Zhiliu

Upon arriving at Mistwharf, you were greeted by a scene of flourishing prosperity. The crowds bustled with an infectious, hopeful energy, their chatter punctuated by the rhythmic hawking of vendors. Through the din, two words surfaced again and again: "EverSpring" and "Zhiliu."

To the locals, Zhiliu was not just the lofty High Chancellor of Loongyuan, but their approachable "Head of the House." Her immense wealth was the dream that drove Starweavers to set sail for foreign shores, believing they too could achieve it. Because she was always busy, tireless labor became the city's highest virtue. Her influence was absolute; a mere change in her dress or demeanor would instantly set a new trend. She was an idol, revered, even worshipped, for being a High Chancellor of Loongyuan who led by example. As you took in the smoky, restless vitality of Mistwharf, you realised the city was built in her image.

Nestled beneath the Great Tree, the EverSpring is the crown jewel of Mistwharf and the undisputed heart of Haojing. For Starweavers, this is where dreams take flight and fortunes flow, a grand, welcoming gateway from Huaxu to the world.

While this land has forged countless legends of spirited success, it has also witnessed its fair share of broken men.

Zheng An arrived at EverSpring just as two merchant groups were concluding their deals. He forced his way upstream against the joyous, bustling crowd, trudging alone toward the administrative office on the top floor.

But fortune is a fickle mistress, and the Starweaver trade is unforgiving. He had gambled his entire livelihood on a single shipment, only to watch it vanish beneath the waves in a catastrophic storm.

Staring at the loan extension contract, Zheng An felt a wave of bitter despair paralyze his hand. The clerk was already tapping the desk impatiently when a crisp female voice cut through the tension. "Is there a problem here?"

Zheng An squinted against the harsh backlight, unable to see her face. While the clerk hastily explained the shipwreck and the default, Zheng An's eyes adjusted. The distinct horns of a Loongscion and the elegant attire gave her away immediately. It was Zhiliu, the newly appointed and celebrated High Chancellor of Loongyuan.

Zhiliu listened, paused for a heartbeat, and gave her order. "Wipe his debt clean. Then, issue him a new loan for startup capital. Put it all on my personal tab."

The windfall left Zheng An dizzy with disbelief. "Why?" he stammered, his voice trembling. "Why help a nobody like me? I can't repay you anytime soon... I might just lose it all again..."

"Heh. Consider it an investment. By lifting you up, I lift us all."

"Besides, you've simply hit a rough patch of weather. Isn't the true purpose of EverSpring to help every Starweaver weather the storm? We rise and fall together. Think nothing of it."

That moment was branded into Zheng An's memory. Years later, long after he had rebuilt his fortune and opened a thriving shop, he would still recount the story of Zhiliu's grace to his children and grandchildren.

This is Zheng An's story, but it is also the story of thousands of other "nobodies" who found salvation in Zhiliu's kindness.

"The noble High Chancellor," "the approachable Head of the House," "the shrewd merchant"... these labels defined Zhiliu in the public eye, yet they were merely a facade.

In the shadows of the alleyways, darker rumors fermented. Whispers claimed she ruthlessly crushed any business rival in her path, maintained deep ties to the black market, and that her ascent to High Chancellor was paved with less-than-honorable means.

Given her meteoric rise and untouchable status, it was inevitable that jealous detractors would fabricate stories to tear her down. Some conservative elders went so far as to declare her appointment a disgrace to the Nine Chapters of Dafeng.

Yet, few realised that Zhiliu herself was the one fanning these flames.

Far from suppressing the gossip, she allowed it to spread. Her reasoning was cold and pragmatic: "fear" was a bargaining chip that could be put to good use.

If people held her in high regard but felt no trepidation, they might eventually overstep their bounds. By subtly manipulating public perception, Zhiliu ensured she could navigate the treacherous web of power with absolute control.

You spent a day at Jingyuan's hut, a lonely retreat perched on the cliff's edge. There, the morning sun erupts from the ocean below, and at night, star trails carve clear arcs overhead. These stars have watched the earth since antiquity, witnessing a land that seems frozen in time. After immersing yourself in such stillness, you finally understood the source of Jingyuan's otherworldly detachment.

It made you wonder: without that incident, would Zhiliu have walked a different path? Had she simply grown up here, cultivating her arts in solitude, would she have become a recluse like her master, indifferent to the mortal world? Sadly, that question will never be answered.

