Love Burning Amidst the Ashes. - "Dark clouds are rolling in"

The heavy wooden door shut out the chaos outside, and seemed to cut off the very flow of air. Inside the herbal hermitage, a deathly silence reigned, broken only by the occasional hiss and pop of charcoal in the furnace, like the faltering heartbeat of a dying man, echoing through the frozen air. The scent of herbs still hung thick, but it could no longer mask the silently spreading, suffocating chill.
Xu Chang Lin leaned against the cold door, his body trembling uncontrollably. Cold sweat had soaked through his thin, rough-spun clothes, clinging to his skin with a bone-deep chill. He slid down to sit on the floor, his face ashen, his lips devoid of all color. They moved faintly, but no sound emerged. His eyes, usually gentle and calm, were now gripped by immense terror; deep within his pupils, turbulent waves churned as if he had witnessed something utterly horrifying.

Xu Qing Xuan stood a few paces before his father, shrouded in shadow. He did not offer help, nor did he speak. His father’s words were like ice-cold iron spikes, driven deep into his mind. His expression remained unreadable, only the line of his thin lips pressed tighter, almost forming a sharp, forbidding slash. His clear eyes now resembled two bottomless, frigid pools—all shock and turmoil forcibly suppressed beneath the surface, leaving only an icy calm and a mind racing at breakneck speed.
Outside, the rough shouts of unfamiliar knights and the clatter of hooves on the bluestone pavement did not fade. Instead, they seemed to prowl and search nearby. The sounds lashed like invisible whips against the taut nerves of the father and son.

“Father?” A voice tinged with confusion and a sliver of unease finally shattered the silence.
Xu Qing Feng peeked out from behind the curtain leading to the backyard. His face was freshly washed, droplets of water still sliding down his temples, and the bruise at the corner of his mouth stood out all the more against his damp skin. He had changed into a clean, well-worn tunic, but the weariness of a recent brawl still lingered in his brows—along with a faint trace of guilt.

The moment he stepped inside, he sensed it—the air in the apothecary was unnaturally heavy. His father sat on the ground, face ashen and frighteningly grim. His older brother stood in the shadows, his whole being radiating a stillness Xu Qing Feng had never felt from him before.

All the excuses and half-formed apologies Qing Feng had prepared on the way here died in his throat. What came instead was confusion, and a creeping unease that seemed to rise straight from the oppressive silence.

“Brother… what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice instinctively softening.

Xu Qing Xuan’s gaze slid from their father to his younger brother. There was a storm of emotions in those eyes—scrutiny, worry, and something heavier, something unspoken. He didn’t answer. He only gave the faintest shake of his head before striding over to their father, reaching down to help him up.

Xu Chang Lin seemed to gather what little strength he had left after his initial shock. With the support of his eldest, he staggered to his feet. His body still trembled as his eyes swept blankly over the familiar space—the rows of wooden cabinets packed with herbs, the yellowed account books, the stove whose coals had long gone cold.

All these ordinary, comforting sights now seemed shrouded in a foreboding gloom.

Suddenly, he clutched Xu Qing Xuan’s arm with a grip like iron, fingers digging in until they nearly broke skin. His voice rasped with urgency and despair, “Xuan’er! Remember this—no matter what happens… protect your brother! Protect… your brother!”

He repeated the words like a mantra, the fear in his clouded eyes so thick it bordered on madness.

Xu Qing Xuan’s arm throbbed under the crushing grip, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he clasped his father’s cold, shaking hand in return, his voice calm but carrying a weight that brooked no refusal.

“Father. Trust me.”

Three simple words, yet they landed with the weight of stone.

Xu Chang Lin’s breathing came fast and ragged. He seemed about to say more, but his gaze suddenly snapped toward the window. As though burned, he released his son’s arm and lurched toward the wooden lattice window facing the street. His hand shook as he pried open the smallest of gaps and peered outside.

Both sons immediately followed.

