Heaven’s Chosen, Heaven’s Curse

The Candle Dragon was a celestial god-beast, a divine dragon dwelling in the skies. Its blood, for ordinary mortals, was the purest elixir; yet for illusionists, it was fatal poison.

A single drop of Candle Dragon’s blood could dissolve a lifetime’s worth of cultivation. Once swallowed, an illusionist would feel their very blood boil, roil, and at last evaporate.

If one drop was enough to undo all, Wan Ling was forced to drink an entire jug. And the one who forced it down her throat—was none other than Kun Hong.

“I recall,” said Gongsun Bai, his reflection gleaming faintly in the bronze mirror, “in the thirty-second year of Taixi, a great upheaval shook the Northern Ji Kingdom. They say the deposed King Xue Ning gathered five thousand soldiers and surrounded the palace, intending to slay the Grand Priest. Yet, in a single night, all five thousand vanished without a trace—not a hair, not a bone. Master Yang, what truly happened?”

Yang Zhong’s beard quivered. He seemed to glimpse horrors unspeakable. At length he sighed: “The young master did not heed the lady’s warning.”

After Kun Hong exposed Wan Ling, he had her thrown into prison. He reclaimed the seat of Grand Priest, but for the throne itself he had no interest. Instead, he returned the world to Xue Ning. In time, the two even became close friends.

Wan Ling warned Kun Hong time and again. Xue Ning was no saint—his mind was deep, his acting superb. But Kun Hong, suffering the scars of years in captivity, had fallen into the habit of distrusting everything Wan Ling said, contradicting her at every turn.

So, when she warned him, he paid her no heed.

On the seventh day of the twelfth month, Taixi Year Thirty-Two, Xue Ning invited Kun Hong into the palace for council. There, he tricked Kun Hong into drinking Candle Dragon blood, intending to end his life.

And in that moment of peril—Wan Ling appeared.

Though stripped of her cultivation, she was no ordinary mortal. She was the true Heaven’s Chosen. That title did not merely mean “gifted.” It meant that from birth, she carried within her the legacy of fifty years’ worth of inherited illusion. It was the Kun clan’s greatest blessing, bestowed once in a century. Candle Dragon’s blood could dissolve her acquired skill, but not this innate inheritance.

To protect Kun Hong, Wan Ling invoked “Ping Zhou”—Balanced Daylight.

Ping Zhou was an ancient illusion, long forbidden. Its cost was unspeakable, its attack indiscriminate, and its difficulty so great that for centuries no one had dared or been able to wield it.

But Wan Ling was no ordinary woman. She not only mastered it—she chose to cast it when her illusions had already been stripped away. She paid for it with the only currency she had left: her own life. She sacrificed fifty years of her lifespan in a single moment, and in exchange, five thousand soldiers were annihilated.

No corpses remained, no bloodstains, not even screams—each soldier dissolved like dew in the sun, evaporated into nothingness.

In that same instant, Wan Ling aged fifty years. Her hair turned silver, her skin withered. Yet she pressed on, using the dregs of her strength to strike Xue Ning down as well.

And in that final breath, the “Soul Vessel” slipped from her left eye and dispersed as smoke.

She was free—yet at the price of everything.

Wan Ling had once said: once her tasks here were complete, she would leave. She wished to go south, to the kingdom of Nanchuan, to stand by Gongsun Yanshu’s side.

Kun Hong, knowing she would depart, clung to her, weeping at her knees, begging forgiveness. But Wan Ling, weary, cast a Forgetting Spell upon him, and only thus escaped.

At last, the pieces fit. Two halves of a tale joined into one.

I sat in silence, heart wrung with grief. Wan Ling’s misfortune was endless. From the moment of her birth she was cast aside, to the years when she bore burdens too great for any mortal shoulders—she had never known joy.

But Gongsun Bai’s thoughts turned elsewhere. Candlelight etched a dark shadow across the bridge of his nose. “I have a question. Candle Dragon blood can dissolve all spells and curses, correct?”

