Lanterns of Shadow Peak
Shadow Peak was not marked on any imperial map.
A mountain cloaked in whispers and surrounded by dense pine forests, it was said to be where forgotten daughters were sent to "cleanse" themselves of shame—nobles, concubine-born girls, and political inconveniences alike. They were dressed as nuns, stripped of names, and silenced under holy pretense.
But Ye Qingran was not here to kneel.
She was here to retrieve Han Eri, a girl marked "alive, but captive" on the unmarked scroll.
Wind howled like a beast across the cliffs as Qingran stood at the forest's edge, her long black robes fluttering behind her like smoke. Zhi Lan stood at her side, clutching a bundle of spirit-dampening talismans.
Between them and the temple were rows of lanterns—dimly glowing with green-blue spiritual fire. Not oil. Not candlelight.
But sealed Yin Qi.
"They've turned the mountain into a spiritual prison," Zhi Lan whispered, voice shaking.
Qingran nodded. "The lanterns aren't just to light the way. They watch. Each one holds a soul fragment—probably the girls they've silenced."
From the shadows behind them, Ji Shentao emerged. His dragon-bone mask gleamed beneath the twin moons above. "I scouted the upper cliff. The temple is guarded—not by soldiers, but by a spiritual monk."
"A cultivator?" Qingran asked.
"An outcast. A former monk of the Soul Temple. Now serving the empire in secret," he replied. "He wears silence like armor."
Qingran narrowed her eyes. "Then we don't scream. We sing quietly… and strike faster.
They moved under cover of snow and pine. The lanterns swayed gently on each post, suspended by black chains. Occasionally, a face flickered within the flame—young, ghostly, lips moving soundlessly. Zhi Lan looked away.
As they reached the outer steps of the temple, a deep, vibrating hum rose from the stone.
Qingran halted.
A man stood on the highest step—clad in faded monk robes. His hair was shaven, and a black brand marked the side of his neck: the Imperial Seal of Silence. His eyes were not angry, but empty.
He raised a staff made of dark jade, glowing with inscribed runes. The wind died instantly.
"You walk the road of the forgotten," the monk said in a flat, emotionless voice. "There is no return."
Qingran stepped forward. "We're here for one girl. Han Eri. She does not belong in this prison."
"All who enter belong to silence," the monk replied. "You must leave your name behind… or leave in pieces."
From behind her, Ji Shentao's hand moved toward his sword.
But Qingran raised a hand. "Let me speak to him alone."
The monk watched her quietly as she ascended the steps one at a time, her spiritual presence calm, but steady.
"I once had a name," she said, standing inches from his staff. "Then I lost it. I wore the court's armor, their titles. Then they burned it all and gave me a grave."
The monk said nothing.
"I will not leave another girl to rot in the silence that nearly killed me."
For a long moment, the monk said nothing.
Then, unexpectedly, he lowered his staff.
"The girl prays in the Inner Garden. She does not remember her name. But she sings it in her sleep."
Qingran blinked. "You… remember her?"
The monk turned, his voice softer now. "Every night, I bind their pain to the lanterns. So that at least their sorrow won't vanish."
Zhi Lan gasped behind her.
"Then help me," Qingran whispered. "Help us break this silence."
The monk hesitated. Then gave a shallow nod.
He led them through stone corridors lit by flickering soul lanterns. At last, they reached a courtyard full of winter plum trees.
In the center knelt a girl, pale and thin, humming softly to herself beneath a broken statue of the moon goddess.
"Han Eri," Qingran called gently.
The girl didn't move at first.
But then she looked up, slowly. Her eyes were midnight blue, and her lips trembled.
"Do… do I know you?" she whispered.
"No," Qingran replied, stepping closer. "But I know who you were. And who you can still become."
Han Eri stared at her for a long second… then burst into quiet sobs.
Behind them, the monk bowed once—his first act of rebellion.
"The seal is cracked," he said softly. "But you must go before the next full moon. The court will send a purifier."
Qingran nodded. "Then we vanish before the lanterns go dark."
As they vanished into the forest, the lanterns began to flicker.
Some died.
Others… turned violet—a sign of corrupted Yin energy awakening.
And far away, in the Imperial Palace, the Empress gazed into her mirror again.
"She's begun collecting them. The next one… cannot be allowed to rise."
She lifted her finger and pressed it against the map.
"The Ninth Courtyard. Burn it before dawn."
Han Eri clung to Ye Qingran's hand like a child afraid of the dark. Her once-delicate fingers were now calloused from scrubbing temple floors. But Qingran did not flinch. She allowed the girl's shaking to seep into her skin, let it fuel her.
"This world tried to make you forget yourself," Qingran said softly as they walked through the snow, "but I remember. And soon… they will, too."
Behind them, Ji Shentao walked silently. His gaze swept over the glowing lanterns now dimming one by one, as if the spirits trapped inside were watching the girl escape—and cheering. Zhi Lan whispered quiet words to the wind, reciting the names of every soul they had freed.
The monk, now standing alone on the stone path, lowered his head toward the fading lantern light. His oath as a temple guardian bound him still, but he no longer chanted the Emperor's sutras. Instead, he hummed the lullaby Han Eri used to sing—a forbidden melody once silenced by fire.
That night, in the forest beyond Shadow Peak, Ye Qingran lit a new flame.
Not one of war.
But of memory.