Veil of Crimson Lotus

Wei Zhaoyun had never known luxury, nor had he known kindness beyond fleeting moments. Born into the chaos of war-torn Xuanhua, he was the son of a wandering physician and a woman whose name he barely remembered. When he was twelve, fate dealt its cruelest blow—their small home, tucked behind an apothecary, was reduced to cinders by a rogue faction of cultivators hunting for a lost relic. His father perished in the flames, his mother had vanished long before, and he was left alone.

The streets of Xuanhua were merciless. He scavenged, stole, and fought for every scrap, his small hands bloodied by survival. In the depths of the city’s alleys, he learned the art of disappearing, slipping through the cracks of the world like mist at dawn. He should have perished like so many other orphans, but an old beggar named Master Yun took him in—not out of kindness, but necessity. Master Yun needed swift hands and silent feet, and Wei Zhaoyun needed a teacher.

Under Master Yun’s tutelage, Zhaoyun learned the ways of the shadow. His training was not formal, nor was it gentle. He was taught to move unseen, to strike without hesitation, and to listen more than he spoke. The beggars of Xuanhua were no simple paupers—they were spies, informants, and messengers of the underworld.

At thirteen, he made his first kill. A corrupt merchant, known for abducting young beggars and selling them to distant lands, had crossed the wrong people. Zhaoyun had only meant to steal from him, but when the merchant woke, blade in hand, instinct took over. When he emerged from the encounter, he was bloodstained but alive. Master Yun merely nodded. "The world has no use for the weak. You chose to live."

By fourteen, Zhaoyun had gained a reputation. He was swift, deadly, and bound by no master. The leaders of the underground began to take notice, and one fateful evening, he was brought before the Mistress of the Crimson Pact—a sect of assassins hidden within the folds of Xuanhua’s nobility. She offered him a choice: to serve or to be silenced.

He accepted, not out of fear, but curiosity. He had no dreams of grandeur, no visions of power. He simply wanted to survive. Under the Pact’s guidance, he learned techniques far beyond mere street survival—poisons, pressure points, and the art of reading a battlefield before a single strike was made. He was no longer just a street rat; he was a shadow in training.

Fifteen saw him become one of the Pact’s most valued assets. He was still young, but his hands were steady, his mind sharp. Nobles whispered of the "Ghost of Xuanhua," an assassin who moved like the wind and struck without warning. But Zhaoyun was no fool—he knew that fame was a death sentence in his line of work. He needed a way out before the Pact decided he was more liability than asset.

Then came the offer. A man draped in regal silks, a seal of jade clasped in his fingers, came to him in the dead of night. "The royal family requires a blade," the man said, his voice smooth as river stones. "One that moves unseen and obeys without question. Come with me, and you will never have to scavenge again."

Zhaoyun hesitated. A life bound to a single master? It was no different from a cage. And yet… the promise of security, of food without bloodshed, of a future beyond alleyways and shadows—

He took the jade seal.

A year had passed since he left the Crimson Pact behind. His new home was within the palace walls, but he was not yet a guard. He was merely an observer, a silent shadow learning the ways of the court. His new masters did not trust him, nor did they care for his past. He was a tool, sharpened and waiting.

It was in that year that he first laid eyes on the young queen—the girl who would one day hold his fate in her hands. She was small, delicate, her eyes filled with sorrow hidden beneath layers of duty.

He did not know then that she would become his charge, nor that his life would be bound to hers. But as he watched her from afar, unseen and unknown, he felt the stirrings of something he did not yet have a name for.

Perhaps fate had not abandoned him after all.