A Beast in the Guise of an Old Ally

The dense fog that shrouded the Liushui River at dawn hung like a grey curtain, veiling the wounds of the lower city. Atop the cracked stone bridge stood Mo Tianyin. But he was not the Mo Tianyin Jin Lian had known. The body was the same—lean, precise, deadly in movement—but the eyes... were hollow. Still gray, yes, but without depth, without that analytical spark that once burned like a beacon through the night of despair. Now, they were like darkened mirrors, reflecting the world without owning it. On his forehead, beneath the faded blue mark of the Tainted Blood, was a small metal emblem—a golden flower inside a red circle—like a brand on a slave.

Before him, lined up like a wall of flesh and iron, stood a group of "new recruits." Men from poor mixed-blood backgrounds and desperate Tainted Bloods, conscripted by Liang Jiuyong through fear or promises of bread. They trembled, eyes fixed on Mo Tianyin—this black legend now turned tool of their suppression. Mister Qin watched from the shadows, his narrow eyes missing no detail.

"Training begins," Mo Tianyin said. His voice was flat, void of tone, like a talking clock. "The enemy… is the Tainted Blood Cell. Their weapons: deception, covert strikes, the exploitation of mercy." He raised a slender hand. "Your weakness… is their doorway. Seal it. With iron and fire."

The drill began. Brutal. Bloody. Mechanical. Mo Tianyin moved like a silent storm, demonstrating kill points with a wooden blade that still left pain in its wake. "Here… the trachea. Eternal silence." A strike to a recruit's neck dropped him gasping. "Here… the liver. Slow death by bleeding." Another blow to a skinny youth's side. The men dropped, writhing, but Mo Tianyin did not stop. No expression crossed his face. Just the next. And the next. Even Mister Qin raised a brow—the horrifying perfection of the human machine was… suspicious.

• • •

Deep within the remote Wailing Marshes, where Devil Trees twisted like the arms of a ghoul, Jin Lian was overseeing a different kind of training. Her small group—Kai, Ming, Lin, Tao, Bao, and Dok—were learning the art of "living invisibility." Move like a shadow, breathe with the wind, use nature as an ally. Their strikes were not to kill, but to disrupt, to plant chaos, to escape.

"The new enemy… knows our old ways," said Jin Lian as she corrected Tao's stance. "He knows our likely hideouts. Our tactics." She looked toward the distant city, where a beast wearing the face of her old ally was hunting their ghosts. "So… we must be reborn. As an idea. As shapeless fear."

Her new plan was called "The Smoke Mirrors":

Infinite Distraction: Small cells carry out simultaneous, minor attacks in scattered locations—a supply cart burned here, a disused well poisoned there, a wooden bridge sabotaged elsewhere. The goal: make the enemy chase their own tail.

A Voice Without a Face: Use whispers and codes painted on walls to spread the message of "The Tainted Doll" everywhere. Make the name a phantom, appearing in dozens of places at once.

Strike Where Least Expected: Not the heart, but the nerves. Their next target: the Imperial Sub-Military Communication Center. Not to destroy, but to steal encryption codes—and plant false messages to cripple enemy response.

"But… he knows," Kai muttered bitterly as he sharpened his blade. "Mo Tianyin… knows how we think. Even how we think about changing."

Jin Lian didn't answer immediately. She stared into the marsh mist swallowing the trees. "Maybe… or maybe not," she said at last, her voice holding deliberate ambiguity. "The device altered him… but the memories? The instincts? Can everything be erased?" She wasn't sure. But doubt was the only ember keeping her from despair.

• • •

The next night, in the abandoned Lower City market after curfew, came the confrontation Jin Lian hadn't wanted… but had planned for.

It was a recon mission. Jin Lian and Dok were tracking "Red Blossom" patrol movements. They hid behind piles of empty sacks near an old warehouse. Suddenly, they heard footsteps—not the heavy stomp of guards, but light steps, like wind sifting sand. Steps Jin Lian knew in her very soul.

