Hearts Aligned - Chapter 1.1
The evening was as dark as ink, thunder and lightning intertwining in a chaotic dance.
Torrential rain poured relentlessly over the eaves, its steady patter forming an unsettling rhythm that gnawed at the nerves.
Suddenly, without warning, the lattice window flew open, allowing wind and rain to flood the room. Beneath the sheer bed canopy, a frail figure jolted upright, her voice trembling as she called out in fear, “A’Sa…”
“Don’t be afraid, my lady. The window wasn’t latched properly, and the wind blew it open,” replied A’Sa, the maidservant, turning to calm her mistress. She hurried to the window, stretching out her hand to shut it. Rain pelted her skin, each drop cold and sharp. But under the room’s dim, flickering lantern light, another droplet slid down her hand—not cold like rain, but thick and warm.
A’Sa froze. She instinctively lowered her gaze, her breath catching in her throat. Amid the clear raindrops clinging to her hand, a streak of red slowly smeared across her skin. Blood.
The realization struck too late. Stiffly, she raised her head.
The damp, rain-soaked air hit her face, and her gaze locked onto a pair of cruel, predatory eyes.
“Ah—”
Her scream was cut short. A blade descended from the eaves, piercing her throat with ruthless precision.
Blood sprayed across the room in a violent arc. The woman on the bed threw aside the canopy curtain just in time to see A’Sa crumple to the floor. Her body landed with a dull, lifeless thud, her neck a horrifying, bloodied mess. The woman’s scream tore through the storm. “A’Sa!”
Before her cries could summon help, several figures dressed in black, soaked from the rain, leaped into the room through the open window. The storm raged outside, the wind lashing wildly, sending the tattered bed canopy flailing like a trapped bird.
With one swift slash, the lead intruder cut it apart, his sword gleaming ominously in the dim light.
The blade moved with unrelenting force, pressing against the woman’s neck as she cowered on the bed. Cold steel kissed her skin, and blood—still fresh from A’Sa’s wound—trickled down the sword’s edge, staining her collar a deep crimson. Her face turned ghostly pale.
A hand, rough and unyielding, seized her hair, yanking her head back. She cried out in pain, her voice breaking as she pleaded desperately, “Let me go, please… let me go…”
Her cries were swallowed by the howling storm, her words falling on deaf ears as the black-clad intruders loomed over her, merciless and silent.
Several figures dressed in black, their clothes soaked with rain, leapt through the wide-open lattice window. The storm outside raged on, the wind whipping the bed canopy into a frenzied dance. With a single slash of his sword, the leader of the intruders severed the fabric, his blade pressing forward with cold precision until its tip rested heavily against the woman’s shoulder and neck.
Blood—fresh from A’Sa—dripped from the blade, staining the woman’s collar in vivid crimson. Her face drained of all color as a rough hand seized her hair, yanking her head back. She let out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with pain and terror. “Let go! Please, let me go…”
The masked man smirked, his tone icy and mocking. “Miss Hua, I’d wager a delicate young lady like you wouldn’t want to die as gruesomely as your maid did…”
He loomed closer, his gloved hand tightening its grip as he forced her face upward, exposing her pale, trembling features. In the dim, flickering lamplight, her delicate beauty seemed to catch his attention. His rough thumb traced her temple with slow, deliberate malice. “Tell me where the Jade Toad is,” he said, his voice as sharp as the blade in his hand. “If you do, I might let you die quickly.”
Miss Hua trembled from head to toe. Tears welled up in her wide, fear-stricken eyes as she stared at him, his face obscured save for his cold, penetrating gaze. Her voice cracked as she stammered, nearly sobbing, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about a Jade Toad! I swear, I don’t know…”
The man’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. He pressed the blade harder against her neck, his lips parting as if to deliver his final threat. But just then, an unexpected sound pierced the storm—a sharp, plaintive meow.
The sound was faint but distinct, cutting through the tension like a blade. Every figure in the room froze, their nerves instantly on edge. Eyes darted to every corner, scanning the dimly lit room for the source of the sound.