Through the narrow slit, the street beyond came into view.

The black-clad horsemen had not left. Their mounts stood restless in the middle of the road, not far from the apothecary. At their head was a hawk-eyed man with a clipped mustache, seated tall in the saddle, surveying the street with a predatory air. Beside him stood a gaunt old man in a gray Taoist robe, his eyes closed, right hand forming a strange mudra while his left held a palm-sized, jet-black object shaped like a compass.

It was neither metal nor jade. Its surface was etched with twisted silver sigils that seemed to writhe under the eye, their faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The old man’s lips moved soundlessly as his bony fingers traced the edge of the compass, feeling for something unseen. Deep furrows carved into his face made his expression of concentration seem almost sinister.

A cold, uncanny aura seeped out from him, filling the street like a creeping mist. Even through the walls and shuttered windows, the three members of the Xu family felt its chill coil around their hearts like a snake.

A few townsfolk who had been peeking curiously from their doorways went pale, as though struck by an invisible hammer. In panic, they slammed their shutters and vanished indoors. In moments, Linshan Town had turned into a dead, silent place, as though dropped into an ice cellar.

“They’re searching for something…” Xu Qing Xuan’s voice was barely more than a breath, but it carried sharp and clear. His eyes stayed locked on the gray-robed elder and the eerie compass in his hands, thoughts racing faster than ever.

“That compass… is it the artifact Father once spoke of? Is it sensing… energy? A mark? Or… some specific object?”

He noticed that when the old man’s finger slid to a certain point on the compass, the glow brightened—ever so slightly. And that direction… pointed straight at the apothecary.

Xu Qing Xuan’s stomach sank. He instinctively turned to look at his father.

Xu Chan Lin’s face had gone beyond pale—he looked like a man staring into the grave. His trembling grew worse, his teeth audibly chattering. When the old man’s finger finally stopped, aimed at their very house, Xu Chang Lin drew a sharp breath, as if bitten. He recoiled from the window, back hitting the wall, panting hard. Whatever fragile hope had been in his eyes guttered out, leaving only despair.

“Father! Who are those people?” Xu Qing Feng’s voice was urgent now. Reckless though he might be, he was no fool. The killing intent of the horsemen, the strange ritual of the gray-robed elder, and the uncharacteristic gravity of both father and brother made his instincts scream.

He clenched his fists without realizing it, a flicker of youthful ferocity sparking in his eyes as he braced for whatever was coming.

Xu Chang Lin did not answer—or rather, he no longer had the time to answer.
He spun around suddenly, no longer looking out the window, no longer paying any attention to his two sons.
It was as if he had made some grave decision.
He dashed toward the massive, solid-wood medicine cabinet standing against the farthest wall of the apothecary.

That cabinet was the Xu family’s most treasured heirloom, passed down through generations, storing rare and ancient herbs of immeasurable value.

Xu Qing Xuan immediately followed, his eyes locked on every movement of his father.

He watched as Xu Chang Lin stretched out a trembling hand, groping in a dusty, inconspicuous corner at the very bottom of the cabinet.
There was a frantic urgency to his movements, so desperate that his fingernails scraped across the wood with a sharp, grating sound.

Then—click!
A faint, almost imperceptible mechanical sound rang out.
One of the cabinet’s unremarkable wooden panels had been pressed inward, revealing a secret compartment no bigger than a handspan!

Xu Qing Xuan’s pupils constricted sharply.
Even he—who had managed this cabinet for years and prided himself on his meticulousness—had never discovered this hidden space!

Xu Chang Lin reached into the compartment.
When he withdrew his hand, he was holding a small, mysterious object, wrapped in layer upon layer of faded, yellowing silk.
The cloth was frayed at the edges, worn with age, as though it had been cherished and hidden away for decades.

His hands were shaking as he began to unwrap it—layer by careful layer—his motions slow, heavy, as though he were peeling away not silk but the blood-stained thorns entwining his family’s fate.

