Ruins Beneath a Yellow Sky

"There are no more shadows to fight...

For we have become the shadows striving to build light."

— Jin Lian, on the first day after the quake

• • •

The pale yellow sky loomed like an eerie veil over the ruins of Lower Yulong City. The smoldering remains of Liang Palace, the shattered remnants of the old slave market, and dozens of unburied bodies—left behind by the now-collapsed imperial teams—all lay beneath that strange sky that seemed unsure whether it was mourning or merely watching.

Jin Lian stood in the center of the main square, where fragments of a shattered mirror lay among shards of red glass and black stone. Around her, the survivors had gathered:

Kai: his hand rested on his blade, eyes scanning the horizon like a guardian of souls before flesh.

Ming and Lin: tending to a deep wound in Duke's arm, the man miraculously alive but left with one limb that resembled a brittle twig.

Tao and Bao: trying to wake some of the injured, unconscious from the shock.

No one spoke. The silence was heavier than the scattered stones around them. Suddenly, it shattered under a coarse voice from the rubble:

"Someone... please save a child?"

The trembling voice of an old woman, like the last leaf in the wind. Jin Lian rushed toward it. Behind a collapsed wall, she found Old Mai Ling kneeling, trying to pull a small child no older than five from under heavy wooden planks. The boy wasn't crying. His wide eyes were fixed in stunned silence, as if witnessing another world.

"Help me!" Jin Lian called to Kai, who had followed her. Together, they lifted the planks. The child slid into Mai Ling's cold embrace.

"Grandma..." the child whispered at last, then burst into tears.

Mai Ling looked up at Jin Lian. Two dusty tears trailed down her wrinkled cheek. "We've lost so much... but the children are still here."

Those words were the spark.

• • •

Within hours, the square had become a temporary command center. Jin Lian divided the survivors into teams:

Rescue Team: led by Kai and Tao, to search for survivors beneath the rubble.

Medical Team: led by Ming, Lin, and Mai Ling, to treat the wounded and distribute stolen food and water from Liang's stores.

Security Team: led by Duke and Bao, to guard the city's edges against looters or rogue Liang soldiers.

But their greatest challenge wasn't wounds or hunger. It was the void left by the shadows.

That evening, as Jin Lian tended a boy's wound, a man approached—someone she had not seen before. His beard was tangled and white, his eyes wise and weary. He carried an old leather satchel.

"I am the Tailor," he said softly. "I used to sew the clothes of the dead before their burials." He pulled out a piece of faded linen. "Now... I want to stitch a banner for the living."

Jin Lian looked at the cloth. It wasn't fine, but it was clean. "A banner for what?"

The tailor pointed at the yellow sky. "So the people know they still belong somewhere... even under this strange heaven."

• • •

The next day, the city began to stir. The rescue team found dozens more survivors beneath the debris—some were of "Muddy Blood," others poor "Mixed-Bloods," even a few Liang soldiers who had cast off their uniforms in fear. They all gathered around the new banner that the tailor had raised in the center of the square:

A white background: symbolizing clarity after the storm.

A gray sagittaria flower: the symbol of Muddy Blood, but without the humiliating blue tint.

A crossed blade and needle: the needle for the tailor who began rebuilding, the blade for Jin Lian and her protectors.

But peace would not come easily.

That night, while Jin Lian inspected Duke's patrol, she heard faint footsteps behind her. She turned—no one. But on the ground lay a message pinned to a scrap of wood:

"The Twin Hells are not dead.

And the child cries in the dark.

Prepare yourself... your mirrors are next."

Words not unlike Liang's threats. Jin Lian gripped the note, her heart pounding. Was Liang back? Or was this a warning from Mo Tianyin?

• • •

On the morning of the third day, a new challenge emerged: a water shortage. The main wells were polluted—bodies, rubble, or both. Jin Lian gathered her teams.

