A Valley of Two

The exile was a mercy, mostly because the Sect Leader was too afraid to try execution again.

Three months later.

The Hidden Mist Valley was miles away from civilization. It was lush, green, and quiet.

Jing hummed as he stirred a pot of stew in the small wooden cottage he had built. Outside, the garden was thriving. Sunflowers the size of shields swayed in the breeze.

The door opened. Xiulan walked in. She was wearing a simple apron over her robes, her hair tied back with the same ribbon Jing had given her. She carried a basket of wild berries.

And a massive, severed head of a Spirit Tiger.

"I found dinner," she said, dropping the tiger head on the table with a wet thud.

Jing didn't blink. He moved the tiger head to the side to make room for the plates.

"That's a big one," he praised. "Did it give you trouble?"

"It looked at the house," Xiulan said, her eyes darkening slightly. "It was thinking about entering."

"Well, now it's a rug," Jing said cheerfully. He took the berries. "Wash up. Stew is ready."

Xiulan went to the basin. She washed the blood off her hands. She looked at her reflection. The madness was still there, lurking deep down. But it was quiet. It was sleeping.

She walked over to Jing and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Jing," she murmured.

"Hmm?"

"You are mine."

Jing leaned back into her embrace, stirring the stew.

"I know," he said. "And you are mine."

She smiled, sharp and sweet and terrifying. Outside, the wind rustled the leaves, and for the first time in her life, the Blood-Lotus was content to just bloom.