Lian Hua watched the girl glaring at her, eyes bristling like a cornered cat with raised fur, and she couldn’t help a laugh.

Looks like this kitten’s guard is high, like thorns in winter frost.

“I’m just investigating. If I found things about you, I can only say I mean no harm,” she said, voice like soft rain easing dusty heat.

“How could it be ‘no big deal’! You don’t know what the Clan Head means to me! What do you know about me—besides a pile of papers, what do you really know!” Yun Shi’s voice cracked like sparks in dry straw, finger stabbing at Lian Hua like a blade.

“Ah.” Lian Hua sighed, gaze steady as a calm lake at dusk. “Because you’re main house, is that why you hold such a deep bias against your Clan Head?”

“—!”

Yun Shi’s pupils widened, her anger blown back like smoke, replaced by a ripple of doubt across still water.

“In the Four Pupils Clan, the main-house heirs are few; I remember them all like names etched on stone. They’re different from branch-blood kin. Main house are the Clan Head’s direct line, more suited to the family’s secret arts. I’m main house too, and my standing is obvious, like a banner raised on a windy ridge.”

Among the Clan Head’s line, they call them main house and branch houses, as if two currents in the same river. Main house holds the purest blood, their chance to master the secret art is highest, their status like a lantern hung high. Branch houses share half that blood, yet their success rate sinks like stones; even when they succeed, the art seldom burns at full flame. The main house walks with a tailwind; the branch often fights the tide.

Sharing a surname doesn’t promise equal seat by the fire; rank is a mountain, and the path is not the same.

Shen Ling Zou and Yanbu Junichi—no doubt born of main house—stand like twin peaks. Their feats need no praise, their Underworld standing shines like a cold star no one can eclipse. That’s the harsh night of the dark world—the law of predators, the strong feast, the weak are bones.

Other Clan Heads don’t always show this fracture; their main and branch stay mostly harmonious, as if rain finds its way to both fields. The ones who master the art are just main house; the rest don’t pin hopes on miracles. Aya of the Single Leaf Clan, Asagi Renka of the Asakura Family—both are cut from that quieter cloth, like steady streams rather than storm tides.

Yun Shi is different. She comes from the most ruthless Clan Head’s line, and she, a main house heir, became a thorough failure, like a torch that never caught fire. As the Clan Head’s direct blood, her honor should’ve been a crown; yet her performance was dull as wet ash, the secret art never blooming. Back then her place was twisted—child of the Clan Head, yet treated like a branch-house “waste.” Of course she was cast aside, thrown into shadow, then she fled that house like a bird breaking a snare.

That was a past not worth looking back on, a disaster like a winter that never ended. She left the darkest corner that day, paying a price carved in bone.

“Four Pupils Yun Shi—only main-house blood in a hundred years abandoned by the Clan Head. Reason: projected lifelong inability to master the secret art. Fled two years ago without permission. Missing, presumed dead.” Lian Hua read the dossier like cold wind through reeds, stepping closer to Yun Shi’s trembling silhouette.

The darkest Clan Heads abandon blood kin most often among branch houses; those endings aren’t surprising, and the discarded usually die like candles snuffed, because they hold no more value. That’s true abandonment; those left inside the gates aren’t counted. Yun Shi was cast off as main house not for failure alone, but for fleeing—a trait branded in ink across the family history, like a black scar.

It’s not rare; the Flamebu Family sees such flight often. Their useless are unwilling to stay, so they run. But flight is dangerous—outsiders won’t take in those who betray their Clan Head. They form their own gangs like stray wolves, only to be culled by main-house hunters sent after them. The survivors crawl through the Underworld like roots under stone.

And the Underworld whispers that the Witch Night Specter is one of those traitors, a shadow among shades. Whether it lives on unscathed doesn’t matter; what matters is the word “traitor,” a brand like hot iron.

“And then you became the filthiest emblem of the Underworld—a traitor.” Lian Hua lifted Yun Shi’s chin, cool fingers like moonlight, making her meet that gaze. In those eyes, water trembled like mist about to fall.

“Does it feel unfair, because I rang all your bells? Does it feel like I’m grinding your pride underfoot?” Lian Hua’s tone was faint, like snow dusting pine. Yun Shi tried to break the grip, but Lian Hua held her to the look, a lock like iron on silk.

Yes. Traitor. There’s no softer word—that’s Yun Shi’s place in the Underworld, a thorn in the throat.

“What do you even want? Fun, is it? Fine—yes, I’m just someone the Clan Head abandoned. The Underworld is full of such people, I’m not special. Except—me, I’m a ghost, not human. That’s what makes me different.” Yun Shi’s eyes were empty, her self-mocking smile brittle as thin ice. She had already let go of herself like a ship cutting its anchor.

Lian Hua was ready to take the bait, then changed the tune. She let Yun Shi’s chin go and, before the girl could react, set a hand on her head like a palm smoothing ruffled feathers.

