The sun was dying on the horizon, its last light spilling like wine over the crooked roofs of the inn known as "The Gilded Petal."
Perched on the edge of a dusty trail between the southern provinces.
The inn was built of old wood, faded signs, and a long past of quiet whispers and long nights.
Inside, the air was filled with the smell of wine, oil, and roasted meat.
In one of the private rooms upstairs, laughter echoed behind a paper screen.
"Heh—! I tell you, girl, seven of them.
Seven sword-wielding bastards from the Black Mist Sect!"
The old man barked with laughter as he swung his sheathed blade through the air, nearly hitting the lantern above.
His face was lined and red from drink.
His beard, thick and wild, still had bits of food stuck in it.
He wore the black robes of a retired martial artist, with a cracked insignia hanging off his belt.
Sitting on his lap was a woman in a silken crimson robe.
Her hair was long, sleek, and black as ink, tied in a neat ponytail that draped to her waist.
A jade pin fastened it, delicate beads swaying from it with each movement, glinting softly under the light.
Her makeup was carefully done.
Red powder on her cheeks and eyes, lips painted like fresh blood, and a slight scent of plum blossoms trailing her every breath.
She smiled sweetly, her fingers lightly stroking the man's shoulder.
"Oh, Master Baek... You must've been so brave..."
She said, her voice sweet as honey wine.
"Brave? Ha! I was glorious!"
Baek bellowed.
"Cut one down with a stool—A STOOL, girl!
I said, 'You picked the wrong roadside inn!' and WHACK!"
She giggled, adjusting herself on his lap, and he grinned wider.
"Nothing better after a hard fight than drinking at the Gilded Petal... and having someone like you warm my knees."
His hand moved down, fingers pressing into her thigh. She only laughed, tilting her head playfully.
Then—crash.
A clay bottle hit the floor by the door, shattering.
Some of the liquor splashed across Baek's arm and the edge of his robe.
"The hell?!"
He growled, turning his head.
Near the table, a young girl in a faded grey dress knelt frozen, her hands trembling.
She had dropped the tray.
Her long hair was messy, her sleeves torn at the cuffs.
Her skin was pale and thin like stretched rice paper, and her eyes were hollow.
"You whore whelp! Do you know how much this costs?"
Baek roared as he got up, shoving the woman off his lap.
He kicked the girl across the floor, sending her sprawling into the corner.
"I'll have your ears for this!"
He shouted, grabbing at the sword that was next to him.
Before he could draw it, the woman touched his arm lightly, calming him.
"Master Baek, please. She's new.
She's useless, but I'll deal with her.
Don't ruin your evening, hmm?"
He grumbled and sat back down.
"You better. Or I'll leave her with the stable boys."
The woman nodded, smiling tightly, before grabbing the girl by the arm and dragging her into the next room.
It was smaller, colder.
The lantern here was dim.
The moment the door closed, the woman slapped the girl across the face.
Smack.
Then again, harder.
Smack.
"You stupid bitch!
Do you know what kind of men they are?!
Do you want to die?! Huh?!"
The girl said nothing.
Her eyes didn't even blink.
They stared straight ahead at the wall.
She didn't raise her arms.
Didn't flinch.
"Say something!"
The woman raised her hand again, but froze.
The girl... was shaking.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Her shoulders convulsed.
Her breathing became raspy.
Her eyes twitched.
And then—crack.
Her neck snapped backward at an unnatural angle.
Her chin pointed to the ceiling.
Her mouth opened wide, like she was about to scream.
The woman stepped back, her heart jumping.
"What the hell...?
Hey! Stop that...if you're sick I swear, if you die on me, I can't sell your contract!
Do you hear me?!
You die and I'll...!"
Snap.
The girl's head whipped forward again, slamming down, spine cracking into place.
And her eyes—
Her pupils had turned blood red.
The whites were now ash-grey.
Blood wept slowly from beneath her eyelids, trailing down her cheeks in silent streaks.
The girl's lips curled up.
She lunged.
The woman screamed.
...
The scream came like a blade through silk.
Sharp. Wet.
Baek's drunken laughter caught in his throat as he blinked toward the papered wall that shook faintly from the noise next door.
"What the...?"
He muttered, staggering to his feet, one hand still holding his drink.
He parted the curtain of the sliding door slightly, just enough to peek into the dim room beside his.
What he saw made his knees give way.
The young woman—the one who had sat so gracefully on his lap just moments before—was now sprawled motionless on the ground.
No, not just motionless.
She had no face left.
The skin of her face had been torn clean off, revealing glistening red muscle.
Patches of flesh hung from torn sinew, her lips shredded, cheeks caved, eyes gouged clean through the sockets.
Blood had spilled in a great river, soaking her once-silken robes and painting the floor like thick ink strokes on rice paper.
And on top of her...
The young servant girl.
The quiet one with the pale skin and hollow eyes.
Her knees straddled the ruined woman's torso as she bent over, gnawing.
A wet slurp echoed through the room.
The girl raised her head—slowly, like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings.
A piece of meat dangled from her mouth.
Her lips smacked softly as she sucked the last string of sinew and let the meat disappear into her mouth.
Then she turned her head.
Not all at once.
Not like a person.
But bone by bone, vertebra by vertebra, her neck creaked sideways—until her face pointed toward the crack in the curtain.
Her blood-red pupils locked onto him.
Baek gasped and fell back on his butt, knocking over the wine jug as it shattered on the floor beside him.
Liquor ran like a second river beside the blood already pooling from the other room.
The girl stood.
Her robes, once grey, were now red with blood.
Her face smeared with gore, crimson smudged across her cheeks and chin.
Her mouth curled in a smile that reached too far, revealing teeth painted red.
She began to walk.
Step by slow step toward the old man, her blood-slick feet padding softly against the floorboards.
"No... no, no—"
Baek began, scrambling backward across the floor.
His palms left sweaty prints on the wood as he crawled, his eyes wide and trembling.
"Wait... girl, listen—stop! STOP!"
She kept walking.
Baek's back hit the table leg.
His eyes darted.
Just to the left—his sword.
He reached out, crawling with one hand, fingers shaking as he gripped the hilt of his jian blade.
In a single desperate motion, he unsheathed it and slashed horizontally—
Clang!
The sword struck her forearm.
But it didn't cut.
At the moment of impact, a thick clot of blood surged under her skin like armor, rising to the surface to absorb the strike.
The blade bounced off with a loud metallic ring.
Baek froze.
"What...?"
He barely had time to see the blood clot recede beneath her skin, as though it had simply come to visit.
Then—
Shunk.
His own sword—reflected backward by the force—rebounded like a thrown spear.
It pierced his head between the eyes.
His pupils crossed as he looked up at the blade sticking out from his forehead, then down the bloodied length to the hilt still in his own hands.
A wet gurgle escaped his throat.
His eyes rolled back, and blood began to ooze from every opening in his head—his eyes, ears, nostrils, even the corners of his lips.
With a final thud, his body pitched forward.
The sword drove further in as his skull struck the floor.
The hilt jutted from the back of his head.
Blood pooled like ink beneath him, soaking into the wood.
The girl stood still, her smile quiet now.
The only sound in the room was the soft dripping of blood from the sword, and the wind whispering through the cracks in the paper doors.