With each layer removed, a strange aura began to seep out, quiet yet overwhelming.
It was neither cold nor hot, neither yin nor yang.
It carried with it a sense of something ancient and boundless, as though it embodied a supreme law of heaven and earth.
In an instant, that aura smothered the herbal fragrance filling the room, making every heart within the apothecary pound uncontrollably.

At last, the final layer of silk fell away.

Resting in Xu Chang Lin’s calloused, herb-stained palm was a jade pendant.

It was about the size of a baby’s palm, perfectly round, its surface smooth and warm to the touch, glowing faintly translucent as though mist swirled inside it.
But its construction was most peculiar—
It was not a single piece, but two exquisitely carved jade fishes, their heads and tails joining seamlessly, forming an unbroken circle.

One fish was luminous white, flawless and pure as freshly fallen snow.
The other was deep black, gleaming faintly, like obsidian dredged from the bottom of the abyss.

The two yin-yang fishes coiled together, forming a perfect Taiji diagram—black and white, yet distinct and separate.

At the center—where the eyes of the two fishes met—was set a bead no larger than a grain of rice, glowing softly with a hazy light.
It was the “core” of the Taiji, harmonizing the black and white into one.

The surface of the jade was etched with lines finer than a strand of hair—natural markings, yet impossibly intricate.
And they were not still.
Under the flow of the misty energy within, they shifted ever so slowly, almost imperceptibly, weaving ever-changing, complex patterns that seemed to hold the very truths of the universe.

The entire pendant exuded an indescribable spiritual charm.
Just looking at it made the heart fall silent, as though one could touch the pulse of the cosmos itself.
Yet beneath that entrancing aura, Xu Qing Xuan sensed something else—
Something ancient, heavy, ominous.
It was like the distant echo of a dragon’s roar buried deep beneath the earth—faint, but enough to shake the soul.

“This…” Xu Qing Feng was stunned as well.
He had never seen anything so strange, so breathtakingly beautiful.
The swirling black-and-white light held him spellbound, making him forget even the pain at the corner of his mouth.

Xu Qing Xuan’s gaze was fixed, unblinking, on the yin-yang jade pendant.
The moment it appeared, it was as if something exploded inside his mind!
His father’s uncharacteristic fear, the murderous strangers outside, the compass in the hands of that gray-robed Daoist—
All the pieces linked together in an instant, forming a single, blood-red chain!

Now he understood why his father was so terrified.
Now he knew what those people were after.
The source of it all—was this pendant!

“Yin-yang twin fishes… tails joined… energy flowing…” Xu Qing Xuan’s breath quickened.
He murmured to himself, his usually calm eyes blazing with a light they had never held before—
The light of unquenchable curiosity, of a thirst for knowledge ignited to its very core.
He could not help himself.
Almost without thinking, he stretched out his hand, longing to touch the intricate markings, to unravel the endless mysteries hidden within.
The truths contained in this jade far surpassed any medical text or alchemical formula he had ever studied!

But just as his fingertips were about to brush the jade—

BZZZZZ—!

A sharp, piercing hum split the silence of the apothecary, stabbing straight into the soul!

At the same moment, out on the street, the gray-robed Daoist who had been meditating with eyes closed suddenly snapped them open!
From those murky old eyes shot two beams of light—tangible, terrifying!
His gaze locked onto the black compass in his hands.

Its central needle was trembling violently, buzzing shrilly.
At its tip, a blood-red light blazed with unprecedented intensity, flashing madly, pointing straight—unerringly—
toward the Xu family’s apothecary!

