Modern World: 2025
Fading Lantern Press Studio – Screening Room, 17th floor, Shanghai
The air-conditioning hummed like a tired beast. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, tinting everyone's skin the color of old parchment. A single projector beam sliced through the haze of cigarette smoke that Ms. Wang Lan never bothered to wave away.
"Ms. Yu?" Her voice was low, almost gentle, but it still made the room contract. "How was yesterday's presentation? I heard the editorial board tossed your script back like yesterday's trash. Any problem, Ms. Yu?"
Yu Xiao sat rigidly on the edge of a cracked leather chair, fingers knotted so tightly her knuckles blanched. The city glittered thirty stories below—thousands of windows burning like cold stars—but inside, everything felt underwater.
Mei Zhu, curled beside her in an oversized peach-blossom hoodie, elbowed her sharply. "Answer her," Zhu hissed through a smile that didn't reach her worried eyes.
Yu Xiao swallowed. The sound was too loud in the silence. "They… said my plot wasn't compatible." Her voice came out small, like a child caught in a lie.
Ms. Wang raised one perfectly drawn eyebrow. The sleeves of her crimson blazer were pushed up, revealing a jade bracelet that clicked softly as she crossed her arms. "Compatible? Yu Xiao, you've been giving me the same excuse for four years. Don't think I haven't read every draft you slide under my door at 2 a.m. Your writing is clean, sharp—better than half the hacks in this building. But it's always so… heavy. Like you're trying to drown the reader."
Yu Xiao dropped her gaze to the scuffed floorboards. The wood grain looked like tiny rivers, carrying her failures downstream.
How can I make a happy story? It isn't my style, Yu Xiao thought, puffing out her right cheek.
Ms. Wang sighed—a long, world-weary sound—and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Shanghai sprawled beneath her, neon veins pulsing red and gold through the dusk. She rested her hip against the sill, city lights flickering in her eyes like scattered coins.
"Producers were here this afternoon," she said without turning. "Real ones. The kind who can turn a script into a hundred million yuan. They flipped through every writer's portfolio." A pause—deliberate as a blade. "They skipped yours."
Mei Zhu opened her mouth, indignant. "At least her novels get published—"
"Published?" Ms. Wang spun, bracelet flashing. "We are not a charity press, Mei Zhu. Ink on paper is not the same as a thirty-meter screen and a thousand people holding their breath in the dark. Books whisper. Films scream. I need her to scream."
Yu Xiao bit her lower lip until she tasted iron.
"Four years," Ms. Wang continued, softer now, almost kind. "Four years and still no adaptation. I'm not scolding you, Xiao. I'm trying to pull you out of whatever grave you keep digging for yourself. Your stories are beautiful funerals. Give me something that bleeds and still dances."
She stepped closer, the scent of osmanthus and cigarette smoke wrapping around Yu Xiao like expensive chains.
"Whatever happened in your life—whoever broke you—don't bring that corpse to work. Burn it. Step into brighter light. You're twenty-two going on sixty. The world is vivid, Yu Xiao. Stop writing it in grayscale."
Yu Xiao managed a trembling smile. "I'll… try my best, Ms. Wang."
Ms. Wang studied her for a long moment, then allowed the smallest curve of her lips. "I'll hold you to that."
Hallway outside.
The corridor smelled of instant coffee and printer toner. Fluorescent tubes flickered as if personally offended by joy. Mei Zhu linked arms with Yu Xiao the moment the door clicked shut.
"Your plan now, genius?"
Yu Xiao stared at the fire-exit sign glowing blood-red at the end of the hall. "My head feels full of wet cement."
"Then let's follow Ms. Wang's advice. Write something fun. Something that doesn't make the reader want to slit their wrists by page ten."
Yu Xiao stopped beneath a flickering light. Outside the window, storm clouds bruised the horizon purple. "The sky looks happier than I feel."
Zhu pinched her cheek hard enough to leave a pink crescent. "Five years, Xiao. Five years since that scum Lin Chen stole your script, slept with half the industry, and told the world you were the plagiarist. You're still letting him live rent-free in your head."
Yu Xiao's eyes glistened, but no tears fell. "I survived. That must count for something."