“Yes,” Yang Zhong replied.

“If so, then was the Soul Vessel also destroyed? If it was gone, then Wan Ling had no need to sacrifice her life to save Kun Hong.”

Yang Zhong’s eyes widened, as though struck awake from a dream. “Indeed… if the Soul Vessel had already been erased, she need never have…”

“I have another question,” Gongsun Bai pressed. “You said Wan Ling was cast into prison. How then did she suddenly appear in the palace at that precise moment? As far as I know, the palace lies far from the dungeons.”

Yang Zhong faltered, face uneasy. “I… I was not there. I do not know how.”

“Oh?” Gongsun Bai’s brow arched, his voice sharp as a blade. “If you were not present, how do you know so much? Every soldier was slain. Xue Ning perished. Kun Hong alone survived, yet he was struck by Forgetting Spell, recalling nothing. Tell me, Master Yang—who gave you such detailed knowledge?”

The air grew tense.

And then, a sudden clarity struck me. My mind blazed. “I understand! Instinct—that’s it! Wan Ling’s soul had been enslaved by the Soul Vessel for so long that the bond became instinct itself. When she saw Kun Hong in danger, her body moved without thought. Even if her heart resisted, her body surged forward to protect him. Gongsun Bai, am I right?”

“…”

Yang Zhong seized the excuse with relief, nodding fervently. “The young lady, though often at odds with the young master, did love him deeply in her heart. After all—they were twins of the same womb…”

I coughed, thinking to myself: of course she had to protect him. The Soul Vessel resided in her eye—one wrong twitch, and it would torture her mercilessly.

Thus the tale reached its close. Wan Ling became an old woman not because of others, but because she willingly sacrificed herself to save Kun Hong. And when she later crept quietly into the Prince’s manor as a cook, it must have been shame that drove her—not daring to let Gongsun Yanshu see her withered face, choosing instead to remain silently by his side.

By then it was the third watch of the night. Yang Zhong rose to depart. Before leaving, he drew a trembling hand into his satchel and produced a small pouch.

“These… are seeds of the blue gentian. My lady gathered them with her own hands. She treasured this pouch dearly. I believe she meant it for her beloved. Please… deliver it to him.”

We accepted the seeds. Yang Zhong summoned hidden guards to take Kun Hong away. I exhaled long and heavy—at last, that walking calamity was gone.

Yet as I schemed to find a way to dismiss Gongsun Bai as well—so I might finally sleep—he sat calmly, counting the seeds one by one.

“Do you think,” he asked, “that this is the whole story?”

“Huh?” I blinked.

“Yang Zhong only spoke half-truths. He left us with too many questions. Why, on the day Xue Ning plotted Kun Hong’s death, did he invite him in? How did Wan Ling escape prison to arrive just in time? And most crucial—did Kun Hong ever truly know that Wan Ling was his elder sister?”

I thought carefully. He had a point. “But… aren’t these just details? Even if we don’t know, the larger story remains unchanged.”

“They matter greatly.” Gongsun Bai held up a seed. Among the black kernels, one was red—stained with blood. “I recall your art of Posuo has a move called Resonance. With this blood upon the seed… can you conjure the past?”

“…I can try.”

And so I did. The seed fell into the incense burner, smoke curling upward. My mind drifted. Old scenes surfaced in the haze.

The battlefield raged. Wan Ling, clad in armor, wielded twin crescent blades. She was an illusionist, yet also the deadliest assassin of Yichuan.

Across from her surged Guokan’s army, towering men two meters tall, axes flashing. She darted among them, steel arcs severing heads.

But even she could not face thousands. She fell into Guokan’s trap, her legion stranded outside. Around her, her elite guard fell one by one. For three days and nights she fought without rest. Her spirit burned near empty.

Then—a massive brute swung his cleaver down. Wan Ling could not dodge in time.

And a voice cried beside her ear: “My wife!”

