16 - A Poison Deeper Than the Cure, A Lie in the Name of Grace

The night was deep, the moon a cold sickle in the sky. A breeze whispered through swaying trees, their shadows dancing gently in the flickering candlelight within the room.

Mo Yan sat quietly at the edge of her bed, fingers curled around a silk pouch. She traced the embroidered patterns with her thumb, yet never opened it. Her eyes were downcast, the candle's glow failing to reach the depths of her gaze. Silence wrapped around her like a long, suffocating night.

This pouch held the medicine she had taken since childhood—just a fingertip's worth each day. It was personally prepared by Liu Quanzhen, her master, who had always told her it was to soothe the panic attacks that plagued her when she was young. She had never questioned it.

Until a few days ago.

She had seen someone else—another soul, locked away by Liu Quanzhen in secret, a disposable pawn from the martial world—collapse after days without the medicine. Writhing in agony, his energy drained, his life force crumbling.

"The moment he stops taking it, he won't last more than a few days," someone from the sect had said coldly.

No longer needs the medicine…?

The words had struck her, and she had instinctively stopped in her tracks just outside the doorway.

Moments later, she forced herself to walk away, calm and unbothered, as though she had seen nothing.

She knew that taste too well—warm, mild, and seemingly harmless. It had kept her breath steady, her inner energy flowing smoothly. She had always believed that her years of progress, her mastery of the sword, were thanks to this medicine's help.

But now…

Now she realized it wasn't a cure. It was a poison.

Her breath caught, fingers tightening unconsciously around the pouch.

If this medicine was truly poison—then had she lived all these years sustained by it?

She remembered every moment from childhood—how Liu Quanzhen would feed her the medicine, saying gently, "This will balance your body, keep your condition in check."

And she had believed him. Without doubt, without question.

Now, the truth struck with brutal clarity: the medicine wasn't meant to heal—it was meant to control.

It felt like someone had slammed into her chest, a silent explosion of pain that stole the air from her lungs. But she made no sound.

She couldn't afford to.

She knew all too well how shrewd Liu Quanzhen was. If he even sensed a shift in her demeanor, the consequences would be deadly.

She had to bury her emotions deep, act as if nothing had changed—only then could she survive, only then could she search for a real cure.

But even as she sat still, a storm brewed within her—a despair so deep it almost drowned her.

This is the "kindness" you gave me, Master?

She drew a deep breath, steadying herself. But then—

A sudden shiver coursed through her body.

It had begun again.

That chilling, familiar sensation from her childhood. The so-called "panic attacks." Her heartbeat stuttered into chaos, limbs turning cold, inner strength flaring out of control like fire scorching her core, icy needles jabbing backward through her veins.

Only now did she understand—this wasn't illness.

This was addiction.

Her breathing grew shallow. Her fingertips trembled. She struggled to suppress the surge, to guide her energy into balance, but it was no use. Her flow of inner power was blocked, tangled, as though invisible threads were binding her veins, forcing her into submission to the cravings she never knew she had.

Her body...

Had long been enslaved by this drug.

Her lips pressed into a tight line, nearly drawing blood.

In the end, she opened the pouch, her fingers shaking as she took a small pinch of powder and placed it on her tongue.

It melted instantly—tasteless, colorless, deceptively gentle.

Within seconds, the turmoil in her body settled.

The frantic energy quieted. Her hands stilled. The cold sweat began to fade.

She closed her eyes. Silence returned.

Time passed—how long, she didn't know.

When she opened her eyes again, they were calm, as if washed clean of all emotion.

The flickering candlelight reflected in them, casting no warmth, only a quiet, frozen resolve.

She carefully tucked the pouch away, her movements as calm and precise as ever. Then she rose and blew out the flame. Darkness swallowed the room.

In that stillness, her hand clenched without her knowing, nails digging into her palm.

Now, she understood.

All her efforts over the years, all her achievements—they weren't true strength.

They were the illusion of strength, granted only by her master's poison.

What she thought was kindness had been control.

A quiet, unseen chain forged over years, soaked into her bones, leaving her no room to escape, no right to resist.

She had never been free.

And the cruelest part? She only realized it now.

In the dark, Mo Yan sat motionless. Her fingers slowly relaxed, then clenched again.

At last, her lips curled into a silent, bitter smile.

She would continue taking the medicine.

She would continue to obey, to play the part of the loyal shadow warrior standing faithfully behind Liu Quanzhen.

Because for now—she had no choice.

But one day…

She would take her fate back into her own hands.

Outside the window, the wind whispered through the night, carrying with it a chill barely perceptible—

the first breath of an approaching storm.