“Found it!”
The gray-robed Daoist’s voice was dry and raspy, like sandpaper scraping on wood—yet brimming with wild excitement and a bone-chilling intent to kill.
“It’s here! The energy is locked! The position is confirmed!”
“Good!”
The leader—a middle-aged man—grinned viciously, eyes gleaming with murderous light.
He slashed his hand through the air, his voice like clashing cold steel, sharp and merciless:
“Surround it! Don’t let even a fly escape!”
“Yes, sir!”
The black-clad riders roared in unison, their voices shaking the very air.
They moved like panthers, jerking their reins; their warhorses reared, neighing shrilly before charging forward like arrows loosed from a bowstring.
Hooves pounded the stone road like thunder, the sound deafening as they spread out in a fan-shaped formation, completely encircling the Xu family apothecary.
Their movements were precise, disciplined, and cold—an elite killing force trained for slaughter.

The heavy drumming of hooves was like war drums, pounding not only against the walls of the little shop but against the hearts of the three people inside.
The whole apothecary seemed to tremble under that suffocating rhythm.

BAM! BAM! BAM!
The door shook under brutal blows, each strike like a death knell.
From outside came the fierce shouts of the riders:
“Open up! People inside—open the door, now!”

“If you don’t, we’ll break it down and leave nothing alive—not even your dogs and chickens!”

The voice was filled with savage cruelty, like a beast’s roar, making dust rain from the doorframe.

Terror, cold as an icy tide, surged over Xu Chang Lin, drowning him in an instant.
His whole body shook, his face turning corpse-white.
He stared at the jade pendant in his hand—the very object that had brought calamity upon them—with eyes full of endless regret and despair.
It was as if he were holding a red-hot brand… or the gravestone of his family’s destiny.

“Too late… too late…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling beyond control.
But then, from the very depths of his despair, the primal will of a father erupted!
A flash of madness, of final resolve, burned in his eyes.

Suddenly, he thrust the jade toward Xu Qing Xuan, the son closest to him—so fast it left a faint afterimage in the air.

“Xuan’er! Take this! Remember your father’s words! Protect your brother! Go!!”
His roar was twisted by fear and desperation, the sound tearing at his throat.
He pressed the jade into Xu Qing Xuan’s palm with all his strength.
The jade was warm to the touch—yet slick with his father’s cold sweat and shaking with his despair.

And in the instant the jade touched Xu Qing Xuan’s skin—

Everything changed.

A torrent of incomprehensible information exploded into him through his fingertips—vast, ancient, overwhelming—like a river bursting through a dam!
Countless strange symbols like stars, twisting meridian diagrams, obscure archaic script, shadowy images of spirit beasts, mountains and rivers he had never seen—all of it poured into his mind at once!

His skull felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, sharp pain stabbing through his consciousness, his vision flashing with gold as his body swayed uncontrollably.

At the same time, the yin-yang jade seemed to respond.
The tiny bead at its center flickered faintly, releasing a thread of cool, soothing energy—gentle, guiding.
Like a trickling stream, it seeped into the storm raging in his mind, prying open the torrent just enough to keep him from shattering completely.
It was like a needle pinning down the sea—holding his collapsing consciousness together.

“Urgh…”
Xu Qing Xuan gritted his teeth hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood as he fought to stay conscious.
He clutched the jade tightly, and for the first time, a tidal wave of emotion surged in the depths of his usually calm eyes.

What is this pendant?!

“Father! Brother!” Xu Qing Feng, the youngest, stood frozen, stunned by what he was witnessing.
He had no idea what had just happened—only that their father had thrust a strange pendant into his brother’s hands, and his brother’s face had gone deathly pale.

But the pounding on the door, the murderous roars outside, and his father’s desperate scream were like scalding oil poured over the fire burning in his heart.

Fear? Yes, he felt fear.
But stronger than fear was the blood-born fury now erupting inside him—like a volcano unleashing its wrath!
Someone was coming to harm his family, to smash down his home—

“To hell with them! I’ll fight them!”
Xu Qing Feng’s eyes turned blood-red, and from his lean but wiry frame erupted a feral, savage aura.
Like a young lion driven past its limit, he no longer cared about the gap in strength, no longer thought of the consequences.

With a roar, he bent down, grabbed the heavy wooden door bar leaning against the wall, his muscles taut with rage—

He was about to charge straight for the door, which was already shaking under the blows from outside!

