The Cursed Red String

Shadows in the Dark

The candle's extinguished flame left Meiyu standing in the pitch-black chamber, her pulse thundering in her ears. Whoever had entered her room had made no attempt to hide their presence. They wanted her to know she was being watched. They wanted her to feel vulnerable.

But she refused to give them the satisfaction.

Slowly, she stepped back toward the door, careful not to make a sound. The wooden floor beneath her feet felt solid, but her instincts screamed at her to remain on guard. If someone had been here, they might still be nearby. She needed to leave, needed to think—but most of all, she needed to know who was playing this dangerous game.

As she reached for the door, a flicker of movement in the darkness froze her in place. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Then—a whisper. Soft. Barely audible.

"Lanying."

Meiyu's breath caught.

No one had called her that name except Weisheng. And yet, she knew with chilling certainty that the voice did not belong to him.

She spun around, her hands instinctively curling into fists. "Who's there?"

Silence.

She strained to listen, but the room remained deathly still. Was it a trick of the wind? A lingering memory? Or had someone truly spoken her past name?

A faint gust of air brushed against her cheek, and she turned sharply, only to find nothing but darkness. Her heartbeat quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm. Fear was what they wanted. She would not give it to them.

Carefully, she made her way to the wall, her fingers skimming the wooden panels until she reached the small drawer where she had found Weisheng's letter. She pulled it open and retrieved the parchment, her grip tightening around the fragile paper.

She needed to see him.

The halls of the estate were eerily quiet as she moved toward Weisheng's quarters. The flickering lanterns cast distorted shadows across the walls, making everything feel slightly unreal. Every step she took felt like a risk, as if she were wading deeper into unknown waters, where unseen hands waited to pull her under.

When she reached his door, she knocked once. Then twice.

No answer.

A sense of unease crawled up her spine. Weisheng was not one to sleep heavily. Cautiously, she pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Her stomach twisted. Where was he? Had someone taken him? Or worse—was he involved in whatever sinister force was toying with her?

A gust of wind from the open window sent the silk curtains fluttering. Meiyu stepped inside, scanning the room for any sign of struggle. Nothing seemed disturbed, yet something felt distinctly wrong.

Then, she saw it. A single lotus flower, placed atop his writing desk. The petals were pristine, untouched by time.

A message.

Meiyu approached it slowly, her fingers hovering over the delicate petals. The lotus. A symbol of purity, of rebirth.

Of deception.

Her throat tightened. Whoever had left it here knew of her past, of her connection to Weisheng. But were they a friend or a foe?

A rustling noise outside made her snap to attention. She rushed to the window, peering into the garden below. The moon cast a pale glow over the courtyard, illuminating the intricate stone pathways. At first, she saw nothing but swaying trees.

Then—movement.

A shadow slipped through the garden, disappearing behind the pagoda.

Meiyu's pulse thundered in her ears. She didn't hesitate.

She moved quickly, her bare feet silent against the stone paths as she followed the shadow's trail. The night air was crisp, but the cold did little to ease the fire burning in her chest.

She reached the pagoda and pressed herself against one of its pillars, peering around cautiously. The figure was there, standing just beyond the wooden structure, their back turned to her. Clad in dark robes, their posture was relaxed—as if they had been waiting.

Meiyu took a breath. Then, she stepped forward. "Who are you?"

The figure turned slowly. The moment their face came into view, Meiyu's breath hitched.

It was Han Xun.

The same general who had approached her at the festival. The same man who had looked at her as if he knew her.

He smiled slightly, though there was no warmth in it. "You shouldn't be out here alone, Lady Lanying."

Hearing her past name from his lips sent a shiver down her spine. She forced herself to remain composed. "How do you know that name?"

Han Xun studied her for a moment before tilting his head slightly. "I knew you before."

A sharp pain lanced through her temple—another flicker of memory just out of reach. "That's impossible," she said, but even as the words left her lips, she wasn't sure she believed them.

"Is it?" Han Xun took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "Perhaps your memories are still clouded. But I assure you, we've met before."

Meiyu clenched her hands. "Then tell me—who were you to me?"

Han Xun chuckled softly. "A friend. An enemy. A betrayer." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Which one do you think I am now?"

Her breath came shallow. Every instinct in her told her to be wary, but she couldn't deny the truth in his words. There was something about him—something familiar in a way she could not explain.

She met his gaze. "I don't know."

Han Xun's smile grew. "Good." He turned slightly, glancing toward the distant horizon. "You'll find the answer soon enough."

Before she could respond, he took a step back into the shadows. "Be careful, Lady Lanying. The past is not as buried as you think."

Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Meiyu remained standing there, her heart pounding. She should have demanded more answers, should have stopped him. But the truth was, she was no longer certain of anything.

All she knew was that the ghosts of her past were no longer content to remain in the shadows.

And neither was she.