Chapter Text
All Shen Yuhua could feel was her own erratic breath, the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, and the world around her slipping into silence. She was losing her vision—quickly. Colours blurred, fading into greyscale as tears and blood smeared together in her eyes. She tried letting out her last plea for help, but all that came out was a garbled rasp—raw, broken, a sound that barely existed before it died.
"Is this really how I'm going to die?" Before she blackened out, she swore she could see the outline of a figure moving towards her.
. . .
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. . .
Shen Yuhua wasn't meant to be abandoned by her father in the middle of nowhere—or at least, that’s what she’d always believed. It never occurred to her that it could happen, not because she was naive, but because it was too cruel a thought to entertain. What kind of nine-year-old would believe that the father she loved, even if he neglected her in favour of his other children, could abandon her completely? Anyone subjected to this treatment would be distraught. What made it even worse was knowing that her father, Shen Yitian, sent older teenage disciples to silence her through abuse.
Maybe he was just disgusted by the fact that, out of all his many children, Shen Yuhua was the only one born without martial prowess. Because of that, he barely acknowledged her, choosing instead to focus on her biological sister, Shen Yuying. Shen Yitian claimed he never favoured any of his wives or children, yet it was obvious he was solely focused on training Shen Yuying to become the strongest and smartest Chaoyang disciple. He cared for her more than any of his other children. The children who were all far more promising than Yuhua.
This wrecked Yuhua completely. What made it even worse was that her mother had been executed just a few months earlier, for committing multiple crimes. Some of which Yuhua couldn’t even remember clearly, lost in the way of rage she felt as she watched her mother being dragged away.
Because of this, every time one of the disciples struck her, they spat cruel words—mocking her mother’s sins and calling Yuhua the mistake born from them. To them, she was nothing more than a doomed child of a disgrace.
Shen Yuhua had started to believe what they said. That she was worthless, a mistake. But maybe, buried somewhere beneath all the hurt, a part of her still wanted to live. Even if it took her strength and voice after all the bruises, the silence, and every cruel word thrown her way, the courage inside of her would still live strong.
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. . .
Leng Feng had just been minding his own business, helping out on his master’s land, doing the usual disciple work—when he noticed something off. A set of footprints, uneven and dragging, like someone had been pulled through the dirt. He paused, frowning. No one should've been out this far. And definitely not like that. He followed the trail and froze upon seeing the sight that greeted him.
A young girl could be seen ahead, still and bloodied, looking more like a corpse than someone alive.
He started moving closer, and stood still.
Staring at her motionless form. She wasn’t moving. Her limbs were twisted awkwardly, blood crusted along her skin, and her face was pale. Too pale. For a moment, Leng Feng was sure she was dead.
That was until something shifted, just barely. Her eyelids trembled, and her eyes, dull and unfocused, flicked in his direction for the briefest moment before beginning to close again. She was still alive. Barely, but alive.
Leng Feng, jolted into action, scooped the half-conscious girl into his arms and sprinted toward the estate’s medical ward.
All he could do now was hope his master could save her.