“Qing Feng! Stop!”
Xu Chang Lin screamed, his voice breaking.

He knew all too well who those people outside were—they were wolves, demons who killed without blinking.
If Qing Feng rushed out, it would be like an egg smashing against stone—he would be torn apart in an instant!

And at that very moment—

“Stop!”

The voice cracked like a whip, cold and sharp, dousing Xu Qingfeng’s rage like a bucket of ice water. His body froze mid-motion.

It was Xu Qing Xuan.

He forced himself to suppress the storm still raging in his mind — the stabbing pain, the roaring flood of alien knowledge. His face was deathly pale, almost translucent, beads of cold sweat rolling down his temple. And yet, his eyes blazed with a brilliance that cut through the fear, sharp and unyielding as stars in a frozen night.

One step — and he stood between his younger brother and the door that was about to splinter apart.

He didn’t even glance at the laughable wooden beam clutched in his brother’s hands. His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept over the entire apothecary in a heartbeat.
The furnace.
The back door.
The windows.
His father’s despair.
His brother’s reddened eyes.
The searing jade burning in his palm.
And outside — the pounding on the door, louder, closer, maddening.

All of it collided and fused in his mind in the span of a breath.

“Follow me!”

His voice was iron — clipped, commanding, leaving no room for doubt.
He seized Xu Qing Feng’s arm with such strength it nearly crushed the bone, then with his other hand, the one clutching the jade, he pointed toward the farthest corner of the room — behind the great furnace.

There, among dried herbs and kindling stacked against the wall, nothing seemed out of place.

“Father! Go to the back door — make noise! Now!”

His words were rapid, urgent, carrying a weight that demanded obedience.
His eyes — cold as a winter gale — locked with his father’s, piercing through despair like an arrow.

Xu Chang Lin shuddered.
In his hopeless gaze, a faint glimmer of light appeared.
Xuan’er…

BANG!
With a deafening crack, the heavy wooden doors finally gave way.
The locking bar shrieked and snapped.
Splinters exploded outward.

Grey daylight poured in, carrying the damp chill of rain-soaked streets.
And with it came the grim faces of the mounted riders — twisted into cruel grins — and the killing intent that rolled into the little apothecary like a breaking tide.

The leader — a hook-nosed man with venomous eyes — stepped across the threshold, a bloodstained scabbard in his hand. His gaze locked instantly on Xu Qingxuan, standing by the furnace, something clenched tightly in his hand.

No — not at him.
At the object in his hand — the faintly glowing Yin-Yang Jade Pendant.

“The Yin-Yang Jade! It really is here!”

Greed and murderous delight flared in the man’s eyes. His lips curled into a vicious grin.

“Seize them! Kill anyone who resists!”

Behind him, the riders bared their teeth like starving wolves.
Steel hissed as swords were drawn — and they surged forward.

“Go!”

At the very moment the door crashed open, Xu Qing Xuan shoved Xu Qing Feng backward, hurling him toward the furnace with all his strength.
Then he turned to face the incoming storm of blades and killing intent.

The jade was hidden behind his back.
His face was expressionless, as cold and still as a slab of ice.
But beneath that ice blazed a fire — a will ready to burn itself to ash if that was the price.

“Xuan’er!”

Xu Chang Lin’s scream tore through the room like a wounded beast.
He suddenly recalled his son’s words, and with a surge of desperate strength he stumbled toward the back curtain, throwing himself toward the rear exit.

The apothecary was boiling with killing intent.

And in that final, razor-thin instant —
As Xu Qingfeng staggered behind the furnace —
The corner of Xu Qingxuan’s eye caught something.

Beneath the seemingly ordinary pile of dried herbs and kindling — near the base of the wall — a slab of bluish stone.

Its edges… just slightly wider than the surrounding floor.

From the gap, a breath of damp, icy air whispered upward.
Air from somewhere deep below.