Even as a child, Zhiliu stood apart. She was unusually composed and sensible, possessing a razor-sharp wit and a photographic memory.

Huaxu was home to "Horn Readers," a specialized profession claiming to predict a Loongscion's potential and fate simply by reading the structure of their horns. While there may have been some nascent science involving Charon and Daimon physiology behind it, the practice was still in its infancy. It was anyone's guess which readers possessed true wisdom gleaned from experience, and which were merely spouting auspicious nonsense to flatter hopeful parents.

When Zhiliu was six, her parents invited a renowned Horn Reader to their home to divine her future.

After praying to Lord Taihao and bathing in incense smoke, the reader removed her gloves to reveal perfectly manicured hands. She reached out to examine the tender horns on Zhiliu's head. They were sturdy like a stag's, black laced with amber veins, and tapered to dangerously sharp points. The reader fell into a deep, contemplative silence, her frown tightening before slowly smoothing out. When little Zhiliu looked up, puzzled by the stranger's long silence, the reader sensed her unease. She gently patted the girl's head and offered a parting blessing: "Child, a magnificent life awaits you."

In a private conversation afterward, the reader spoke plainly to Zhiliu's parents. She predicted that Zhiliu would rise to the highest councils of Huaxu, becoming a figure of immense virtue and achievement. However, she also warned of a perilous path ahead, sensing the ruthless aura of a conqueror in the child's fate. Seeing the parents' expressions darken, the reader quickly added that Zhiliu's destiny was robust enough to turn misfortune into fortune, so they need not worry excessively.

Despite the reader's reassurances, anxiety gnawed at Zhiliu's parents.

The Xuanheng Sect was known to scout gifted Loongscion children early, testing their character, intellect, and magic to recruit the elite. Admission of the Xuanheng Sect was a fast track to an official career, a path most parents in Huaxu desperately sought for their children. Zhiliu's parents, however, bucked the trend entirely. They refused to send her for assessment.

After much deliberation, they decided they valued a peaceful, happy life for her over one of power and struggle. Zhiliu's mother had old ties with Jingyuan, a disciple of the Wuqiongzang Sect. She entrusted Zhiliu to her friend's care, hoping that learning to interpret the Mandate of Heaven would help her daughter navigate a safer path through life.

The Wuqiongzang Sect boasts of arts that can glimpse the Mandate of Heaven. Yet, during Zhiliu's very first lesson, Master Jingyuan offered a blunt truth: "The Mandate cannot be known."

We may deduce and calculate, exhausting every possibility to sketch the outline of fate, but destiny remains cruel and elusive. To believe one can truly anchor the future is nothing but a fool's fantasy.

Jingyuan then shared a second maxim: "Though the Mandate is unknowable, human agency remains."

If a diviner can deceive the world, and even themselves, they might just be able to bend fate to their desire.

For three months after my formal induction, I did nothing but calculate. When I finished the last math book, towers of history scrolls replaced them, looming high above my head. Seasons turned as I drifted through this endless sea of knowledge. By the following spring, practical lessons began. Master Jingyuan taught me to read people, to master my demeanor, and to steer a listener's mind with a single word or gesture. I excelled at it all.

People always called me a "prodigy," but I had limits. After months of this, my patience snapped. I was only ten, and I was desperate to learn actual spells. One day, trying to sound casual, I finally asked, "Master, how does reading all these books help us see the Mandate of Heaven? When do I get to learn the real spell arts?"

Master Jingyuan wasn't surprised. When I asked if she had divined my frustration, she laughed. She didn't need a ritual for that, my thoughts were written all over my face. If anything, holding my tongue for this long proved I had discipline.

The next day, she took me to the inner chamber. She showed me the rituals and seals but explained none of the theory. I simply mimicked her motions, until I was suddenly yanked into a strange, empty void. A flood of knowledge rushed in. For a split second, I saw the trajectory of the future. Then, I gasped back to reality like a drowning swimmer breaking the surface, the visions already fading like a dream.

"Was that the future?" I asked. Master shook her head. She called it "Future Sight" a projection based on what I already knew, subject to constant change. But I was too high on the thrill to really listen to her explanations.