"There's a clean well in the old slaughterhouse," said Duke, rubbing his missing shoulder as he did whenever deep in thought. "But the path is controlled by the 'Sharks' gang."

The Sharks: poor, mixed-blood bandits who had been thieves even before Liang's fall. Now, in the chaos, they had grown bolder.

"We can't afford a fight," said Jin Lian. "We're too weak to lose more men." She leaned over a tattered map of the city. "But... we need that water."

Suddenly, a deep voice interrupted: "I know a secret way."

The speaker was a tall man, built like an oak trunk, with a burn scar etched into his left cheek. "Name's the Blacksmith. I used to work underground—built hidden shelters for the nobles." He pointed to a faint line on the map. "This leads to the slaughterhouse well through old tunnels. I can take you."

Jin Lian studied his scarred face. "Why help us?"

The Blacksmith clenched his large hand over the burn. "Because my son was one of the 'Muddies'. Died in one of Liang's slave pits." He looked at the gray-and-white banner. "And that banner... it doesn't name pure blood or muddy blood. It names people."

• • •

The journey through the ancient tunnels was dark and suffocating. Jin Lian, Kai, the Blacksmith, and three others walked with dim lanterns. The stench of rot and death nearly choked them.

"Stop," the Blacksmith whispered suddenly. He pointed at a crumbling wall. "Here. Behind this wall lies a secret chamber the nobles used during old uprisings. It holds a stockpile of clean water."

With effort, they pushed the wall aside. It groaned open. Inside was a small chamber lined with sealed clay cisterns. But what caught Jin Lian's eye wasn't the water.

On the opposite wall stood a large mirror covered in black cloth.

"What's that?" asked Kai.

Jin Lian stepped closer, a chill crawling up her legs. She grabbed the cloth's edge and pulled it.

Revealed was an ancient mirror, its ebony frame dark as a lake at night. It reflected nothing—not them, not the water, not the walls. It was a blind mirror.

Suddenly, invisible hands wrote across its empty surface:

"Welcome, Mud-Blood Puppet.

Do you know that the hell you wish for others...

Was made especially for you?

Prepare yourself.

Your mirrors are next."

Then the words vanished as if they had never existed.

Jin Lian staggered back, hand on her blade. Kai and the Blacksmith stepped in front of her.

"What was that?" the Blacksmith whispered, voice trembling.

Jin Lian didn't reply. Her eyes were fixed on the blind mirror. In its depth, she saw a fleeting glimpse of a tall shadow with a red hat... and a glint of sorrowful gray eyes staring at her.

This wasn't a threat from Liang.

It was a threat from another world.

And perhaps... an invitation.

"Don't touch it," said Jin Lian, her voice firmer than she felt. "Take the water. We're leaving."

• • •

On the way back, they passed the ruins of the old slave market. Jin Lian paused. On a still-standing post, a new drawing had been etched:

A black spider weaving a web around a shattered mirror.

Kai stepped closer. "This is a message from the Shadow Spiders, isn't it?"

Jin Lian nodded. "Yes. A warning. The web is tightening."

"On who?" asked Kai. "Liang? Mo Tianyin?"

Jin Lian looked up at the yellow sky. "On anyone trying to build something new in these ruins."

Ahead, on the horizon of the devastated Upper City, a strange violet moon was rising. It was not the moon of night—it looked like an echo of another world fused to their sky.

The Blacksmith placed his large hand on Jin Lian's shoulder. "The water will last a week. After that... we'll be ready for whatever comes."

Jin Lian gripped the shard of red glass and the black flint stone in her pocket—the last remains of two great shadows.

"Yes," she said, eyes on the violet moon. "Let us build our paradise before their hell arrives."

In the tailor's shop at the edge of the square, a new needle began stitching another banner.

And in the blacksmith's forge, the hammer rang on the anvil for the first time in a long while.

The struggle had not ended.

It had only moved to a new battleground:

The field of rebuilding, in the shadow of the Mirror's prayer.