Along the beaten path of a bamboo forest, a young woman walks leisurely alongside her mule. A warm breeze does little to alleviate the summer heat but the duo welcomes its company alongside the busy chirping of cicadas. They had been traveling for some time and were eager to make it to the nearby city.
The maiden’s rosey-coloured garments are light and sway easily in the wind. She looks to be around twenty with porcelain skin, thin pursed lips, and a sharp gaze. Unlike her steed, she is largely unfazed by the hot weather. Perhaps this is because the mule bears the brunt of their luggage, while she simply shoulders a cloth bundle and a slender jian in her left hand. Her weapon is sheathed in a uniquely designed leather cover, exposing only the ornate hilt of the blade. An intricate carving of a majestic phoenix has been masterfully worked into the leather.
Battling exhaustion, the companion remains faithfully determined to carry on. The maiden’s various attempts to coerce the stubborn beast to rest had mostly fallen on deaf ears. Despite feeling pity for the creature, she is more worried that they won’t make it to their destination on time. She shudders at the thought of missing the deadline her master had given them.
They continue to walk for a long time before spotting an old forest shrine out in the quiet distance. She debates to herself whether this is a sign to finally rest. It may be well worth sacrificing some time to preserve her mule’s health in the long run.
The duo approaches and calls out for anyone who might reside inside. Staying true to the isolated forest, no response is heard.
The shrine is a rather modest building - four dry earthen walls mottled with red lacquer and an old tiled roof. The building is in good shape, well-kept and organized. For one reason or another, the monk in charge of the inhabitants of nearby villages must regularly visit to maintain the area.
Beside the building lies a small stable and water well. And to the maiden’s continued surprise, clean water is available. She gives it a little taste to ensure its freshness. It has an odd after-taste but overall still drinkable. She uses it to quench their thirst before setting out some nearby hay for the latter’s enjoyment.
Instead of loitering outside, her curiosity urges her to explore the rest of the shrine. Filled with anticipation for what she might uncover, she pushes open the creaking hinges of the front entrance. Though no incense burns, the lingering scent fills the air. Centered on the back wall, a modest Buddha statue sits in a lotus position behind a simple altar and some nearby prayer mats. It’s customary to light some incense and pay respects to the venerable figure. Eventually, inspired by the solemn atmosphere, she settles down to begin her meditation.
After some time passes, the maiden breaks her concentration with a wide stretch. Her body is hot with energy and she feels refreshed. The sun rays shining through the paper windows now glow with an orange hue.
The maiden clicks her tongue. They had spent more time resting than intended. She had underestimated how tired the both of them had been. Still hearing her mule resting quietly outside, her mind quickly calculates how much distance they could cover before nightfall.
Mid-thought, the sudden sound of dragging footsteps is heard from the distance. The maiden is startled and reaches for her jian before focusing her attention on the approaching figure. She listens carefully. The steps, slow but light, are imbued with a distinct sound of internal force. She steadies herself and peers out the front entrance to determine whether it is a friend or foe.
The figure belongs to an elderly man. He is bald and his face wears a thin white beard. Dressed in monk clothes, he swings around a small gourd while approaching at a leisurely pace. This must be the monk who cares for the shrine.
When they make eye contact, a slow smile stretches onto his face as he greets her.
“Oh? A visitor? It’s quite rare to see such a pious youngster these days.” he beams.
Despite the senior monk's pleasant greeting, the maiden finds it difficult to shake the feeling of uneasiness. Perhaps her presence is somehow upsetting to him.
She explains politely, “Your praise is too much, Senior. I am simply a passerby seeking shelter in your shrine. Pardon my intrusion.” She raises her hands, with her left palm over her right fist, to greet him respectfully.
“Sorry to have inconvenienced you,” she continues before making her way toward the resting mule. “I am about to set off again. Please don’t let my intrusion sour your mood.”
The old monk’s expression twitches curiously. He ponders for a moment to re-evaluate if he had reacted poorly to the maiden presence.
With a sigh, he eventually explains, “Forgive me, little Miss, it’s just rare to see visitors these days. It is I who must apologize - I have been a terrible host. You are most welcome to stay.”
“No no, Senior. Your shrine has provided much comfort. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” the maiden disputes.
Her master had long instilled a strong sense of respect toward the elderly, she feels almost obligated to exit immediately to avoid any further tension with the monk. Despite these feelings, he simply looks towards the dim sky.
“It’ll be dark soon, my conscience won’t allow me to put you in such a situation. Will you accept this stubborn senior’s request to stay the night? At the very least, let me share some of this wine with you”. He pleads in a singsong tune as he raises the gourd, presumably filled with alcohol.
