The Demon Court was carved into the cliffside of an obsidian mountain. Its walls veined with glowing minerals pulsed like slow, ancient heartbeats. Jia Wei Xin wandered its corridors, steps measured, gaze sharp.
Zhang Tian had kept his word—mostly.
She could go wherever she liked. Inner gardens bloomed with night lotus. Training grounds bustled with fierce, disciplined cultivators. Kitchens churned out surprisingly delicious (and occasionally questionable) dishes. Even a library held scrolls far older and darker than anything in Liu Mo Fei's sect.
She was treated with deference, bordering on reverence. Every request was instantly met, every whim catered to. Zhang Tian's decree was clear: "Jia Wei Xin is my special guest. Treat her with utmost respect. Grant her whatever she asks for, except passage beyond these gates."
But even a golden cage was still a cage.
And Jia Wei Xin was far too used to being free. She would walk out. On her own terms. She'd been practicing her teleporting skill. Getting out of here wasn't the problem; teleporting back to Liu Mo Fei's sect was currently impossible. The question was, what then?
---
Restless in her opulent prison, Jia Wei Xin found herself drawn to the Demon Court's raw power. Zhang Tian, eager to impress, showed her true demonic cultivation. He led her to a cavernous training ground. Shirtless demons practiced brutal, efficient techniques, their qi flaring with dark energy.
"It's not pretty, Little Firecracker," he'd said, a possessive gleam in his eye, "but it gets the job done."
He demonstrated a lightning-fast palm strike, cracking the air. Intrigued, Jia Wei Xin mimicked his stance, focusing on sheer destructive intent. She pulled, not just from the air, but from the very core of the demonic realm.
As she channeled her qi, a strange, conflicting energy surged inside her. Hot, dark demonic power met a cold, internal hum. The demonic qi flowed, yes, but something deep within her pulsed in violent protest, then twisted. It wasn't a rejection, but a repurposing. The dark energy, instead of simply obeying, began to ripple with faint, ethereal golden light, swirling around her hands before snapping back. A phantom chill lingered.
She stumbled, a sharp pain lancing through her, but a shocking thrill also shot through her. It was exhilarating, yet profoundly unsettling—a clash of forces unlike anything seen before. She couldn't fully master their power, but she knew she could adapt it, twist it to her own unique advantage. Zhang Tian frowned, sensing the anomaly. He mistook it for her spirit rebelling against demonic arts, not the awakening of something far older and profoundly unique.
---
On the third day, a girl in crimson robes entered her chamber, carrying a tray.
This was Lyra, her beauty the kind that came with power—sharp eyes, sharper cheekbones, an aura shimmering with suppressed malice.
She bowed low. "Lady Jia Wei Xin. A gift from His Majesty. Plum blossom tea to soothe your spirit."
Jia Wei Xin accepted the tray, tilting her head. "That's thoughtful of him."
Lyra's eyes flicked to her wrists. "May I help you pour?"
"No need," Jia Wei Xin said smoothly. "I'm quite independent. Must be the upbringing."
She smiled. Lyra's smile strained.
---
As soon as Lyra left, Jia Wei Xin poured the tea into a nearby potted plant.
The leaves sizzled. Then wilted.
She let out a slow breath. "Well. That's dramatic." Her modern instincts, honed by years of navigating subtle social cues and corporate backstabbing, had screamed 'red flag' when Lyra offered the drink. She remembered Pat Ci. They didn't know who she was, but they knew she was important to Zhang Tian. And in a world where power equaled status, a woman suddenly whisked away by the Demon King was a direct threat to any ambitious demoness like Lyra.
She considered her options. Confronting Lyra directly would cause a scene. Telling Zhang Tian would mean bloodshed—and she wasn't here to start another war.
She stared at the poisoned tea. Her fingers curled, not with fear—but calculation.
A pause.
"Alright, Lyra," she murmured. "You want drama? I majored in it."
She smirked, dropped to the bed, and carefully poured a splash of tea onto the floor for visual flair.
---
That night, a servant found her lying motionless on her bed.
Pale. Still. A teacup shattered on the floor beside her hand.
Chaos erupted in the halls. Shouts. Scrambling footsteps. Demonic guards swarming the corridor.
And in the center of it— Zhang Tian.
He burst into the room like a storm, his qi crashing into the walls, cracking the jade tiles beneath his feet.
He saw Jia Wei Xin's lifeless form, her face pale, the faint tremor still present. His world narrowed to this single, horrifying image. "Jia Wei Xin!" he roared, dropping to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he lifted her head. The rage that emanated from him was palpable, making the surrounding demon guards shrink back in fear.
"No," he whispered, voice breaking. "No, no, no—"
His hands hovered above her face, trembling.
"Wake up," he said. "Please, wake up. I didn't bring you here to— Damn it, this wasn't supposed to happen."
His voice cracked. A sound Jia Wei Xin never thought she'd hear from a demon king.
Then—
She opened one eye.
Zhang Tian jolted so hard he almost fell backwards.
"I'm not dead, you idiot."
He stared at her, slack-jawed, then erupted. "What—?! Why—?! You—!"
"I faked it," she said calmly, sitting up and brushing her hair behind her ear. "To catch the real culprit. Worked like a charm."
"Do you have any idea what you just put me through?!" he roared, pulling at his hair.
"Exactly what I needed to," she snapped. "Don't make me drink poison in your palace and then lecture me about dramatic choices."
He blinked. Then laughed—wildly, almost manically.
"Oh spirits, you're insane."
"And you kidnapped me. So we're even."
The girl who had brought the tea was dragged in moments later, her face bloodied, still protesting innocence.
Jia Wei Xin stood slowly and walked over to her.
"You thought I'd be easy prey?" she said coldly. "Next time you poison someone, don't make the scent so strong. Or choose a smarter target."
Zhang Tian's jaw clenched. "She broke the guest oath. The punishment is death."
He raised his hand. And Lyra as dragged out.
She walked over to him—close, almost too close. Her gaze never wavered.
"This is why I can't stay," she said softly. "Because no matter how you dress it up, your world is still ruled by fear and fire."
His throat worked.
"I wanted to protect you—"
"And I wanted to believe you could," she cut in. "But the truth is, I have to protect myself. Always have. Always will. So don't use 'protection' as an excuse to control me."
The air between them thickened.
Zhang Tian looked down, hands fisted at his sides.
For the first time since she met him, he looked… small.
Zhang Tian ran a hand through his hair, his earlier distress still visible. He looked down at her, then away, his gaze distant. He recalled snippets of his childhood – a pampered, often spoiled prince of the demon realm, whose every desire was instantly met. He'd never had to truly fight for anything, never faced real loss. He was a tyrant, yes, but a lovable one, because he always got what he wanted easily. This was the first time he'd truly felt the raw, desperate urge to protect someone, to keep them by his side, only to be confronted by his own inability to truly shield her from all harm, and her fierce independence.
"Growing up," he said slowly, "everyone bowed to me. I got what I wanted by asking once. Or not asking at all."
She said nothing.
"But you…" His voice was almost a whisper. "You're the first thing I've ever wanted that I don't know how to keep."
Jia Wei Xin reached out and brushed his cheek with two fingers—soft, but firm.
"Maybe that's because I'm not meant to be kept."
---
In the shadows of the Court, an unseen figure knelt before an obsidian mirror.
"She's awakened," the voice rasped. "The bloodline stirs."
A long pause.
"Notify the Elders. And prepare the seal breaker."