Flames of Vengeance, Ashes of Freedom

I stood with Gongsun Bai upon the eaves, far away from the sparks.
The heat waves surged, and I felt as though my hair was about to ignite. A century of the Sword-Casting Villa’s foundation had all become Qinyan’s tool of vengeance.

Gongsun Bai asked me, “Tell me, what kind of retribution do you think awaits those who once humiliated her?”

In my mind rose the ferocious face of Bai Xuezhi.
“Most likely, worse than Bai Xuezhi’s fate,” I muttered.

He leapt lightly onto the rooftop, gazing at the towering iron walls behind us.
“A single blaze has consumed the Villa’s centuries of heritage—the armories, the forges, the Treasure Pavilion where their prized relics were kept. Every corner devoured by flames. In that fire, Zhao Jin lost his wife, Zhao Tingting.”

Her death did not surprise me in the least. If she had survived, that would have been strange.

Indeed, from the moment the flames began, people realized something was amiss. If it had been a single fire, it could have been put down quickly. But here—dozens of points had ignited at once. From the rear courtyard to the front hall, from the kitchens to the archives, countless tongues of flame encircled the Sword-Casting Villa.

Under the inferno, despair rose on every face.
The firelight soared into the skies, hot winds brushing against Qinyan’s face. She smiled. The last time she had smiled so sincerely was nine years ago—on her wedding day, when she faced Yu Hanjun.

Xiaohui came rushing with her skirts lifted. “Sister, are you safe?” She had been working in the front kitchens, and at the first sign of fire she had rushed over, frantic for Qinyan’s safety.

Qinyan touched her face gently. If not for Xiaohui’s help through the years, she might never have endured.
“I am fine. Zier and You’er are safe as well. Gather yourself—we must leave.”

Xiaohui caught the whiff of sulfur on Qinyan’s fingertips. She stared in disbelief. “Sister… was this all your doing?”

Qinyan nodded.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Xiaohui’s face twisted in grief.

“Because the Sword-Casting Villa imprisoned me. Only by destroying it can I be truly free.”

“It bound you, but you could have simply left!” Xiaohui screamed in despair. “This Villa is my home! Without it, I would have starved to death more than ten years ago! Why must you destroy it? Why?”

Qinyan looked at Xiaohui’s frenzied expression, her own gaze growing colder. She had miscalculated. She thought Xiaohui hated the Villa as she did, but forgot—this place was Xiaohui’s second home. No matter how the Villa had treated her, it had still given her life.

Xiaohui’s eyes swept across the chaos, seeing servants charging with basins of water toward the flames. Splash after splash doused the blaze, yet the fire did not falter. Some lost their footing and fell into the inferno, their bodies burnt beyond recognition.

Clenching her teeth, Xiaohui stripped the silver hairpins from her head, the coins from her pouch, and shoved them into Qinyan’s hands. “Go. Take Zier and You’er and leave.” With that, she flung herself into the sea of fire to aid in the battle.

Qinyan watched her disappear, saying nothing.

Xiaohui would not leave—but Qinyan must.

She walked in a daze. Flames raged on either side, cries of “The fire is spreading!” echoing in her ears, mingling with sobs and wails. In such chaos, no one paid her any heed.

Unknowingly, she came to the Snow-Bound Pavilion. The place she had lived in for six years was already engulfed in flames. Red light stung her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

And there, within the fire, she saw an unexpected figure—Zhao Tingting.

Her hair disheveled, her face blackened, one shoe lost, Zhao Tingting staggered forward, seizing Qinyan’s sleeve. “Where is Zhao Jin? Where is he?”

“I do not know,” Qinyan replied.

“How could you not know!” Zhao Tingting shook her desperately. “He went to find you! When the Villa caught fire, the first thing he did was seek you out!” Covering her face, she wept, tears dripping down.

“Why would he look for me?” Qinyan pointed impatiently toward the burning Pavilion. “If he came, then he is inside. Go find him there.”

Zhao Tingting’s body trembled. She stared at the inferno, her expression sinking into despair. She suddenly cried “Husband!” toward the scarlet sky, then hurled herself into the flames.

Soon, her shrieks of agony echoed from within.

It was time for Qinyan to leave.

She walked on. From night into dawn, then into a sky once pale yet soon darkened again by smoke. Barefoot, she stumbled down the mountain, until at last she reached a farmer’s home. Long before the fire, she had entrusted her children to safety. Seeing them now, she smiled, sweeping them into her arms.

“Zier, You’er.”

The children sobbed, crying for their mother.

“We are free.”

The rest of the tale may be summarized in few words.

Qinyan left the Sword-Casting Villa with her children and journeyed to the capital. There, she worked as a helper in a tofu shop, raising them with difficulty. Yet her beauty, as always, proved a curse. No matter how she disheveled herself, lecherous men swarmed like flies.

At such times, a simple porter often came to her rescue, shielding her again and again. Qinyan did not dislike him; Zier and You’er also took a liking to the man. In time, she chose to wed him. Only after their marriage did she learn of his origin—his family hailed from Wushan, and he had once labored as a miner outside the Sword-Casting Villa itself.

How ironic! All her life she had longed to flee the Villa, yet fate brought her circle back to its very shadow. Still, Heaven showed mercy at last. Her new husband treated her with genuine kindness. And perhaps the most dangerous place was the safest—Zhao Jin would never imagine that the woman lost in fire now lived under his very nose, yet forever beyond his grasp.

The fire had dealt the Sword-Casting Villa a grievous wound.

Forty-seven lives were claimed, including Madam Zhao—Zhao Tingting.

As for Zhao Jin, he seemed awakened by the flames. Gone was the reckless libertine; he dismissed his concubines, devoting himself to forging swords, striving to restore the Villa’s former glory.

Alas, rumor said the fire had harmed his body. He had lost the ability to sire children. Through the years that followed, he remained childless. The Zhao bloodline seemed destined to end with him.