The Thirteenth Thunder

These past few days, I hadn’t seen Qin An much.

After all, a dignified general skipping daily drills just to dine with a strange woman was hardly proper. He seemed to have finally realized this, throwing himself fully into the barracks again.

I tried asking—subtly, repeatedly—when he would take me to the palace, but every time he answered vaguely, avoiding my gaze.

I knew then: he wasn’t going to take me.

If that was the case, it was no longer appropriate for me to stay here.

Still, it was hard to leave. The General’s Mansion’s chef was an artist, his dishes divine. He’d spoiled my appetite completely. The thought of returning to bitter greens and coarse rice on the road made me sigh in quiet despair.

The more I thought about wandering the wilderness again, the duller my appetite became. My belly, which had started to round slightly from comfort and indulgence, flattened again.

One afternoon, as I wandered through the garden, I overheard those two little maids gossiping behind a screen of peonies.

“The General hasn’t been around lately,” one whispered. “He and that Miss Qiao must have quarreled.”

“Hmph,” said the other. “I never liked the look of that woman. Probably thought she could latch onto the General. He must have found out her true motives and is keeping his distance.”

“Still,” the first maid said thoughtfully, “she’s got skill. Plenty of women have tried to climb into the General’s bed, but she’s the first who succeeded.”

“Just a passing fancy,” the second snorted. “A man’s whim. Give it a few days—he’ll tire of her. Besides, the General’s fate belongs to the royal family…”

The rest became too sharp for my ears. I flicked at them, pretending not to hear, and walked away.

Qin An rarely appeared, but he often sent little gifts: a jade hairpin, a delicate golden bell, sometimes even a fresh gardenia blossom. All trinkets meant to please a woman.

One maid, eyes shining with envy, sighed as she placed them on my table.

“Miss Qiao truly has a place in the General’s heart. He’s always thinking of you.”

I murmured a polite thanks, tossed the things into a drawer, and found myself remembering something from Bai Xi’s memories.

When Bai Xi first ascended to the Celestial Court, she too had once tried to please him. She’d sneaked into the Jade Pool to pluck an early lotus bloom and placed it on Qin An’s desk—just so that when he saw it, he might think of her.

The Heavenly Queen had found out, of course. The punishment had been severe.

Compared to that, Qin An’s gestures were nothing—trivial tokens, easily forgotten.
Bai Xi never wanted gifts. What she wanted was his life.

One dusky evening, clouds rolled thick and low over the garden. Thunder murmured far away. A storm was coming.

My heart began to pound. My blood surged hot, my knees turned weak. The maid attending me noticed and hurried to help me back to my room.

The moment my head touched the pillow, I fell asleep.

At the third watch, a bolt of lightning tore across the heavens, and I jolted awake with a scream.

I was afraid of thunder.
No—she was afraid of thunder.

When Bai Xi had ascended, the so-called righteous gods had betrayed her. They called down a thirteenth heavenly thunder—one more than the twelve decreed by cosmic law—intending to erase her soul forever.

Since then, she had feared lightning. And now that she shared my body, that fear had become mine.

Thunder cracked again and again, each flash illuminating the chamber as if it were day. The wind howled. Outside, a plum tree snapped in half, its trunk plunging into the pond with a violent splash.

I clutched my ears, trembling. The sound roared through my chest, and a creeping cold spread from the soles of my feet upward.

There would be no sleep tonight.

After an hour, my eyelids grew heavy. Half-dreaming, half-awake, I heard another thunderclap—directly outside the window.

The lightning struck the fallen plum tree.

I yelped, curling into myself. The burning tree blazed bright, smoke rolling in through the cracks of the shutters.

I coughed violently.

Then—a voice outside, muffled but unmistakable.

“Bai Xi! Bai Xi, are you there?”

Qin An.

I bit my lip, saying nothing.

“You’re afraid of thunder, aren’t you?” he called. “Don’t be. I’m outside your door. If you get scared, just talk to me.”

His voice mixed with the rumble of thunder, half lost in the patter of rain.

“Qin An… Qin An…”

I whispered his name, then swallowed it, speaking inwardly instead.

Bai Xi, don’t be afraid. He’s out there. He’s keeping watch for you.

And somehow, that worked.
The fear faded, replaced by a deep, unfamiliar calm.

That night, I slept soundly.

When I woke, the storm had passed. Sunlight streamed through a cleansed sky.

I opened the door to find damp footprints on the step—one clear human shape pressed into the wet earth.

The first rain of the new year in Xihan.

While I washed up, the maid came whispering.

“Last night, during the storm, the General kept watch outside your door. He didn’t leave until dawn. He was drenched through and caught a chill.”

So that was the shape I’d seen.

They said he’d been found at dawn, soaked to the bone, already feverish. Hauled back to bed by his men, he’d barely rested an hour before insisting on returning to the training grounds.

The next day, news came that he’d collapsed during drills—high fever, unable to stand.
His father, the elder General Qin Shuo, had to intervene personally, forcing him into confinement.

Even sick, he’d sent word through a servant: “It’s nothing serious. Tell her not to worry.”