With this new power in hand, I felt like a child with a brand-new toy. Naturally, I couldn't resist showing it off.

Back home, I tested my skills. I foresaw my mother stepping on a loose stone by the alley and splashing mud on her favorite dress. That morning, acting mysterious, I warned her to avoid that path. Yet when she came home at sunset, the result was exactly the same.

Crushed, I told Master Jingyuan. "Is fate impossible to change?" My distress amused her. She stroked my hair and explained gently: I had focused only on the result, the splashed dress. But had I considered the cause? It had rained the night before, and the roads were in disrepair. Hidden traps were everywhere, not just in that alley. To fixate on one specific path was short-sighted.

It was an illumination. Her words revealed the world in a completely new light, a vast web where every cause and effect is tied together by invisible threads.

You find yourself in the square beneath the Hall of Adjudication, a favorite haunt for locals after their evening meals. As dusk settles, residents arrive waving cattail fans, taking the same strolls they have for decades while gossip circulates through the languid air.

When asked about the girl who once sought justice here, most have only a vague recollection, public grievances are hardly news in a Huaxu ruled by the Nine Chapters of Dafeng. But when someone mentions the chestnut-haired girl from ten years ago, the crowd nods in unison. She was the one they couldn't forget.

The reason? She simply outlasted everyone else. Through driving rain, scorching heat, and bitter snow, she stood steadfast beneath the Hall of Adjudication, holding her petition high.

Then, one day, she vanished, never to be seen again. You see, people change. Even the truest intentions can be betrayed in the end, can't they?

Haze Market asks no questions of one's past. It is a haven for drifters of all kinds, each harboring secret agendas, weaving a grimy sort of vitality between the river silt and rotting shipwrecks. Yet, even in such a place, a sitting High Chancellor of Loongyuan was a rare sight.

Inside the Hidden Loong, a sanctuary that contained a world of its own, Mr. Qiu and Zhiliu sat at opposite ends of a resplendent table, sipping tea in silence. Intermediaries had arranged this meeting days prior. Though strangers, they exchanged pleasantries like old friends, their words mingling with the fragrance of tea brewed with century-old tangerine peel.

Their conversation drifted from the room's rare treasures to strange tales from distant lands. Once the pleasantries had run their course, Mr. Qiu shifted gears, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Countless souls have been crushed by the Nine Chapters of Dafeng. But to endure such humiliation and rise to become High Chancellor of Loongyuan? That is one in a million. Your patience and grit alone, Miss Zhiliu, make you someone worth knowing."

Zhiliu showed no offence at his probing into her background; instead, she simply smiled and took a sip of her tea.

"Then I trust you already know why I'm here."

Mr. Qiu toyed with an antique paperweight shaped like a Bi'an beast, clearly relishing the verbal sparring.

"Hah! An invitation from Miss Zhiliu is an honor for my humble abode. But as they say: no one goes beyond oneself without a profit in mind. What exactly are you offering?"

"No strings attached. The chance to overturn the Nine Chapters of Dafeng should be payment enough. After all, haven't you spent your entire life chasing amusement and impossible challenges?"

Mr. Qiu threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the hull of the sunken ship. Long before this meeting, both sides had already dissected the other's past, power, and desires. Often, the outcome is decided far from the negotiation table; the talk itself is merely the echo after the dust has settled.

"Then we have a deal, Miss Zhiliu."

And so marked the beginning of the alliance between Zhiliu and Mr. Qiu, four years ago.

Zhiliu paid only two visits to Keming's grave.

The first was when the mound was fresh; she stood in the rain, watching from afar, never daring to draw close.

The second was the day she steeled her heart. Standing before the now moss-covered stone, she gently laid down the jade pendant she had kept since childhood, then walked away without looking back.

After months of locking myself away, I finally stepped out of my room.

The sunlight was blinding. As I watched the plane tree leaves shivering in the breeze, their veins nearly transparent against the glare, I felt utterly alienated, like a ghost returning to the living. It had been months since he died, yet the world hadn't changed at all. It kept spinning, busy and loud as ever. The only difference was that the man who gave his life to shield a little girl in a collapsing cave was gone.

Uncle Li was sweeping the courtyard. When he saw me, he dropped his broom and rushed over, eyes wide with surprise. "You finally came out. How... how are you holding up?"