Blood sprayed. Gongsun Yanshu stood before her, taking the blow in her stead.

Beneath the great bodhi tree, moonlight scattered across his broken chest. Wan Ling’s hands trembled as she smeared medicine upon the wound, flesh torn and bloody. Yet Yanshu’s smile was the same roguish grin as ever.

“I guessed it all along,” he said. “The Grand Priest of Northern Ji… was my wife, Wan Ling. I dared not believe it before. But now—I do.”

Wan Ling was silent for a long while. Then, softly: “Why are you here? Did you not return with the envoy? Why come back?”

“Because you were here.” His smile faded; his eyes turned solemn, earnest. “You thought me frivolous, unfaithful. No matter how I explained, you would never believe me. I know—I wronged you, made you doubt me. But it doesn’t matter. I will prove it, with the rest of my life.”

Wan Ling’s fingers, pressed against his wound, quivered. She whispered, “I believe you.” And with lips pursed, she blew gently across his chest. “I believe you. I truly do. Gongsun Yanshu… once I finish all that binds me here, once I win my freedom—I will come to Nanchuan. I swear it. I will protect you for life, to repay your love.”

In the haze of smoke, the two kissed.

The abdication ceremony. Sunset painted the sky with blazing clouds. On the Sky Platform, Wan Ling and Kun Hong fought before the crowd.

Kun Hong attacked. Wan Ling retreated. At last, his dart struck her crown. Her waterfall of hair tumbled loose. Gasps rang out.

“She is a woman,” Kun Hong declared. “I am the true Grand Priest!”

The crowd murmured.

Wan Ling smiled and yielded. “Yes. I was an impostor. He is the rightful Grand Priest.”

Guards seized her arms, binding her. Still, she did not resist—only smiled at Kun Hong, the red mole beneath her eye glimmering strange and bewitching.

In the darkest prison, Wan Ling sat with knees hugged to chest, humming softly. Kun Hong entered, now robed as Grand Priest. In his hand, a cup of Candle Dragon blood.

“Drink this, and I will let you go.”

Wan Ling drank without hesitation. “I am no threat to you.”

Moments later, she writhed, clutching her stomach, hair in disarray, body convulsing like a beggar in straw. At last, she vomited, collapsed weakly. “When will you release me?”

Kun Hong sneered, crushing the cup underfoot. “Did you forget who you are? You are Kun family’s servant. Your life and death are ours to decide. You will never leave. Only without your illusions can I marry you. To wed a servant—so what?”

Wan Ling’s pupils widened in horror.

Then came Taixi Year Thirty-Two, the seventh of the twelfth month: the day of their wedding.

Time and again Wan Ling told him: I am your sister, your elder sister. Each time, Kun Hong silenced her with hands upon her throat. Yang Zhong tried to intercede, but Kun Hong refused to listen.

“You think I will believe you now? Three years you kept me caged in darkness, and now you think two words will free you?”

And so she was forced into bridal robes, crown and veil. Bound hands, neck pressed to the ground, she bowed as his bride.

Xue Ning officiated, pouring the nuptial wine.

“Drink this, and you are husband and wife.”

Kun Hong drank deep. Wan Ling resisted. He seized her chin, forced the cup to her lips. She choked, coughing upon the ground, while he wiped his mouth with a cruel smile.

“Is that all it takes to break you? Wan Ling, where is the majesty you once held as Grand Priest?”

She glared back, eyes black and white, the mole beneath her eye gone.

Yes—Gongsun Bai had been right. Candle Dragon blood had erased everything. The Soul Vessel too, perhaps gone the moment she revealed her true self.

Then Kun Hong coughed blood. Soldiers stormed in, spears leveled.

“You thought only the Kun family had Candle Dragon’s blood?” Xue Ning laughed, holding a porcelain vial. “My father feared you for decades, kept this in store. He erred—killing Kun Buyu too soon, ruining Kun clan too early. But I will not. With enemies dead and borders secure, now I can afford mercy. Kun Hong—you are a good man. You would never covet a throne. So I will reward you. I will break your limbs, cut your tendons, and keep you forever a Grand Priest. A gilded cage of honor, for life.”