Head pat—simple, lethal, a warmth drop into winter.

Then she pulled that trembling body into a light embrace, arms like a shawl, rare gentleness slipping in. Feeling the soft weight in her arms, Lian Hua smiled, spring thaw touching stone.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to spread it. I’m the only one holding this dossier. Even if there were backups, I burned them like paper offerings. No one else will know.”

“...Why. Why do that?” The question came small, like a candle in wind.

“You don’t think I’m here to blackmail you, do you? I won’t. I came for business, and I apologize for the parts that scraped your pride. Remember this—I mean no harm. I just need to confirm a few things. Besides… how could I bear to hurt someone this cute? Right, Yun Shi, little sister?” Her smile tilted, teasing like a fox with a fan.

“Imp—impudent! You rude thing!” Yun Shi smacked her hand away like a slap on water, retreating at least five meters, feet quick as frightened deer.

“Feel better?” Lian Hua didn’t get angry; she asked it gently, like rain after thunder. Yun Shi paused, and only then noticed her heart had settled, like dust after a storm.

“I won’t thank you. Hmph.” Pride stood like a cat with tail high, refusing to purr. Lian Hua took it in stride, no ripple in her gaze. The Four Pupils Clan’s raw wounds were shelved for now. Next—

“Time to talk about my business.” Lian Hua’s face tightened, solemn like a temple bell. She returned to her seat and gestured for Yun Shi to sit. Yun Shi understood this was about terms, so she didn’t push back; she drew the blanket close like armor and sat with wary eyes that never blinked.

“You know the war that’s been rattling the Underworld lately,” Lian Hua began, voice like a slow drum.

“Of course. I fought in it,” Yun Shi said, calm as a blade sheathed.

That war won’t be forgotten by anyone who stepped into it. Yun Shi saw too much, felt too much—she watched people grow like trees under lightning. She tasted scorn, cold shoulders, outright hatred. And she watched death up close, a breath fading like embers.

“The Divine Ling Family led the strike against the Single Leaf Clan and the Magic Institution. Flamebu Family got dragged in. The Magic Institution won, but the cost bled deep, like a river running dry. Not only the belligerents—other corners of the Underworld took the shock. The Magic Institution burned so much power they can’t interfere for a long stretch, and the Underworld got restless, like dogs without a leash.”

“So the power weakened, the balance broke. That’s what you mean, right?” Yun Shi’s words moved like stones placed in order.

“Right. The Magic Institution is weakened, and so are the others. Divine Ling, Single Leaf—each washed by war until their shine dulled. The Underworld now is a mess, like tangled roots.”

“So, Asagi Renka—what are you going to do?” Yun Shi’s gaze narrowed, a spear under cloth.

“...You might not agree, but I have to move. If the Asakura Family does nothing, we’ll pay for it later—especially with the Church.” By the word Church, Lian Hua’s face soured, disgust rising like bitter smoke. There was a deep grudge there, black and old.

“You know why the Church stayed out? It was calculation. They waited for war to end, for major forces to weaken, so their ambition could bloom like night-blooming flowers. The Church wants to rule the Underworld. That war was their chance to set a crown on their head. I hate that play.”

Her fist tightened, knuckles pale as bone. The loathing was raw, and it startled Yun Shi like thunder under clear sky.

“I’m not interested in the Underworld’s power scramble,” Yun Shi said, voice even as rain. “So why pick a fight with the Church? You know their power is huge—greater than the Magic Institution.”

“I know. A single Clan Head line can’t face them head on. But if we sit still, the Asakura Family will be eaten, clean bone left. When the Divine Ling Family raised the war, you think we weren’t affected? I held us back to guard against the Church. After the war ends, they’ll bite hard, like wolves smelling blood. So I decided—I won’t let the Church swell. Otherwise the Underworld gets ruled by them. I won’t allow it. Let the Church wait—I’m coming to punish them.”

No pretense sat on Lian Hua’s face—only resolve, like an iron blade. She meant to make the Church her enemy. Yun Shi was shocked, but reason struck like a bell—don’t let her go.

“Asagi Renka, stop. You can’t beat the Church. The Asakura Family alone won’t manage it. There’s a reason your family stays neutral. You know the Church’s size. Without a backer, you can’t clash with them.”

The Church’s size is a mountain; they’re stronger than the Magic Institution, not just in doctrine but in force that can check clan lines. They’re not for regular hands to provoke. And Asagi Renka, as one clan-blood woman, can’t shift whole tides.

“Who said I’ll fight head on?” Lian Hua shot her a look, eyes sly as crescent moons.

“I mean to hit the Church—personally. And, Yunshi Bianqi, I want you with me. To strike their power. You, with an Artifact Spirit, can do it, right?” Lian Hua’s gaze turned velvety again, charm like wine, but with a thorn of mischief glinting.

Yun Shi felt it—trouble circling like a hungry crow, and she’d just been marked.