality sinking in. Of truth."
Her past self crumpled to the ground. Dead.
"This is what should have happened."
Layla shook her head frantically. "That's not—"
"Oh, but it is." the Entity cut in smoothly. "You should have died here. This should have been the end of you."
She gasped for air, her lungs burning, her body wracked with tremors.
The Entity leaned in, whispering, "Tell me, Layla, what did you do to deserve this chance?"
Layla couldn't answer.
"Nothing." the Entity answered for her. "You did nothing."
The battlefield twisted again, and now she saw her sect, her friends, her people—standing in the distance, watching her failure.
Lin Wuye's eyes were cold. He was not proud of her.
"Maybe they would have mourned you for a time, yes." the Entity mocked her.
"But eventually? Someone else would have taken your place. And the world would have kept moving. Your name? A whisper, a fading scar."
Layla's breathing came in short, shallow bursts. Her chest ached, her stomach twisted. The guilt was suffocating, overwhelming, a lead weight sinking into her bones.
"But instead," the Entity continued, drawing out the words with satisfaction
"you lived. And now, tell me—what have you done with this second chance? Sorry third chance after all you died the first time to a mere poison and almost dying again within a day of taking over this poor girl's body."
Layla flinched.
"Oh," the Entity's smirk deepened. "That's right. You waste it. You pretend to be something you're not. You act like you're just another warrior among them. But we both know the truth, don't we?"
Layla's hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She tried to shut it out. Tried to will herself away. But the words sank into her like poison.
"You're not like them. You never were. And deep down, they know it, too."
Layla's vision blurred. The battlefield, her lifeless self, her disappointed father—all of it flickered like a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
"Tell me, Layla." the Entity's voice was almost gentle now
"If you were to disappear tomorrow, do you really think they would grieve you the way you want them to?"
Layla gasped for air. Lips parted from her mouth but no words came out.
"Do you really think they love you? Or are they just grateful you're still useful?"
Layla's body collapsed onto the battlefield, her mind splitting between reality and nightmare. The pain was unbearable, the weight of guilt crushing.
The Entity leaned closer, its voice an intimate whisper against her ear.
"Say it, and I will leave you alone. Say you are different. Say you deserve to be here."
Layla opened her mouth again but nothing came out.
Her throat locked, her mind screaming for her to deny it, to fight back, to do anything—but she couldn't say the words.
Because deep down, she wasn't sure anymore. She doesn't know if people loved her or Meilin. She doesn't know if she is even herself anymore. She doesn't know if she is doing the right thing.
Maybe I am a hypocrite..
The Entity smiled. And then it reached for her.
--
Meyu tightened her grip around Layla's body, the warmth of their shared blanket now overshadowed by the violent convulsions wracking through her body."Meilin?" Meyu whispered at first, her voice hesitant. Then she shook her.
"Meilin!"Layla's body twitched uncontrollably, her breathing shallow and rapid, beads of sweat forming along her temples. Her nails dug into her own arms, leaving red crescents behind.
Meyu felt fear crawl up her spine. She had seen Atlas restless before, but never seen anything like this—never so utterly trapped in something that couldn't be.
Panic surged. "MEILIN!" Meyu cried out, the name slipping from her lips before she even realized it.
"SOMEBODY HELP!"
The doors burst open, Lin Wuye stepping in first, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto Layla's convulsing form. Behind him, Meilin's mother stumbled inside, eyes wide with terror.
"Meilin!" Lin Wuye rushed forward, kneeling by the bedside as he grabbed her wrist, checking her pulse.
''What happened?"
"I—I don't know! She just—she won't wake up!" Meyu's voice cracked, her grip tightening on Layla as though afraid she would slip away entirely.
"Meilin, wake up! Please!" Yuxe Wuye's hands trembled as she hugged Layla's face, but the girl did not respond.
She was trapped inside her mind and she was fighting a losing battle.
—
The Entity's fingers closed around Layla's throat, its nails digging in with cruel precision. Its form writhed and twisted, shifting between something monstrous and something terrifyingly familiar.It grinned. "You don't deserve this life."
Layla choked, clawing at its grip, but her fingers passed through it like smoke, unable to touch the nightmare strangling her.
The Entity leaned in, its voice suddenly soft, eerily familiar.
It was her voice now.
"You shouldn't be here." it whispered, but this time, it sounded just like Meilin.
Layla's breath hitched.
"You took everything from me!" the Entity growled, its voice rising into a wretched, agonized scream. "You stole MY life! MY family! MY name! YOU TOOK WHAT WAS NEVER YOURS!"
Layla gasped, her vision blurring, the darkness pressing in from all sides. The Entity's grip tightened.
"You were supposed to DIE!" the Entity shrieked, and the darkness collapsed in on her.
—
"Meilin! WAKE UP!"