The mood lightens as the maiden relaxes briefly. For a moment, her mind wanders as she brushes away the feelings of uneasiness and attempts to be more accepting of the situation. The old monk seems harmless enough and on the off-chance something were to happen, she was confident she would manage. Seeing as the old monk has politely offered so many times, she sees no further reason to decline and eventually relents.
“If it’s alright with you. Shall I make a fire then?” she suggests. If she was going to stay the night, she might as well be good company.
“Please. I have packed away some dry meat and buns. Let me retrieve them and we can have supper beneath the stars.” the monk reveals.
She smiles in agreement. It was almost like the awkward atmosphere had flipped entirely. Laughter and jokes were shared as the pair performed their duties. The air is filled with nostalgia as she ignites the flame. There had been many nights like these. After grueling training sessions, she would often share warm dinners with her master under the night sky. Although she had just met the monk, his presence reminded her a little of her master. She pondered if that was such a good thing.
As food is prepared, the pair hunch over the warm fire. The monk pours the wine into two cups and offers one to the maiden. The smell is sweet and appetizing.
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“Cheers. To new friendships,” she says as she brings the cup closer to her mouth.
The old monk smiles warmly, watching her closely while still holding onto his own.
As the liquor grazes her lips, her body jerks involuntarily, a primal warning of impending danger. It dawns on her like lightning – this was a trap. Laid out intricately and brilliantly from the moment they set foot on the shrine. The liquor is tainted with a foreign substance and the maiden recognises it immediately. Paralytic poison. There had been traces of it in the well but the quantity so small it had been difficult to detect. It is much stronger here.
Everything starts to fall into place now: the weariness, the insistence to remain, the way she had dropped her guard so easily. The old monk had planned it all. She suspected he had also performed some form of charming arts to subdue her senses. It had been subtle but very effective.
With calculated composure, she elects to drain the cup. Once finished, she theatrically flips it over to demonstrate its emptiness. Then, her demeanor darkens, her frustration transparent as she hurls the cup to the ground. Beside them, the fire dances and crackles, casting eerie shadows across the monk's face, twisting his features into a sinister grin, his eyes gleaming with demonic intent.
“Old demon. How many people have you preyed on like this?” she glares at him.
The air becomes viscous and the smell of blood envelopes her senses, a wave of nausea washes over her. What an intense bloodlust! In a moment of stark realization, she comprehends the magnitude of the situation. She could sense it clearly, all of his lust and disgusting urges laid out in the open. Her master had often told her stories of men using demonic practices to further their cultivation - it was a despicable and profoundly immoral practice shunned by the orthodox sects in the jianghu.
“Huhuhu. You’re sharp!” he sneers evilly as he attempts to subdue his bloodlust. He speaks nonchalantly, toying with her as if part of a routine.
It was obvious. His monk persona is a clever ruse, practiced over a long time to lure in victims. She couldn’t even dare to imagine the sheer amount of innocent lives that had been lost and ruined to fuel the demon’s cultivation. How many years had such evil lurked within these forests? A profound sense of injustice surges within her, igniting a fervent desire for retribution.
“What gave it away? Surely it was the wine..” he snickers.
She nods but remains silent. She feels a little ashamed that it has taken this long to piece everything together. The jianghu is full of treacherous demons. Appearances are often deceiving, and trust must be earned cautiously. She could hear her master’s distant lecture ringing loudly in her ear. It had been foolish to let her guard down. But all hope might not be lost, she has yet a chance to turn the tables and trap him in her scheme.
“A poison master, perhaps? Still, it's regrettable you drank the entire cup. Even a full-grown bull would succumb to a quarter of what you've ingested," he jeers, his laughter echoing with manic delight before issuing a sly warning.
“You should be more careful accepting drinks from strangers.” he cackles. “Not that you’ll get another chance kekeke! I relish the thought of draining you dry, little one! Your blood will serve my cultivation greatly!”
The maiden fights back the urge to feel sick as her muscles contract and her breathing grows labored. She finds herself succumbing to the poison's effects, soon enough she’ll be unable to protect herself, like a lamb led to slaughter. Yet, despite her dire circumstances, she outwardly remains composed and delivers her retort.
"My apologies, old snake, but I'm afraid this won't unfold as you’d expect," she spits at him defiantly.
With the force of a raging volcano, the maiden’s inner force erupts from her dantian. The surrounding environment heats several degrees as ki circulates her body. Chemical vapor rises out from her pores as her internal force works to expel the paralytic poison from her body. Within moments, the foreign substance is completely flushed out and she regains full control of her movements.
“What?!” the monk exclaims.
