Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 94

Chapter 94: THOUSAND VEILS

The technique was beautiful and terrible all at once, forcing her essence to split and reform in ways that made her inner core shudder. Beneath the discomfort lay a deadly elegance—each false reflection contained a grain of truth, while each truth fractured into a thousand lies.

Li Hua watched, mesmerized, as her spiritual essence splintered and danced. Each fragment caught the light like dewdrops in a spider’s web, her very being scattered across countless mirrors. Mo Xing’s power threaded through hers with surgical precision, guiding her through the delicate balance between dissolution and cohesion. Even through her concentration, she couldn’t help but notice how his presence filled the room—the way candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, his movements carrying the fluid grace of a predator at rest.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his eyes tracking the flow of her essence. A shiver coursed through her at the weight of his gaze. She swallowed hard, steadying herself, his voice resonating in her chest like aged wine.

“Let each reflection tell a different tale,” he continued, circling her with measured steps that reminded her of a wolf sizing up its prey. His robes whispered against the floor, dark silk patterns seeming to writhe with lives of their own. “Your soul should be like the Heavenly Archives—ten thousand scrolls telling ten thousand tales, yet the true scribe remains unknown. Each scroll speaks of different deeds, different lives, different paths—like the strokes of a master calligrapher who never signs his name.”

With each passing moment, the technique grew more demanding. Sweat beaded on Li Hua’s forehead as she struggled to maintain the intricate dance of veils. Her core trembled, resonating with the strange movements of her spiritual essence. Perfect control was essential—too much power would shatter the delicate construct, too little would leave gaps in the deception. Through it all, she remained acutely aware of Mo Xing’s proximity, the subtle scent of mountain air and night-blooming flowers that clung to him.

“You’re fighting it,” Mo Xing observed, his breath ghosting across her neck. “Don’t try to control every reflection. Let them flow naturally, like snowflakes in a storm. Each one unique, yet part of a greater pattern.” His essence brushed against hers, demonstrating the subtle adjustment. The contact sent electricity racing along her nerves. “Feel how your soul wants to move, then guide it rather than force it.”

Li Hua released her iron grip on her spiritual essence. The veils immediately began to flow more smoothly, each layer finding its natural rhythm. The sensation was otherworldly—like watching herself fracture into countless possibilities while remaining whole at the center. Her instincts recognized the deadly beauty of this deception, how it transformed her very nature into a weapon of misdirection.

“Yes, beautiful,” his low voice made her head spin. His fingers traced patterns in the air near her essence with the precise control of a sword master’s practice forms. “Now for the final step—you must learn to live within the dance. Every breath, every movement, every flicker of spiritual essence must maintain these veils without conscious thought. As natural as your heartbeat.”

She attempted normal movement, but each step threatened to shatter the delicate construct. It felt like balancing a thousand sheets of rice paper in a windstorm. Even breathing disrupted the pattern, sending ripples through the carefully layered deceptions. Mo Xing watched her struggles with eyes that shifted between honey-brown and molten gold, centuries of knowledge swimming in their depths.

“Patience.” His hands steadied her shoulders as she swayed, deadly hands carrying unexpected gentleness. “Your soul is learning a new way to exist.” This close, she could see the subtle flecks of gold in his irises, his pupils dilating as he tracked her essence’s movement. “Though I must say, you’re adapting remarkably quickly. Most practitioners take years just to maintain the first layer.”

“Years?” Her concentration wavered, veils fluttering dangerously. “I don’t have years. The Sovereign—”

“Will not see your soul if you master this,” he interrupted, each word emerging like silk over steel. His fingers traced the air around her, the jade rings catching candlelight in dancing shadows that mirrored his essence. “Watch how I layer truth within lies, lies within truth, until even I cannot tell which is which.”

His essence demonstrated the technique again. Li Hua watched, transfixed, as his soul multiplied like reflections in opposing mirrors. The display was magnificent—warrior, scholar, lover, killer—all fragments woven together until his true nature became lost in a kaleidoscope of possibilities. The power radiating from him made the air thick and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.

“This technique,” she said slowly, mimicking his movements, “it’s not just about hiding from the Sovereign, is it? It changes something fundamental about the soul itself.”

His smile hinted at mysteries untold, a predatory edge never quite disappearing even in moments of apparent warmth. “Such a clever girl. Yes, the Thousand Veils does more than conceal—it transforms. Each layer becomes a possible truth, a path not taken, a life that could have been. In time, even you may forget which reflection holds your original nature.”

A chill ran down her spine. She hesitated, watching the play of candlelight across his features. “Will this change me? Who I am?”

“Who you are?” His laugh was soft and knowing, caressing her skin like phantom silk. “You wear a borrowed life like a second skin, carry memories of a death that should have been final. The Thousand Veils doesn’t change who you are—it simply teaches you to wear your contradictions like armor instead of chains.”

Something shifted in her expression—acceptance, perhaps, or recognition of a truth she’d been fighting. She straightened. “Show me how.”

Hours flowed like water through cupped hands as they practiced, until dawn painted her bedroom walls in soft gold. His hair caught the changing light like strands of night given form, his presence like gravity, keeping her constantly aware of his proximity.

Li Hua looked up at Mo Xing, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion. “I…need to go.”

She pushed herself to her feet. Even in stillness, he radiated a predator’s lazy confidence. The few steps to the door felt endless. As her fingers touched the handle, unbidden thoughts of Li Min rose like smoke from dying embers.

She turned to meet his mesmerizing gaze. The morning light caught the angles of his face differently than the moonlight had, revealing new facets of his beauty—powerful and terrible and magnificent all at once. Before she could stop herself, a question slipped out, laced with vulnerability she hadn’t meant to expose. “Have you encountered others with souls like mine?”

His smile widened, carrying a predatory sharpness. “None quite like yours,” he murmured. “Though, if I were to count, I could do so on one hand—the rare souls who truly seemed out of place in this world.”

Li Hua nodded, caught between caution and curiosity. “Thank you… for everything,” she said softly, voice steady despite the unease prickling at her thoughts.

Mo Xing followed her into the courtyard with inhuman grace. Pre-dawn air wrapped around them like silk, sweet with night-blooming flowers and jasmine, though his particular scent—mountain air and something dangerous—cut through it all.

She walked out of the gate toward the battlefield, steps purposeful despite her exhaustion. Mo Xing followed a few paces behind, like a shadow dancing at the edges of consciousness.

The battlefield still bore the scars of recent combat—craters pockmarking the earth, shattered trees lying where they’d fallen. At the designated meeting spot, she waited.

Hours stretched endlessly. Morning light yielded to afternoon heat, then to gold-tinged evening shadows, but Old Xiao never appeared. As night painted the sky in deep indigos, dread began to gnaw at her thoughts.

Something was wrong. Li Wei would never let Old Xiao forget—her scholarly brother was meticulous about such things, and Li Hao would have pestered the man endlessly until they returned for her. The thought of her brothers allowing a full day to pass without ensuring her retrieval was unthinkable.

Her fingers traced her daggers as stars emerged above. The battlefield remained eerily still, even the night birds falling silent. Could Old Xiao have encountered trouble? Or—her heart clenched—had they walked into a trap?