Mo Tianyin stepped from the shadows. Alone. Pale moonlight revealed his pallid face, his glassy eyes scanning the dark like a scanner. He stopped ten paces away. The scent of fine soap from his new Liang-issued uniform drifted into the cheap air, mixed with the cold scent of iron.

Dok tensed, hand on weapon. Jin Lian halted him with a gesture. She stepped out alone—to face the beast that had once been her teacher.

"Mo Tianyin." She said his name. Not as a challenge. Simply. Testing still waters.

He turned to her. No surprise. No anger. Just visual acknowledgment. "Jin Lian," he replied, voice flat. "Primary target. Best outcome: surrender. Minimize losses."

Words like knives. The same phrases he used about their enemies. Now… turned on her.

"Do you remember?" she asked, taking one step forward. Her eyes searched his for cracks in the glass. "The broken hut. The slaughterhouse. The child we left shivering in the alley… Do you remember why we did that?"

Silence. Only the distant moan of wind in deserted alleys. Then: "Memories are irrelevant. The mission is all." He said. But… was there a slight delay before the answer? A fraction of a second? Jin Lian couldn't be sure.

"The mission…" she repeated, another step. "To kill me? Like you killed Fang? Like you left Mai Ling to die?" She used the names like blades, stabbing at the glass wall.

This time, a longer silence. In his glassy eyes, maybe… just maybe… a flicker of something strange. Like a bubble of air in a block of ice. Then it was gone. "Emotional distractions. Impede efficiency." He raised his hand. In it, a narrow spike with a gleaming blade—his old weapon of choice. "Surrender… or die."

At that moment, from the rooftop of the old warehouse, came a false alarm cry—Dok's agreed-upon signal. The sound of glass breaking, then a shout: "Here! The doll is here!"

Mo Tianyin turned instantly toward the sound, body coiling into an attack stance. Full focus on the direct threat. But he didn't move. He stood still, calculating. A glitch in programming? Or precision assessment?

This was the chance. Jin Lian didn't flee. She moved toward him—not to strike, but to pass something. In the blur of motion, she pressed into his hand a small piece of black flint—the same kind from their shattered hut, used to spark fires. An ordinary stone… but it was a test.

Mo Tianyin's fingers closed on it reflexively. Then, without change in expression, he tossed it aside like worthless debris. His eyes returned to hers. Empty again.

"Your escape… is temporary," he said, then disappeared into the shadows, pursuing the false sound.

Jin Lian picked up the stone. It was cold. But in her memory, an image: his fingers had trembled slightly when he touched the stone. A faint shiver like the wingbeat of a dying butterfly. Or… was it just an illusion born of desperate hope?

• • •

In Liang's temporary palace, Liang Jiuyong reviewed reports on the "Smoke Mirrors" attacks. His face was calm, but his dark eyes glinted with dissatisfaction. Mister Qin stood before him.

"Effective… and irritating," Liang said of the strikes. "But indecisive. The Doll is learning."

"Mo Tianyin encountered her tonight," Qin said. "In the Lower Market. He didn't injure her."

Liang raised an eyebrow. "Why? Reports say she was within kill range."

Qin hesitated, choosing his words. "He… hesitated. When she mentioned the dead. And when she handed him something." He didn't mention the flint. "The 'Forced Harmony' device… is it 100% effective?"

Liang gave a soft smile. "Your doubts are reasonable, Qin Yuan. But perfection is not the goal. Apparent obedience is the weapon." He walked to the window. "Mo Tianyin is the perfect bait. He lures them—from memory… into the trap. Whether a spark remains in him or not… he serves the cause."

In an underground cell, where humidity clung to the skin like a nightmare, Mo Tianyin sat in his corner. The darkness was total. He did not move. He barely breathed. In his right hand, tightly clenched, the black flint stone had disappeared. No one saw him take it. No one knew. In the utter darkness, where Liang's eyes and hidden surveillance could not reach, his thumb slowly traced circles over the stone's rough surface… a continuous motion, as if trying to spark a fire in his extinguished memory. On his icy face, in this complete isolation, there may have been… or may not have been… a faint crack in the glass.

END OF THE VOLUMEB (1)