He asked cautiously, terrified of the answer. Over these last few months, I've learned that people only want "normal" conversations. They can't handle anything that breaks the script. If I spoke the ugly truth, those kind smiles would vanish instantly. Truth is like molten lead dropped on ice, it burns right through the comfortable surface of their lives. So, I gave him the smile he wanted to see. "Uncle Li, I'm okay. It's all in the past now."

Uncle Li looked stunned for a moment before his face lit up with sheer relief. He abandoned his broom and ran to the main house to break the news to Father and Mother.

That night, we sat around the dinner table as a family for the first time in ages. Father and Mother didn't say much. They just kept piling my bowl with my favorite foods.

Before I slept, Father came to sit with me. On his way out, he squeezed my shoulder and sighed, "You've suffered enough."

Mother came in a while later. I could see new lines etched into her forehead and fresh grey at her temples. She sat close on the edge of the bed, holding my hand, and whispered, "Please... just forget it happened. Do it for us. You might think I'm asking you to be a coward, or that it's unfair, but this is just how the world works... You have to let it go to have a future."

I smiled and agreed to every word.

I used to memorize Master Jingyuan's teachings like dead facts, mindlessly copying her social graces without understanding the "why." But now, the true weight of her lessons finally hit me.

When I was running myself ragged at the Hall of Adjudication, begging for justice for Keming, all I got were cold stares. Then, when I gave up and locked myself away, I could feel the silent judgment of those around me pricking my skin like thorns, their disappointment, their worry, their impatience. I used to live in a bubble, blind to the way things really are. But Mother's plea woke me up. I finally see the truth: I have to understand the machinery of this world. I need to see how public opinion is manipulated and how invisible authority shapes reality. I have to study where power comes from, how to grab it, and how to use it, even if the injustice of it makes me sick.

Yes. I must learn the system and become part of it. Only then can I fight it, and burn it to the ground. My mind is made up.

You notice that Zhiliu never seems to lose her cool. Even when she dozes off at her desk, she remains perfectly poised, as if she is simply deep in thought. You half-expect her to snap her eyes open at any moment and fix you with that sharp, all-knowing smile.

It was just another routine night in Icelake. An early snow had come and gone, leaving the streets outside a slick, muddy mess. Inside the Asphodel, however, crowds huddled by the hearth, their drinking and gambling fueling a deafening uproar. Locals knew better than to cross Camilla Scarlet, but every so often, some blind punk would wander in, trying to pull a fast one on unsuspecting travelers.

Behind the counter, Camilla idly polished a wine glass, flicking a glance toward the corner. No need to step in this time, she thought. That elegant Lady Charon from the East clearly knew how to handle herself. Sure enough, before Camilla could even finish drying the glass, the punks were scrambling for the door as if their heels were on fire, terror in their eyes, a stark contrast to the smug confidence they'd worn only seconds before.

The Charon rose and walked straight toward the bar. Camilla met the woman's striking golden gaze. As she approached, the copper coins on her robes chimed softly, carrying with them a faint, grounding drift of sandalwood unique to Huaxu.

"I'm Zhiliu. A pleasure. I'm new here; might I trouble you for some insight into the local ways?"

Camilla liked smart people. She especially liked smart people with heavy purses.

But more than that, she caught the unmistakable scent of a kindred spirit on this foreign Charon.

For years, total darkness was enough to paralyze Zhiliu with terror.

To break the panic, she would slice her own palm, using the sharp sting to anchor herself and force her mind back to reality.

Her hands should be ruined by scars, but a Daimon's unnatural healing leaves her skin flawless. Her silent suffering has left no mark to show for it.

Years before assuming the mantle of High Chancellor of Loongyuan, I traveled the world as a Starweaver. My goal was twofold: to amass resources and, more crucially, to dissect human nature. The ancient arts of celestial navigation came to me not as a lesson learned, but as an instinct awakened. I held no love for coin itself, only for its utility, wealth is a shortcut to power, a universal key that unbolts the doors between men. I never hoarded my earnings; they were immediately funneled into the next venture. By weaving Master Jingyuan's teachings into my dealings, I danced between factions, expanding my influence until my humble trade snowballed into an empire.