"It counts for everything." Zhu squeezed her hand until the bones creaked. "Now let's go watch you punch the sadness out of your body."
9 Breath Studio
Shadow Lotus Peak, Huangshan
The mountain air was sharp enough to cut lungs. Ancient pines clawed at the indigo sky, their needles hissing secrets in the wind. Stone steps, worn smooth by centuries of monks' feet, led upward like a stairway to another life. Inside the training hall, paper lanterns swayed from cedar beams, throwing pools of gold across the polished floor.
The scent of sandalwood and sweat hung thick. Yu Xiao moved through the forms like a blade through silk—each strike precise, each breath measured. Her black training suit clung to her skin; sweat traced silver paths down her temples and spine. When she finished the final kick, the air itself seemed to ring.
Mei Zhu whooped from the sidelines, waving a bottle of water like a victory flag. "Marry me!"
Yu Xiao caught the bottle mid-air, rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted. "So noisy."
A shadow fell across the floorboards. Master Long stood beneath the largest lantern, robes the color of storm clouds, beard white as moonlit frost. His eyes were gentle, ancient, and terrifying.
"Little Yu."
She bowed low, palms pressed together. Zhu copied clumsily.
"I need a word," he said. Zhu started to retreat. "Let her stay," Master Long murmured. His smile was small, but the room seemed to narrow around it. Yu Xiao's pulse thudded against her ribs like a trapped nightingale.
"Ah, I'll just sit over there and wait," Zhu said quickly, and retreated to the benches.
"I think she is the person you trust most," Master Long said, glancing toward Zhu.
Yu Xiao nodded with a tiny smile. "Indeed."
Master Long walked to the open shoji. Beyond, the mountain dropped away into mist and starlight.
"Two years ago, you arrived here with bruises in your heart no one could see. You asked me if pain could be useful. Do you remember what I told you?"
"That pain needs somewhere to go," Yu Xiao whispered.
He nodded. "You have learned to give it direction. Now I ask again: why not stay? Shave your head, take the robes, and walk the true path. The desire is already in you."
The wind rattled the lanterns. Somewhere far below, a night bird cried once and was silent.
Yu Xiao's fingers found the frayed edge of her sleeve. "Master… I'm only trying to survive. I have no ambition for enlightenment."
He turned. Moonlight carved silver into the lines of his face. "Even if you refuse it, it is in your blood."
The words struck her solar plexus like a palm-heel. Breath left her in a rush.
"What… do you mean?"
Master Long only smiled, enigmatic as the mountains themselves. "One day soon, the veil will tear. When it does, do not run."
Her heart slammed against the bone. A strange heat bloomed beneath her sternum, ancient and impatient.
Why is my heart stirring? What is he trying to say? Why does it affect me like this? Yu Xiao thought, bewildered.
"Nervous?" he asked softly.
She tried to laugh; it came out cracked. "A little."
"I feel it from here." He stepped closer; the air around him smelled faintly of pine and distant thunder. "Tell me, child—how does it feel to walk the world alone?"
What is he talking about? Now I feel so uncomfortable! she thought again.
The question sank into her like a stone in deep water. For a moment, the training hall vanished. She saw only darkness, and in it a single lantern swinging, swinging…
"Xiao?" Master Long waved a hand in front of her face.
She blinked. The world rushed back—lanterns, cedar, Zhu's worried eyes in the shadows.
"Full of worries as always," he chuckled, but his gaze held oceans.
"I'm sorry, Master. Work was… difficult today."
He rested a calloused palm on her shoulder. The weight of it felt like destiny.
"Twenty-two years old, still young and innocent, yet already carrying ghosts older than these mountains. No need to rush the answers. When the time comes, you will know what to do."
Then, softer, almost lost beneath the wind: "And you will not be alone."
This old man is going to ruin my brain, she thought, confusion swirling.
He walked away, robes whispering across the floor like secrets. Master Long turned back with a gentle smile. "Go home safely."
Yu Xiao stood rooted, sweat cooling into ice on her skin. Somewhere inside her chest, something vast unfolded.
Mei Zhu appeared at her elbow. "You okay? You look like you just saw a dragon."
Yu Xiao exhaled shakily. "Maybe I did."
Above them, the night pressed close against the paper windows, listening.