“Sorry to disappoint you, elder. My cultivation method is unique.”
Her fiery ki surges once more, this time pouring out into the surrounding environment. It coalesces into a thick aura of fierce flames - radiating a fearsome amount of energy from her body as she postures into a fighting pose. The sudden spike in heat causes the hair on the back of the monk’s neck to stand. His instincts begin to scream at him.
“I-It can’t be.” he stammers. “Vermillion Bird cultivation? You are the Crimson Maiden of the Kunlun Mountains? How..Why are you here?!”
“Huhuhu. What gave me away? Was it the red dress?” she mocks him. “Surely you don’t mean to tell me..”
She pauses before finishing her sentence. Her ki surges one final time as she unsheathes her jian. Her aura envelops the blade causing its shade to turn a deep red and its sharpness to rise exponentially. She points the sword toward the old demon in a threatening gesture. The steel blade hums with a soft shrill.
“... that you are afraid?” she finally finishes.
An audible gulp is heard from the old monk. Sword ki! The monk clicks his tongue, deep in thought. It’s obvious that he is a half-step behind the maiden in terms of inner force, but the flow of her sword ki seems unstable; she has yet to fully master it. Could this be a chance? he thinks to himself.
He ponders his next move before concluding. Speed! Of course. The monk’s greatest weapon was his speed and in this fight, it would be the deciding factor.
The old monk stands upright and steels his resolve. Do or die. He bears his teeth at her as his body begins to transform. His skin turns a sickly white and his eyes blood red. His teeth sharpen into razor-like fangs and black claw-like nails protrude from his fingertips. In this form, he is no different from a beast. A putrid stench emanates from him as he circulates his demonic ki and lunges towards the maiden.
“Die!” he growls, aiming directly for her neck without hesitation.
He closes the distance between them in a flash. He smirks as the maiden appears motionless. Huhuhu. As expected I’m faster, he thinks to himself. From this distance, it’ll just take half a moment before he will be at her throat. By that point, victory would be assured.
To his surprise, however, instead of posturing to defend, the maiden releases her grip on her jian and drops it - an action that he notices immediately.
He could not make sense of such a thing. Why would she drop her weapon? In that brief moment of confusion, his eyes drift away from his opponent to follow the motion of the falling blade. When they return to the maiden, her hands have already reached out before him as she performs a loud clap imbued with inner energy.
The unexpected sound and force send a jolt of electricity coursing throughout his body. This had been the trick up her sleeve. Many masters had lost their lives to such a technique. It was special in that the stronger the opponent, the more effective the strike.
His muscles inadvertently tense, forcing him into suspended animation. In a contest of speed, this was no different than courting death. No amount of gritting his teeth or internal screaming could release him from the paralysis. Ironically, he had taken the lives of many victims in this manner. His eyes widen in desperation, waiting for the inevitable. Finally, the maiden’s palm reaches just below his abdomen and rests upon his dantian.
There is a moment of heightened sense as the monk becomes conscious of all the sounds and movements around him. He despairs, refusing to accept that his death is approaching.
With a bright flash, the maiden unleashes her strike. His dantian erupts with unimaginable pain as the maiden’s ferocious energy bursts into it. Her overwhelming ki shatters his cultivation completely and begins to burn at his internal organs. Spreading like wildfire, it rampages his network of meridians, scorching everything in it’s path. Eventually, when the pressure reaches its apex, the compressed energy explodes out from within his body, rupturing his skin and pores; it engulfs his entire self in a brilliant blue flame. His screams are cut short when his throat becomes so singed that the vocal cords can no longer physically vibrate.
When the flames subside, they leave nothing behind. No ash nor soot. Barely even a shadow of where he had once stood. The death is harsh and painful.
Witnessing this scene, the maiden finally crumples to the ground. Her raging ki subsides and she takes a moment to relax. Her skin is drenched in sweat and her breathing is ragged.
Using her technique in such a manner was similar to a sprint athlete running a race - explosive power but only for a short amount of time. She had burned through almost all of her stored internal force with that last strike alone. Between ragged breaths, she peers over at her mule. It seems quite disinterested about the whole ordeal and only gives her a bored glance before returning to rest. It would have been nice if it were a little more concerned.
The maiden shifts her gaze to the empty spot where the old monk had just been sitting moments ago. Even with all her training and years of navigating the martial world, she had almost died tonight. She pondered if all that hard work was for nothing. The dance between the thin line of life and death seemed too heavy a burden tonight. She stares deeply for a long time before eventually, slowly returning inside the shrine for a night’s rest; there is much energy to replenish. Come morning, they would have to race into town and meet with her master for the deadline.