Her father's voice pierced the haze just as his hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently. Layla gasped, her eyes flying open as she lurched forward, choking on nothing but air. Her entire body shook, the remnants of the Entity's grip still burning on her throat like phantom pain. She was awake, but the world still felt wrong.
Her mother's arms wrapped around her, rocking her gently, whispering words she couldn't hear over the pounding in her skull. Meyu was still holding onto her too, her forehead pressed against her shoulder, her body trembling just as much as Layla's.
Layla tried to speak, but no words came.
The Entity's last whisper still echoed in her head:
You were supposed to die!
Layla sat frozen in place, her breath still uneven. The warmth of her mother's embrace should have been grounding, but instead, it felt like a weight she didn't deserve.
Her mind raced, replaying the nightmare, the suffocating grip of the Entity still lingering around her throat. It had spoken with Meilin's voice. Had screamed with her voice.
Do I really deserve to be here? The thought burrowed deep, a question that had no answer.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Layla's hand reached toward her neck, fingers brushing against the tender skin—
And then she felt it.
A searing sting erupted beneath her fingertips. Her breath hitched, and as she looked down, horror clawed its way up her throat. Deep, reddened scars marred the delicate skin of her neck—identical to where the Entity had strangled her.
Meyu, still clutching her, saw it first. Her breath shuddered, her fingers tightening on Layla's wrist.
"Meilin… your neck—"
Lin Wuye and Yuxe Wuye followed her gaze. Their expressions shifted from concern to something close to horrified disbelief.
"That's not possible," Lin Wuye muttered under his breath, already reaching forward to inspect the wounds. His voice was calm, logical, but the look in his eyes betrayed his unease.
"You were just sleeping… so how did—"
Layla's throat felt dry. She wanted to tell them. Debated to whether or not to admit everything—that she was not Meilin, that she had stolen this life, that perhaps… the Entity was right.
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, her mother cupped her face again, forcing Layla to meet her tear-filled eyes. "You're here," Yuxe Wuye whispered, almost as if convincing herself.
"You're here, my love."
Layla's chest ached at those words.
Lin Wuye sighed, pulling back. "The wounds aren't fresh, but they shouldn't be there at all. We need to treat them before they worsen."
Meyu nodded quickly, already moving to retrieve the medicinal salves. But as she moved away, she hesitated, glancing back at Layla. The look in her eyes was uncertainty.
She had seen something. Something that terrified her.
Layla said nothing.
She only reached up again, fingers lightly tracing the scars on her throat.
Because deep down, it still felt like the Entity's hands were there.
---
The soft scratching of charcoal against wood filled the air, broken only by the occasional murmur of instruction.
Inside the newly built schoolhouse, a group of young disciples sat hunched over their makeshift desks, frowning at the strange symbols drawn before them. Zhao Lihua, her silver hair tied back neatly, squinted down at the numbers scrawled across her paper, tapping her fingers against the surface.
"I don't understand," she muttered. "What does 'six times four' mean? Six what?"
The instructor, a thin man with ink-stained fingers, let out a patient sigh. "Think of it this way—if you had six baskets, and each one held four peaches, how many peaches would you have in total?"
Zhao Lihua brows knitted together as she whispered under her breath, tracing invisible patterns on her desk.
Zhu Fen peeked over her shoulder and said to Elder Jian. "Twenty-four, Elder Jian. It's easy!"
Jian Bo huffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Easy for a brat like you. My generation didn't waste time with numbers—we settled things with our fists!"
The class chuckled, though some continued scribbling, their expressions ranging from concentration to frustration. The cold wind rattled the wooden shutters, but inside, the warmth of the stove and the low hum of voices made it bearable.
—
Outside, in the open courtyard, two figures moved in a brutal clash.
Snow clung to their robes, their breath misting in the freezing air. The rhythmic clash of wooden staves echoed across the training grounds, punctuated by the dull thud of one body hitting the snow-covered ground.
Bao groaned, rolling onto his back. "You—you're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Jiang twirled his staff effortlessly, his breath steady despite the cold. "That's a strong accusation."
Bao scowled as he pushed himself up, his arms shaking. "This isn't training. This is torture."
Jiang didn't reply immediately. Instead, he lunged forward with merciless precision, his staff a blur of motion. Bao barely had time to react, raising his own weapon to block. The impact reverberated up his arms, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his shoulders.
"Complaining wastes energy." Jiang said, pressing the attack. His strikes were relentless—sharp, controlled, unforgiving.
Bao gritted his teeth, forcing himself to counter. "If I freeze to death, I'm haunting you."
Jiang sidestepped a desperate swing with effortless grace. "You'll have to catch me first."
Bao shifted his stance, exhaling sharply before launching forward in a blur of movement. He initiated Step One: Whispering Breeze, his staff striking out in a fluid motion. Jiang met it instantly, matching his speed with his own version of the technique.
