CHAPTER 45
THE END OF AN ARC: THE WORLD THROUGH MY LENSE.
Yan Clan Palace
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Night had fallen.
Yan Zhen stood by the window of his chamber, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the sea of lights scattered across the Yan Clan residence. Above him, stars glimmered faintly, while a thin crescent moon hung crookedly in the sky — cold, distant, and sharp.
It looked like it was smiling.
But he did not like that smile.
The clan should have been asleep by now. After such a humiliating defeat, exhaustion alone should have dragged everyone into slumber. Yet the residence buzzed with suppressed unrest. Voices murmured behind closed doors. Footsteps echoed down stone corridors long after curfew.
No one slept easy tonight.
Neither did he.
Earlier that day, they had marched out with pride — banners high, backs straight. They returned crushed beneath the Yin-Yang Dynasty's heel. Faces that once burned with arrogance now avoided one another's gaze.
Yan Zhen exhaled slowly.
Defeat…
No. This was not merely defeat. This was the beginning of something far worse.
A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the horizon.
A storm was coming.
He closed his eyes.
And memories surged unbidden.
The Soul Stealer's chamber.
The stench of death.
The sound of screaming souls.
He remembered everything.
Even now, his body still remembered the agony — the way his soul had been torn open and stitched back together by something inhuman. The way despair had crawled into his bones as he lay motionless, pretending to be unconscious.
If I had moved… even slightly…
Yan Zhen clenched his fists.
He had seen it all.
His aunt's soul being torn from her body.
His grandmother's soul invading Yan Youmei's flesh.
The cold, merciless efficiency with which Kuang Luosheng devoured what remained of Yan Youmei's soul.
Yan Youmei was cruel. Violent. Bloodthirsty.
But even she had not deserved that end.
Aunty… Grandmother…
No.
Yan Zhen corrected himself immediately.
No she's not my grandmother, she only adopted a miserable orphan she had met along the way because of my martial talent.
That woman was no longer merely his sweet grandmother he had always taught he knew.
She was a monster hiding behind a familiar face.
A soft knock echoed at his door.
Yan Zhen's expression instantly softened. He adjusted his breathing, letting his shoulders slump just slightly — weak, shaken, obedient.
"Come in," he said quietly.
The door opened.
Yan Youmei stepped inside.
Or rather — the woman wearing Yan Youmei's body.
Yan Zhen lowered his gaze respectfully.
"Aunt," he greeted.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary. He felt it — that probing, calculating gaze, as though she were peeling back layers of his mind.
"You should be resting," she said gently.
Yan Zhen forced a small smile. "I tried. But my mind wouldn't quiet."
She nodded, approaching the window beside him. Moonlight washed over her face — familiar features hiding an alien soul.
"You have endured much today," she continued. "What happened… was unfortunate."
Unfortunate? Which part exactly?
Yan Zhen bit back the bitterness rising in his chest.
"I heard," he said hesitantly, voice trembling just enough, "that grandmother… gave her life for me."
The woman stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Then she sighed, eyes misting over.
"Yes," she said softly. "She did."
Yan Zhen's nails dug into his palm.
Liar.
Yet he played his part perfectly.
"I… I don't know what to say," he murmured. "If not for me—"
"Enough." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "This was her choice."
Her grip tightened slightly.
"She believed in you," Yan Rouxi continued, voice low and solemn. "You are the future of the Yan Clan. You must not waste her sacrifice."
Yan Zhen nodded slowly.
"I won't."
She studied him again, clearly searching for cracks.
After a moment, she smiled — satisfied.
"Good," she said. "Rest well. Tomorrow might not be as peaceful."
She turned to leave.
As the door closed behind her, Yan Zhen's expression changed instantly.
The mask shattered.
His eyes hardened, darkness pooling in their depths.
"So that's the story you chose," he whispered coldly.
He straightened, walking back to the window. The moon reflected faintly in his pupils — sharp, fractured.
"I saw everything," he murmured. "Every scream. Every lie."
The Yan Clan below him felt suddenly small. Fragile. Like a chessboard filled with pieces that believed they had free will.
They think I am blind.
They think I am weak.
They think I am a pawn.
A quiet laugh escaped his lips — soundless, humorless.
"Very well," Yan Zhen said softly.
"Use me."
Thunder cracked across the sky, lightning briefly illuminating the palace rooftops.
"But when the board burns," he continued, eyes gleaming,
"don't beg me to stop the fire."
The storm finally broke.
Rain began to fall.
And somewhere far beyond the Yan Clan