The demonic howls of the mountain wolves cut through the air, a chorus of primal threat that sent Wǎn Lù’s heart into a frantic rhythm.

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: Just as I thought. This mountain earns its name. But still… [Her eyes drifted back to the blood-stained hollow in the tree] …Aish. Frustration knotted her stomach.

  Lin Wei’s hand closed around hers, a warm, grounding anchor. "It’s alright, sister. Don’t panic. Those wolves… they’re the devil’s hounds. My brother’s pets from his time here. They’re trained not to hunt the people of our kingdom."

  Wǎn Lù’s reaction was pure, unadulterated shock. Her eyes flew wide, her mouth forming a silent gasp.

  [Wǎn Lù]: "What? He tamed these things? *How?*"

  [Lin Wei]: "I believe he once mentioned he fed them the mountain bandits. Whenever he hunted them." Lin Wei’s face was eerily calm, as if discussing the weather.

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: He what? God… should I use that power? The new one? I have to calm down first. I must use it. It’s the only way to find the truth buried here.

  She took a long, shuddering breath, forcing her racing pulse to slow. She closed her eyes, shutting out the present danger. Lin Wei settled on a nearby rock to wait. Wǎn Lù turned her focus inward, reaching out with her newly awakened sense—not with sight or sound, but with the deep, flowing empathy of her soul. She sought the fragments, the echoes, the indelible stains left on this place.

  [Wǎn Lù]: (Whispering to herself) "Soul-Tide Reading (魂潮读 - Húncháo Dú)… Show me what this forest has witnessed."

  The world around her began to warp. The solidity of the mountain dissolved into a violent, spinning torque of light and shadow. When the vertigo ceased, she opened her eyes—not to Lin Wei, but to a different time.

  The first thing she registered was the sound: a sickening, repetitive THUD. THUD. The sound of flesh and bone striking unyielding wood, punctuated by the ragged, gasping grunts of a child.

  There he was. Jian Zhi. Not the king, but a boy of twelve, his small frame tensed with a fury that dwarfed him. His fists were raw, bloody messes as he drove them again and again into the rigid bark of the tree—the very hollow she had just been examining.

  [Jian Zhi]: "AHHHHHH! Not enough! I need to give more POWER to the punch!"

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: [A horrified gasp] Why? Why is he doing this to himself? For strength? This isn’t training… this is self-immolation.

  She was a ghost here, powerless. All she could do was watch as the boy’s skin split, as blood smeared the ancient bark, each impact a brutal punctuation to his silent, screaming grief.

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: It’s torture to witness. It’s even crueler knowing I can’t stop him. Ahhh… A wave of sympathetic agony washed over her.

  Exhausted, the boy finally stopped, chest heaving. He slumped, sucking in great lungfuls of air.

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: Finally. Now go, treat your wounds, you reckless little fool.

  But he didn’t. He pushed himself upright and limped toward a dense stand of bamboo, his eyes scanning. He selected a trunk as thick as his own thigh, took a staggering, practiced stance—left foot leading, body coiling—and unleashed a vicious kick, driving his shin into the unforgiving bamboo.

  CRACK.

  The bamboo shuddered. The boy crumpled, clutching his leg, a strangled cry of pain torn from his lips.

  [Jian Zhi]: "Ahhh! It… hurts. But I can’t let it stop me. One more. [He slapped his own face, the sound sharp in the quiet] ONE MORE. DO IT!"

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  And he did. Again. And again. Until both his shins were a landscape of purple bruises and weeping crimson. Using the bamboo as a crutch, he began a limping, agonized trek deeper into the woods.

  [Jian Zhi]: "[Through gritted teeth] Where’s the cave…? This way… I think. Agh—!" His foot landed on a sharp stone. The pain, on top of his exhaustion, was too much. He fell to the ground, a heap of battered resolve.

  *Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue:* *[A sigh of utter helplessness]* I don’t even know what to think. He comes here to torture himself and then this? What kind of insanity drives him?

  Then, she heard it. A whisper, so faint it was almost lost in the dirt.

  [Jian Zhi]: "If I’d been strong back then… instead of just being a useless shield… *agh!*" He drove a bloody fist into the earth in frustration, then, miraculously, pushed himself back to his feet and stumbled onward.