Bao smirked. "Trying to match me now? I can outlast you."
Jiang's response was to press harder. His strength was superior, and his experience far greater. The snap of wood against wood cracked through the frozen air, each impact sending vibrations up Bao's arms.
What began as a test of agility erupted into a brutal contest of endurance. Jiang's blows carried raw force, each strike meant to break past defenses rather than simply test them. Bao countered with speed, ducking low and using every ounce of flexibility to avoid being overwhelmed.
But Jiang was relentless.
Their staves clashed, sparks of frost flying as they locked into a deadlock. Bao gritted his teeth, his muscles straining. The cold bit into his exposed skin, his breath coming in short bursts of mist.
"Still think you can match me?"
Jiang smirked, eyes sharp with focus. Then, without hesitation, he twisted his grip, using his superior strength to wrench Bao's weapon wide. In the same fluid motion, he brought his staff down—hard—into Bao's ribs.
The breath ripped from Bao's lungs as he stumbled, feet sliding over the slick, frozen ground. His vision blurred as he landed hard on his back, the snow beneath him crunching sharply.
For a moment, only the sound of his ragged breathing filled the air.
Bao wheezed, curling slightly as he coughed. "I hate you."
Jiang extended a hand, utterly unfazed. "Then stand up and prove it."
Before Bao could retaliate, a third voice cut through the icy air.
"Enough." Lin Wuye's voice was firm but carried a weight behind it. Both Jiang and Bao turned to see him standing at the edge of the courtyard, his expression unreadable.
Jiang lowered his staff. "What is it?"
Lin Wuye exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. "It's Meilin. Something happened."
Bao immediately sat up, ignoring the ache in his ribs. "What? What do you mean? Is she okay?"
Jiang narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. "What happened?"
Lin Wuye's jaw tightened. "I don't know how to explain it, but she won't talk about it. And… there are scars on her throat."
Silence fell between them, the cold suddenly feeling far less important.
Bao and Jiang exchanged a glance, their spar forgotten.
Jiang clenched his fists, but his voice remained calm. "How bad is it?"
Lin Wuye hesitated, his usual composed expression showing a rare flicker of unease. "Bad enough. She's awake, but she won't speak. And the scars... they're real."
Bao wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing still uneven. "Real? As in—"
"As in she woke up with them." Lin Wuye cut in.
"I don't know how, but something happened to her in her sleep and she's not telling us what."
Jiang exhaled sharply, grabbing his outer robe from the snow and throwing it over his shoulders. "Let's go."
Bao grumbled under his breath, rubbing his sore ribs. "You know, I was really hoping for a warm meal after this beating."
Jiang didn't respond. His pace was already brisk, his mind elsewhere.
Lin Wuye turned, leading the way, his footsteps slow but deliberate.
"She needs to see familiar faces. Maybe she'll talk to you two."
The cold no longer mattered. Bao and Jiang followed without another word.
As they stepped into the dimly lit room, the warmth from the brazier did little to chase away the heavy atmosphere. Bao's usual smirk faltered as he took in the sight before him.
Meilin sat propped against the headboard, her shoulders tense, her gaze distant. The usual fire in her eyes had dulled, replaced by something unreadable—something broken. Her mother knelt beside her, dabbing herbal salve onto her throat with steady but trembling hands. The dim light made the raw, red scars along her neck look even more pronounced, a brutal contrast against her pale skin.
Bao swallowed hard. He had seen Meilin injured before, seen her bloodied and bruised from battle. But this? This was different. This wasn't just a wound—this was something that had reached into her and taken something away.
Jiang remained still, his sharp gaze flickering from the scars to her vacant expression. He didn't speak, but his jaw tightened.
"Meilin." Bao finally said, forcing his voice to be light, casual.
"You look like shit, leader."
She didn't react. Not even a twitch.
Yuxe Wuye glanced up, her eyes tired and wet, but she managed a small smile.
"She woke up not long ago. Her pulse is steady, but…"
"She won't speak." Lin Wuye finished, arms crossed.
"She hasn't said a word since she woke up."
Bao let out a forced chuckle. "C'mon, you? Not talking? I must be dreaming."
Still, nothing.
Jiang stepped forward, his voice measured but firm.
"Meilin. Look at me."
For a moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, her gaze lifted. Her eyes met Jiang's, and Bao felt an uneasy shiver crawl down his spine.
She looked lost.
Jiang's voice didn't waver. "What happened?"
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, her hand twitched, moving toward her throat as if to touch the scars.
The moment her fingers brushed against them, her breath hitched—and she flinched.
Yuxe Wuye grasped her wrist gently, guiding her hand back down.
"Shh, sweetheart. It's okay. You're safe."
Meilin swallowed hard, and for the first time since they entered, she whispered—so faint, so hoarse, Bao barely caught it.
"No… I'm not."