Blades drew close. Kun Hong closed his eyes.

Then—the rafters stirred. Phantom moths swarmed, raining down upon Wan Ling.

Storm winds rose.

And soldiers vanished. One by one, five thousand dissolved into nothing.

The air cracked with chilling pops. No corpses. No screams. Only silence.

Xue Ning shrieked.

Wan Ling rose, her hair bleaching gray, then white, skin wrinkling as the years devoured her.

“You… you lost your illusions…” he gasped.

She smiled bitterly. “Who told you Kun Hong was the Heaven’s Chosen? Let me show you the truth.”

She raised her hand. Xue Ning flew upward, half his arm bursting apart.

“The true Chosen are born with the last generation’s power. You burned away what I learned. But what is in my bones—you cannot touch.”

Xue Ning shut his eyes. His head vanished.

And Wan Ling was an old woman.

She staggered to Kun Hong, who now sat in shock.

With tears of blood she whispered, “I must have wronged you in another life. In this one, I can only repay, to you, to the Kun clan. Brother… I am so tired.”

Kun Hong wept. “Forgive me… forgive me…”

“For twenty-two years, I never lived for myself. Always for the clan. Always for you.”

“Then let me make it right. I’ll spend my life repaying—”

“No need.” With a touch, she pressed his neck. A red mole appeared upon his skin.

“Forget me. I never existed in the clan’s records. To you, I was only a blade, a bridge, a vessel for your glory.”

She stumbled away.

“Miss!” Yang Zhong cried, rushing with his staff.

Wan Ling gave him a pale smile, and walked into the falling snow.

This was the side that Steward Yang had chosen not to speak of.
For a younger brother to take his elder sister as his wife—no matter how one explains it, it violates human ethics.

No wonder he was unwilling to bring it up; it is, after all, understandable.

“I can understand why Wan Ling placed the spell of forgetfulness on Kun Hong,” I asked at last the question that had long been buried in my heart, “but why did she also cast it on Gongsun Yanshu? And another thing—I’ve always found it strange. Since she already believed herself to have become an old woman of seventy, unworthy of his love, then why did the trigger she set only take effect after Gongsun Yanshu had married her?”

“Because people are selfish,” Gongsun Bai replied calmly. “A great man once said, in this world there may be two women who do not eat food, but there is never a woman who does not feel jealousy. Even the cold and powerful Wan Ling was no exception. Because she loved, she returned to Gongsun Yanshu’s side. Let me ask you—if you had endured countless hardships to finally return to a man’s side, only to find that he was surrounded by young and beautiful women, what would you do?”

“…It should be endured countless hardships to return to a woman’s side,” I ground my teeth and corrected his mistake.

“All the same, all the same,” he waved it off vaguely. “You have grown old, while he is still young, and the women by his side will always remain young. That is something no woman can accept. So she needed proof—proof of her place in Gongsun Yanshu’s heart. The forgetfulness spell Wan Ling placed upon him was set to activate only after he married her. Marriage itself was the proof.

“Once she had her answer, Wan Ling was satisfied. Content, she could let Gongsun Yanshu forget her without regret.” At this, he concluded with piercing clarity: “Every motive, every choice—all of it came from love.”

The moment his words fell, the drifting smoke in the air dispersed. A nameless wind blew in, brushing against my neck. I shivered, and when I looked outside, the deep ink-blue sky had already begun to pale. Dawn was breaking.

“A whole night without sleep—I need to go back and catch up on rest.” I yawned. “You should head back too.”

“In a place like this, where fish and dragons mingle, I can’t rest easy leaving you alone,” he smiled faintly, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. “Without me here, how could you sleep soundly? Rest. I’ll keep watch for you.”

With that, he propped his chin in his hand and gazed into the distance.