Four years had passed since the blessing of the Ancient Mother.
The village had changed little, but within Xue Yan's small wooden home, life was anything but still.
She had raised her twin daughters alone—Lian Hua and Lian Yue—two fragile lives growing under the weight of fate itself.
They were three years old now.
That night, the wind pressed softly against the wooden compound as Xue Yan closed the creaking gate behind her. Her body ached from labor, her hands still stained with the remnants of the day's work.
Inside the room, everything should have been peaceful.
But it wasn't.
A sudden cry shattered the silence.
Lian Hua.
It was not her usual cry—not the small, demanding voice she used when she was hungry or tired.
This was different.
Sharp. Panicked. Breaking.
And yet… there was no answer.
No second voice followed.
No comforting wail from Lian Yue as always.
Only silence.
A silence that felt wrong.
Xue Yan's breath caught.
She rushed forward, her feet barely touching the floor, and lifted her child into her arms.
But the moment she did—
Her world stopped.
The child felt… wrong.
Not warm like before.
Not soft with life.
Her body was heavy in a way that did not belong to sleep. Her skin had lost its gentle warmth, replaced by a chilling stillness that clung to the mother's palms.
There was no movement in her chest.
No breath.
No life.
Just silence.
Xue Yan's hands trembled violently as she held her daughter closer, as if warmth could be forced back into her through desperation alone.
But it did not return.
Her lips parted, but no sound came at first.
Then—
A scream broke free from her throat.
And she ran.
The village streets blurred beneath her feet as she ran barefoot through the night.
"Ancient Mother!!" her voice shattered the silence.
"Please!! Hear me!! I beg you!!"
Doors opened. Lights flickered. Villagers watched—but did not follow.
She did not stop.
She reached the mountain temple, collapsing at its steps.
"Please—!" she cried, pressing her forehead to the cold stone.
"I cannot lose a child… I cannot!"
The temple remained still.
No priest came.
No bell rang.
Only the wind answered her.
Xue Yan lifted her head, tears blurring her vision.
"I will not leave," she whispered shakily. "I will not move until you hear me."
And then—
The world shifted.
The massive stone idol of the Ancient Mother of Twins cracked with a sound like breaking bone.
The air grew heavy.
A violent wind spiraled through the temple courtyard, forcing Xue Yan backward.
From the broken silence, something descended.
A woman.
Long golden hair that floated without wind.
Claws like polished ivory.
A white robe that seemed untouched by time.
She did not walk.
She floated.
Her voice came soft—but it crushed the air around it.
"You disturb my rest… mortal woman?"
Xue Yan fell to her knees immediately.
"Mother… please," she sobbed.
"One of my twins… she is not breathing…"
The Ancient Mother tilted her head slightly, as if examining something fragile and broken.
"And what do you offer in return… for the life of the other?"
Xue Yan froze.
"I… have nothing," she whispered. "It came without warning… please…"
A slow smile touched the goddess's lips.
"Your husband's soul?"
"He abandoned us," Xue Yan replied quickly, shaking.
A soft laugh echoed through the temple.
"Then yours."
Xue Yan shook her head violently. "If I die… who will raise them? Please… I beg you…"
Silence.
The goddess drifted closer.
Her gaze landed on the lifeless child in Xue Yan's arms.
"Oh…" she murmured. "She is indeed beautiful."
For a moment, the air softened.
Then—
"I cannot help you," she said calmly.
Xue Yan shattered.
"PLEASE!!"
But the goddess had already turned away.
And then, without warning—
She reached out.
Took the child.
And held her for a moment too long.
"…But I will not let her return to nothing."
The wind roared again.
"When she turns twenty," the Ancient Mother said, voice distant now, "the balance will break. Until then… two souls shall remain in one body."
Xue Yan's breath trembled.
"One body…?"
"And one rule," the goddess added coldly.
"They must never fall in love with the same man."
A pause.
"Break it… and both will die."
And just like that—
She was gone.
Taking the child's still body with her into the silence.
Xue Yan remained on her knees long after the temple went quiet.
Her voice barely existed when she finally spoke.
"…Is this… my punishment?"
As Xue Yan made her way back through the village, the night no longer felt quiet.
It felt heavy.
Lantern light flickered along the narrow streets, casting long shadows that seemed to follow her with every step. Villagers who passed by froze when they saw her—her disheveled hair, her trembling hands, the emptiness in her gaze.
Whispers rose immediately.
"Where is the child?"
"Why is she alone?"
"Should we follow her?"
But Xue Yan heard none of it.
Or perhaps… she refused to.
Her grip tightened unconsciously around the small weight she still carried in her arms—until reality struck her like lightning.
Her breath stopped.
Lian Hua was gone from her arms.
Her body jolted.
She had left her behind.
For a moment, she stood frozen in the middle of the street, her mind collapsing under its own panic. Then suddenly—
She ran.
Her heart slammed against her chest as she rushed back toward home, thoughts crashing violently inside her head.
I left her… I left her alone…
The world blurred around her—lanterns, voices, footsteps—none of it mattered.
Only fear.
Only regret.
When she reached her wooden compound, she burst through the door—
And stopped.
The air inside the room felt… wrong.
Not silent.
Not peaceful.
But alive in a way that made her skin crawl.
From within the darkness of the room, two small presences stirred.
But they were not calm.
They were struggling.
One presence cried out sharply—thin, broken, panicked, as if clinging desperately to existence.
The other was quieter.
But not at peace.
It was restrained. Suppressed. Pushed down… yet resisting.
It was as though something inside the child was splitting against itself, each force trying to rise above the other.
A soft whimper echoed.
Then silence.
Then a sudden sharp cry again.
Xue Yan staggered backward.
"What… is this…?" she whispered.
The air between them felt dense—almost like pressure pressing against reality itself. It was not just a child crying.
It was something fighting to exist inside one body.
One soul pushing forward.
The other refusing to disappear.
And neither willing to fully yield.
Xue Yan dropped to her knees.
Her hands trembled violently.
This was not what she had imagined.
Not death.
Not survival.
But something far more unnatural.
A divided existence.
A balance forced into instability.
And then it hit her fully—the truth of what the Ancient Mother had done.
Two lives…
bound together…
sharing one fragile vessel.
She covered her mouth as tears spilled freely.
"I should have given that man's soul instead…" she whispered shakily.
Her voice broke completely.
"If I had known… I would have paid any price… anything…"
She collapsed fully onto the floor, sobbing as the room continued its quiet war—two souls learning, too early, that they were never meant to exist separately.