The Child of Chains and Fire

When he heard those words, Zhao Jin’s face clouded over, and shadows from the past rose in his mind.

From the very moment he had brought Qin Yan back to the Sword-Casting Manor, Yu Hanjun had not ceased to send messengers. Again and again, these envoys came, each carrying the same plea—that Qin Yan be returned. They offered wealth, treasures, or favors, claiming that any price could be paid so long as she was exchanged back.

To Zhao Jin, it was almost laughable. Yu Hanjun had been the one to willingly trade his bride-to-be for the blade Poison Nether. What right did he have now to pretend at devotion and loyalty?

After several such requests, Zhao Jin grew impatient. At last, he penned a single reply:
“If you wish to take her back, then return the Poison Nether blade to me.”

And with that, Yu Hanjun’s entreaties ceased.

The truth was, Yu Hanjun had not truly lost in this bargain. With Poison Nether in his possession, he had risen swiftly within Jadefall Pavilion. His father, impressed, showed him greater favor. Retainers flocked to his side, eager to serve the man who held such a weapon. His prospects of inheriting the Pavilion’s leadership had risen sharply. All this was thanks to that blade. Without it, Yu Hanjun was just another son with little claim.

Zhao Jin believed Qin Yan would recognize Yu Hanjun’s ambition, see through his choice, and accept her fate at Sword-Casting Manor. He thought she would stay quietly by his side. But to his surprise, one day she asked for freedom.

At those words, his face turned dark as iron.

Alarmed, Qin Yan quickly forced a laugh and shook her head.
“I was only joking…”

Zhao Jin’s eyes did not soften. Without a word, he left her chambers and returned to the Furnace.

The Poison Nether blade was lost forever to Jadefall Pavilion; it would never come back. Now, another weapon had to be forged, one strong enough to guard the manor. Thus, the forging of the Sun-Slayer blade began.

Day and night, Zhao Jin bent himself to the furnace. The molten heat roared like an ocean of fire, burning away his flesh and resolve. Yet his trials did not end there. He also battled the old manor lord, his father. The patriarch was enraged that Zhao Jin had brought back a woman of lowly birth. Again and again, he gave the order to drive Qin Yan out—or worse, to beat her to death.

Each time, Zhao Jin stepped in her defense.

At last, the two reached a bitter truce: Qin Yan would remain, but Zhao Jin must marry Zhao Tingting and two other women chosen by the clan. Qin Yan, however, could never enter the family records, nor could any children she bore.

She was condemned to remain a slave, forever and always.

Zhao Jin did not see her as a slave. Yet his strength was not enough to change the will of the patriarch. He resolved to wait—once he inherited the manor, he would give her a rightful name. In the meantime, he obeyed. He married Zhao Tingting and the others. The Zhao line had long been thin, and the elders pressed for heirs. Thus, multiple wives were forced upon him at once.

As for Qin Yan, Zhao Jin’s passion for her had cooled long ago. She had become like a vase in his household—decorative, but lifeless. He lay with her on occasion, but she never resisted nor welcomed him. She lay as still as a corpse, and soon he lost interest. He had no shortage of women who would smile and bow, eager to please. He did not need a silent body.

Half a year later, the old master died from qi deviation, leaving Zhao Jin as the new lord of Sword-Casting Manor.

By chance, that same year Yu Hanjun defeated his rivals and became Pavilion Lord of Jadefall Pavilion. His first act upon succession was to visit Zhao Jin under the guise of business negotiations. But in truth, he sought Qin Yan.

Three years had passed, and yet Yu Hanjun still had not let go.

Zhao Jin felt a mixture of rage and amusement.
“This woman has been in my household three years. She is dull, lifeless, nothing more. Why does Pavilion Lord Yu remain so obsessed?”

Yu Hanjun, as refined as ever, replied with calm grace:
“Because I wronged her. I once promised her freedom. Yet I failed her…”

Zhao Jin laughed coldly.
“If promises mean so much, why did you trade her away for my blade? Was it not clear then, that ambition outweighed her worth in your eyes?”

“Zhao Manor Lord—”

“My condition remains the same.” Zhao Jin cut him short. “If you wish her back, then return Poison Nether.”

Again, Yu Hanjun retreated.

But when he left, Zhao Jin felt something burning in his chest. A fire, fierce and restless. Jealousy. He was jealous of Yu Hanjun—for leaving such an indelible mark upon Qin Yan’s heart.

It was as if a loyal hound, now his own, had once belonged to another master.

In his spite, Zhao Jin deliberately instructed servants to inform Qin Yan that Yu Hanjun had visited. Later, he summoned them to ask her reaction.

“Miss Qin Yan showed no reaction,” one servant said. “She was eating apricots, chewing greedily, as though nothing had happened.”

Relief stirred in Zhao Jin’s heart.

But the servant hesitated, then added:
“Yet after a few bites, her face changed. She vomited everything back up. She wept as she retched, tears streaming down her cheeks.”

Wept? She wept for him?

Fury thundered through Zhao Jin’s veins. How dare she grieve? Did she forget whose roof sheltered her, whose household clothed her, whose food she ate?

The thought was absurd. Absurd—and unbearable. In a fit of rage, Zhao Jin hurled his inkstone against the floor. That night, he skipped his meal.

From then on, he abandoned her entirely.

Not that Qin Yan needed his attention. She lived quietly, content within herself, seemingly freer without him.

Zhao Jin, meanwhile, was never short of women. Beyond the concubines of the rear courtyard, he kept one wife and two favored consorts by his side—three women who consumed his time, his passion, and his nights. For half a year, he nearly forgot Qin Yan’s existence.

Until one midnight, frantic pounding shattered the silence.

It was Xiao Hui—the fifteen-year-old maid. She had battered the door with bleeding hands, her voice hoarse from shouting, her forehead gashed open. Blood streamed down her young face, but her eyes were wide with terror.

Zhao Jin recognized her. She had entered the manor at ten, just a child. He had little interest in her and sent her to the back to serve at rough chores. Somehow, she had ended up under Qin Yan’s care.

Now, she stood trembling, tears streaming.
“Master! Please, save Miss Qin Yan! She—she is with child. Tonight, she is giving birth, but no matter how we beg, she refuses to let anyone tell you…”

Pregnant?

The word struck Zhao Jin like thunder. For a heartbeat, shock held him still. Then, slowly, joy unfurled in his chest.

“She’s pregnant? And no one knew?”

Xiao Hui wiped blood from her brow, sobbing.
“She forbade us to tell you! She has been in labor for four hours… she has lost so much blood… Master, please, save her! She carries your child!”