Miss Hua, her tears spilling freely now, seized the moment of distraction. Summoning courage from somewhere deep within, she cried out, “Xiliu! Master Xiliu, save me!”
With trembling hands, she lunged forward, grabbing hold of the man’s sword arm in desperation.
At that very instant, the room’s last flickering lamp extinguished, plunging them into sudden darkness. One of the black-clad men flinched, feeling something dart past his feet. He spun around, his eyes straining to see in the faint, shifting light cast by the lanterns outside.
On the windowsill, a figure had appeared, silent and poised. She seemed to have emerged from the very shadows, her form partially obscured in the dim glow. Her dark purple skirt swayed gently in the storm’s breeze, a silver chain cinched around her slender waist glinting faintly. Dangling from the chain were delicate, leaf-shaped silver ornaments that caught the faintest light.
“Milord!” one of the intruders called out, his voice quivering with unease.
With a surge of courage she hadn’t known she possessed, Miss Hua grabbed the hand of the man holding the blade.
At that very moment, the room’s last lamp flickered out, plunging the space into pitch-black darkness. One of the intruders felt something dart past his feet and instinctively turned, his eyes straining to pierce the dim light spilling in from the lanterns outside. On the windowsill, a figure had appeared, as silent as a shadow.
Partially obscured by the darkness, the figure’s dark purple skirts swayed gently, a silver chain circling their slender waist. Delicate leaf-shaped ornaments hung from the chain,
glinting faintly with the soft light from the stormy night.
“Milord!” one of the intruders cried out in alarm.
He had only a moment to take in the figure—a fleeting glance, not even enough to make out their face—when a silver leaf flew through the air with deadly precision, embedding itself in his neck. He staggered, his hands flying to the wound as blood seeped through his fingers, before collapsing lifelessly to the floor.
The others turned in shock, their swords drawn, only to see their comrade’s body crumple at their feet. Before they could react, the figure on the windowsill drew a blade from their waist. In one fluid motion, they pushed off with their toes and leapt gracefully into the room.
Chaos erupted. Steel clashed as the intruders lunged, but the purple-clad figure moved faster than they could have imagined.
In the dim light, their blade gleamed like a streak of silver lightning, cutting through the air with surgical precision. The sound of metal striking metal filled the room, mingling with the faint jingling of the silver leaves on their chain. Within moments, the fight was over. The blade, shaped like a slender willow leaf, cut through the throats of the attackers one by one, leaving only a mist of blood in its wake.
The man holding Miss Hua flinched as he watched his comrades fall. His pupils dilated with fear, and he immediately released her hair, pushing her away. His survival instincts took over, and with a bellow, he turned to face the purple-clad figure, raising his sword in a desperate attack.
The blade sliced through the air, grazing the side of the figure’s face, but they sidestepped it effortlessly. With a flick of their wrist, they turned their blade, the back of it slamming against his sword to deflect the attack. In the same motion, they delivered a sharp kick to his knee.
The man cried out in pain as he dropped to one knee but still swung his blade wildly, aiming for their torso.
The figure used the momentum of his swing to flip gracefully over him, striking his temple with the hilt of their blade as they landed. The blow sent him reeling, his sword clattering uselessly to the floor. Before he could recover, a swift kick to his chest sent him sprawling backward.
The jingling of the silver leaves was the only sound as the purple-clad figure stepped forward, calm and deliberate. The man tried to crawl away, but before he could move, the blade plunged into his back.
Silence fell.
The only sounds remaining were the storm outside—the wind howling and rain hammering against the windows—growing louder in the absence of chaos.
Miss Hua remained frozen on the bed, drenched in cold sweat. Her wide, tear-filled eyes were fixed on the figure standing over the lifeless body. The purple-clad figure placed a foot on the man’s back to pull their blade free, the sharp edge gleaming in the faint light, crimson blood dripping onto the floor.
“Jingzhe.”
The voice was calm, clear, and unmistakably feminine.
A lantern outside flickered as it was plucked from its perch. Miss Hua turned her head toward the window, where a boy no older than thirteen or fourteen climbed inside, holding the lantern steady. The warm light illuminated his youthful face as he stepped forward, casting flickering shadows across the room.
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