At first, the sensory shock of new lands captivated me, the scorching, sun-baked sands of Khemet, the clinging, brine-heavy air of the Republic of Luca. Yet, novelty quickly eroded into monotony. It is hard to say which breeds a deeper isolation: the endless, static horizon of a sea voyage, or the disorientation of waking in yet another strange bed. Paradoxically, this distance from Haojing offered a reprieve. Stepping away from the crushing weight of my destiny allowed me to detach, to truly see myself and clarify my resolve.

To the world, Zhiliu must be a monolith, flawless, impenetrable, a being whose every second is dedicated to the mission. Yet, even I require a vice. In those stolen moments of leisure, I found my sole escape in the arts and literature of the Continent of Atlasia. Those masterpieces were windows into other possibilities, depicting tragic joys, infinite sorrows, and ideals that were as breathtaking as they were brittle.

I once chartered a private airship to Scarletriver at an exorbitant cost, simply to catch a premiere before the sun dipped below the horizon. There, bathed in the dim, flickering glow of the stage, I watched the lives of others unravel and found a dark question taking root: Am I, too, merely a character in some grand tragedy, a moth driving itself blindly into the flame?

You recall that walk at sunset. Twilight settled over the world like a cloak, rendering everything soft and strange, even her expression.

The flawless mask she wore melted away in the amber glow. Bit by bit, her true heart surfaced: regret, sorrow, defiance... and above all, pure gratitude.

The Great Turmoil of Haojing is burned into the collective memory of Huaxu. It was a storm that raged and vanished within a single day, miraculously leaving few casualties in its wake.

In the retelling of those fleeting hours, many praise the striking arrival of Vita or the Drifters' tireless heroism. Yet, when it comes to the architect of the chaos, Zhiliu, the once-revered High Chancellor of Loongyuan, most fall silent.

The Three Ministries later ruled that while Zhiliu intended to reform the Nine Chapters of Dafeng, her methods were reckless. By bypassing authority and acting alone, she had violated the fundamental principles of justice.

If Vita and the Drifters hadn't recovered the Jade of Equilibrium in time, how deadly would the fallout have been? As anxiety and resentment simmered in the streets, Zhiliu seemed to sense the shifting tide. In a silent acknowledgement of the public mood, she voluntarily resigned as Head of the Ministry of Fortune.

However, a reforming Huaxu was fragile. The nation needed sharp, experienced minds to navigate the wreckage. The Three Ministries continued to consult Zhiliu on grave matters. She could have turned them away, yet she accepted every task, burning the midnight oil to untangle the nation's thorniest problems. Over time, the public's cold scrutiny turned into grudging respect, and then something deeper. She bore it all with characteristic calm.

Perhaps this service is her penance. Or perhaps, she simply hasn't given up hope for the future of Huaxu.

Zhiliu devoted her life to a single goal: ending the Nine Chapters of Dafeng and the Age of Gods. Yet, deep in her long conspiracy, she struggled to say if her path was still one of justice.

The more she witnessed, the more she saw good and evil as twins, and high principles as veils for private desire. With the definition of righteousness blurring, her old justifications grew frail under scrutiny.

In the end, she decided to stop searching for a moral defense. She would simply accept this deed as the one act of willfulness allowed in her lifetime.

Terracotta soldiers shattered into dust as the Bi'an swarmed like a rising tide. Sensing a threat to its inner sanctum, the Nine Chapters of Dafeng lashed out in desperation, shaking the Taixu Mausoleum with tremors of shock and fury. Yet, every defence has a breaking point, provided one is willing to bleed for it.

I lost all sense of time before the spiritual guardians finally went still. Silence reclaimed this high and solemn hall, just as it should be.

I took stock of my wounds and stepped past the wreckage, moving toward my end. Here, my lifelong plot to slay a god would finally come to fruition.

As magic ebbed from my veins, taking my life force with it, the shadowy whispers in my mind sharpened into clarity. "What is a life worth living for?" they asked. "The fear of death hadn't vanished. It never truly leaves."

Even knowing my death would topple Huaxu and right every wrong, I couldn't stop the trembling deep in my bones.

Mist curled around me. Just as death's cold grip began to tighten, I saw her silhouette.

She had come with a command: Live. Bear witness.

Seven years ago, I was saved for the first time. Seven years later, I found salvation once again.

Given the horrors of my childhood, I could hardly call my life "lucky."

Yet, I cannot call myself unfortunate, either, for I have met Vita.