I hadn’t been worried to begin with.

A mere cold couldn’t possibly kill a man like him. And if it did, well—then perhaps he deserved the ridicule.

So I ate, I slept, I lived as usual. The household staff, however, were a different story.
Every servant and maid looked as though their own lives hung in the balance. They waited anxiously for their master’s return.

He didn’t return.

But someone else did.

Lady E Xiang—the General’s mother.

I had never met her, though I’d heard whispers. The maids called her gentle and gracious, the model of virtue and refinement. They said her marriage to Qin Shuo was one of rare affection and loyalty.

“Graceful, noble, serene, dignified,” they said—eight words, all beyond my comprehension.

Until I saw her.

She entered in a flowing yellow gown, every movement measured, composed.
Only when someone behind her murmured “Madam,” did I realize who she was.

For all her calm, her presence made my heart lurch.

I fumbled my tea, spilling scalding liquid across my foot.

She smiled gently, passing me a handkerchief.

“Such a lovely girl. No wonder you caught my son’s eye.”

I flushed awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

“Miss Qiao,” she continued, “how have you been? The servants haven’t neglected you, I hope? My son’s been ill these past two days, so he hasn’t returned.”

“No, Madam,” I stammered. “You’re very kind to worry.”

She nodded, eyes soft but sharp with curiosity.

“I’ve often wondered what sort of woman could move a heart as cold as his. Now I see—it makes sense. Your beauty and bearing are… exceptional. Why, even Princess Jinxiu herself may not compare.”

At that name, my brows rose.

“Ah, yes,” Lady E Xiang went on lightly, “even as a woman, I find you likable. My son’s affection for you doesn’t surprise me. And rest assured—I have no objection. But I must be frank, lest you misunderstand.

Though you and my son are fond of each other, his engagement to Princess Jinxiu still stands. If, one day, you enter this household, you can only do so as a concubine.”

A chill crawled up my spine.

This woman—this paragon of grace—had just dismissed me with the politeness of a blade.

Of course, the entire kingdom knew of the engagement. The old emperor himself had arranged it. Who could defy that?

I forced a laugh, meaning to explain, but she continued smoothly, brushing her sleeve aside to reveal a jade bracelet glinting on her wrist.

“Perhaps you don’t know our customs, Miss Qiao. When my son was born, his betrothal was already decreed—to the Emperor’s sister, Princess Jinxiu. A match made by heaven itself. Even if he’s infatuated now, youthful passions fade. In the end, he’ll return to where he belongs.”

“I—”

“There are countless women who’ve tried to climb into his bed,” she interrupted, her voice still honey-sweet. “You’re hardly the first. But if you do enter this house, I hope you’ll know your place. Care for my son and the Princess dutifully. That would be your blessing, Miss Qiao.”

Something flared hot in my chest—sharp, violent.

Not mine.

Hers.

Bai Xi was waking.

Lady E Xiang didn’t notice my stiffening posture. She smiled on, serene and oblivious.

“Heavenly fate,” she mused. “Do you know what that means? My son and the Princess were born under the same sign. When we were pregnant, both I and the late consort dreamed of divine visions—beasts bowing, mountains trembling. The monks of Qinglu Mountain came to bless them, declaring that they were the reincarnation of celestial beings, destined to meet in this life.

Tell me, Miss Qiao—how can anyone else be worthy of him?”

That did it.

I felt my limbs grow cold, my senses dim. My body was no longer mine.

A white shimmer slid across my vision. My muscles trembled once—then went still.

She had come.

“Heavenly fate?” The voice that emerged was light, mocking, venomous. “A faithless traitor and a cunning whore. Call that fate? I call it sin.”

Lady E Xiang froze.

“What did you say?”

Bai Xi didn’t answer. She moved like smoke, silent and weightless. Cups and bowls rose into the air, suspended for a moment before crashing to the floor. Porcelain shattered. Soup splashed in violent arcs.

She glided forward—barely touching the ground—and turned her head.

A flick of her sleeve.

A potted plant shot through the air, shattering against the floor two inches from Lady E Xiang’s feet.

The woman went pale.

“Guards! Seize her!”

But before the guards could touch her, they were thrown backward by an unseen force.

Bai Xi stood still, her aura thickening into a swirling miasma. The air shimmered with heat.

The servants retreated in terror as the temperature climbed. Leaves blackened. The ivy at Lady E Xiang’s feet curled and burned.

The lady raised her fan to shield her face, shouting,

“Who are you?”

A long silence. Then, from the heart of the haze, a voice.

“Who am I? A good question. Remember this name: Bai Xi. Tell your son he owes me a debt—and I’ve come to collect.

Tonight, I’m just taking the interest.”

Flames burst outward, devouring the hall.

The ancient pillars cracked and fell. Smoke filled the sky. The pond outside boiled; koi writhed and leapt, mouths opening and closing in soundless agony.

Peach blossoms ignited like candles.

The proud General’s Mansion, standing for a century, collapsed into fire and ash.

And I understood—this was only the beginning.

Bai Xi’s hatred had finally awakened.