The Golden Cage Cracks
1151 Words
Krikslklkkakm.
The sharp patter of frantic feet echoed through the stone hallways as servants rushed toward Yue Ling’s chamber. She was screaming—wild, guttural, heart-wrenching.
After seven days of silence, seven days of clinging to the edge of unconsciousness since the brutal ambush in Todou Village—she had awakened. Not peacefully. Not gently.
She had awakened with fury. With pain. With memory.
“Ling’er! Ling’er, I’m here—calm down!”
It was Grandfather Yue’s voice. Deep, usually unshaken. But now, it cracked like old porcelain, laced with fear.
She spun toward him, eyes blazing, her voice like shattered jade against cold marble.
“This is why I begged you to let me learn to defend myself! If I’d known how to fight... if I had anything to protect myself with—none of this would’ve happened!”
Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, her small frame trembling under the weight of unspoken years. “You kept me in this gilded cage and told me I was lucky... But what use is luck when your body is broken and your dignity is dragged through dirt?!”
Her voice cracked.
“You always said others envied me. Envy me? For what? A cage lined with silk is still a prison. I don’t even know my parents—you kept everything from me. You call yourself my grandfather… but how do I even know that’s true?”
The sobs began—uncontrollable, ugly, raw. She turned away, her voice broken.
“Get out. Get out of my room. I don’t want to see anyone... ever again.”
Grandfather Yue didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Not when her words pierced deeper than any sword. He had lived lifetimes, fought wars, lost kingdoms—but this pain… this guilt… was heavier.
Without another word, Yue Ling stormed out.
Her feet, without thought, led her to her usual haven—the cliff.
The sky above was cloudless, too perfect. The wind gentle, like a lie. But within her, chaos swirled. Grief. Rage. Betrayal.
She sat at the edge, legs dangling, arms wrapped tightly around herself. And then—she broke. Fully. Loudly. Her sobs rippled into the valley below like echoes of a fallen soul.
From behind a distant tree, Grandfather Yue watched. Silent. Burdened.
Ye’er… your daughter… she’s just like you. Sweet, stubborn. Fierce. And foolish.
He closed his eyes, the wind tugging at his robe, whispering secrets of the past.
“Maybe… it’s time.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe it’s time to remove the seal on her temple... to let her cultivate.”
He turned away, gripping his sleeve.
“I’m just afraid... history will repeat itself.”
Then, with sudden resolve, he called, “Butler San. Butler San!”
The old servant arrived, his steps quick despite his age. “Yes, Master?”
“Go to the Xianxue Refining Room. Retrieve the materials I preserved last year. Ling’er… needs to be known by the world.”
Butler San hesitated, his voice a murmur. “What about Yue Ye’s last wish?”
Grandfather Yue didn’t answer. His gaze remained on the lonely figure curled at the cliff’s edge.
The Xianxue Refining Room lay hidden deep within the ancestral mansion. Ancient and secretive, it breathed with power. Glass jars of glowing herbs lined the shelves. A great black cauldron simmered quietly in the center, its steam twisting into whispers.
Grandfather Yue moved with precision, his fingers steady as he crushed dried moonvine, sliced spirit-gilled mushroom, and stirred in the sacred innards of a long-extinct fire serpent. The mixture hissed.
He didn’t rush.
Fourteen days had passed since her awakening, and still Yue Ling refused to speak to him. Still sulking, still hurting.
He let her.
Some wounds needed silence.
Only when everything was ready did he send for her.
When Yue Ling entered the refining room, she froze.
She had never been allowed in here. The room felt alive—like a secret world that had waited centuries for her footsteps.
Her lips curled. “So... you’ve decided to teach me refining now?” Her sarcasm was sharp, a weak shield for her confusion. “Shame I can’t cultivate. And without fire roots, what’s the point?”
Grandfather Yue gave a soft chuckle. Warm, but hollow.
“You’re so much like your mother,” he said, motioning for her to sit. “Let me tell you about Yue Ye.”
Her brow furrowed.
Yue Ye? The name sounded like a myth.
He continued, “Your mother… was the jewel of the five continents. Her beauty could sway dynasties. Even the emperor would have, if he hadn’t already been engaged.”
Yue Ling scoffed. “So what? She became Empress of Nothing?”
“No.” Grandfather Yue’s tone darkened. She made a choice. That choice… changed everything.
Yue Ling’s hands clenched. “You always speak in riddles! Why won’t you just tell me what happened?!”
“Because some truths burn too early,” he said. “You’ll know when the time is right. But for now, you must begin cultivating.”
She stared at him. “I can’t. I have no spiritual roots! Nothing awakened. I’m just a—”
“Enough,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not cruel. “Your bloodline is dormant. But when awakened, it is greater than any root. And Yue Ye’s fighting arts… they run in your veins.”
Yue Ling backed away a step, overwhelmed. “You’re expecting too much. I’m not her. I’m not Yue Ye.”
Grandfather Yue smiled. “Neither was she... until she was.”
She turned from him, throat thick. “I need time.”
But before another word left her lips, she stumbled—her foot catching on the raised cauldron’s base.
Splash.
The scalding brew engulfed her.
“Ah!” she screamed, arms flailing. The liquid wrapped around her like fire and ice at once. Her vision blurred.
Only if Yue Ling knew that grandfather Yue raised his palm slightly, and a soft ripple of spiritual energy brushed against Yue Ling’s back. In one smooth motion, she tumbled forward—straight into the large cauldron. The warm brew splashed high, and her startled scream echoed through the refining room.
“Ling’er…” he whispered, his voice almost reverent. “You’ve just stepped onto the path. Whether by fate or accident... it begins now.”
Yue Ling, soaking, steaming, dazed, looked up at him.
Her skin, though red and stinging, shimmered faintly. The cauldron’s brew clung to her, seeping into her very bones.
In that moment, something stirred in her chest—something old. Forgotten. Waiting.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
And deep within the earring she wore the one she never remembered putting on something else woke up. A silent wail. A flicker of power.
Hidden.
Alive.
Watching.
- Writer