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: What is he talking about? ‘Being strong’? ‘A shield’? You’re a child! What could you possibly have needed to shield? …No, no point in questions. Just watch, Wǎn Lù. Just observe.

  She followed the spectral boy to a shallow cave. Outside, in the real world, Lin Wei stood guard. A demonic wolf cub, curious, sniffed its way toward Wǎn Lù’s motionless form.

  [Lin Wei]: "Hey! You! Stay away from her! Come here!" Lin Wei’s voice was a commanding hiss, shooing the creature back, a lone protector shielding the princess as she swam through a sea of frozen pain.

  Back inside the memory…The boy in the cave tended to his wounds with a chilling, clinical detachment, using water and mashed herbs. As the poultice burned, a twisted, painful smirk touched his lips.

  [Jian Zhi]: "So… this is how it felt. Every time I treated your wounds."

  His eyes slid shut. He leaned his head back against the cave wall and then, deliberately, *thumped* his skull against the stone.

  [Jian Zhi]: "I shouldn’t have gone to the shop that day. It was my fault." A heavy, suffocating silence followed, thick with a regret that had weight and taste.

  Wǎn Lù’s Internal Monologue: Does he crave pain? Is that it? Why this self-flagellation? I want to shake him, to slap sense into him… and yet, I can’t stop this pitiful feeling. Why is he so quiet now? What is he—

  A new voice cut through the memory. It was his, yet not—cold, clear, and resonant like struck metal.

  [Jian Zhi’s Metal Element]: "Jian Zhi. What is done, is done. You cannot change the past by breaking your body and weeping."

  [Jian Zhi]: "Who… who are you?"

  [Metal]: "I am you, and you are me. Listen. Use this regret. Let it burn. Forge it into the desire to become strong—strong enough to protect those who need it. That is what she would have wanted. Now, stop this. Hurt only to grow stronger, not to punish."

  The boy’s eyes snapped open. A new clarity, hard and sharp, replaced the haze of torment. He wiped his tears away with a dirty sleeve and began methodically bandaging his wounds, his movements now purposeful, driven.

  Wǎn Lù’s (Internal Monologue):" What just happened? What changed him? Did he… speak to his own soul?"

  A wave of dizziness washed over her. The memory-scape began to tremor and crack. She felt herself being pulled back, violently, through the tide of time.

  Her eyes fluttered open. The grim cave was gone, replaced by the soft linen of a bed in the palace guest chamber. A soft groan escaped her lips. Lin Wei was at her side in an instant.

  [Lin Wei]: "You had a difficult journey, sister. Rest. I brought you some food."

  [Wǎn Lù]: "[Sitting up weakly] Th-thank you, Lin Wei." Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been screaming. "Your brother… do you know *why* he went to the mountain? What I saw… it wasn’t just survival. He was *hurting* himself. He fought bandits with a ‘kill or be killed’ desperation. He trained with a ‘destroy or be destroyed’ ferocity. What was he trying to outrun? What was he trying to become?"

  [Lin Wei]: "He never spoke of it to me. Not like that. But Grandfather… he knows what happened just before Jian Zhi ascended the mountain." Lin Wei’s own eyes grew wet. "Hearing this… he wasn’t a devil born there. He was *forging* himself in that hell. I wish I could have helped him. But he’s so stubborn. He locks his pain away, and that… that’s what worries us most. That silent burden he carries alone." A tear finally traced a path down her cheek.

  Wǎn Lù reached out, pulling the younger girl into a gentle embrace, patting her back.

  [Wǎn Lù]: "Shh… it’s alright. He’ll open up when he’s ready. Don’t carry his burden for him. If he saw you crying for him, it would only add to his worries." She softly wiped Lin Wei’s tears away.

  Wǎn Lù’s (Internal Monologue):" Mr. Dead Eyes… I thought you were just a tyrant with a sharp mind. But what created the Devil of the Mountain? Who were you talking to in that cave? Who did you fail to protect? What regret is so powerful it could fuel seven years of self-annihilation? What drives a person to choose the path of a devil when an easier one existed?"

  The questions multiplied, a turbulent storm in her mind with only one possible source for the answers: the boy in the memories, now the king on the throne. And perhaps the old scholar who governed his first district. Scribe Wén would know the beginning of the story. She needed to hear it.