The decision was made, but the execution was agonizing.
Every movement felt like tearing stitches I didn't even have yet. The lower half of my body was a disaster zone of raw nerves and throbbing aches.
I was bleeding, I was exhausted, and my breasts felt like two over-pressurized water balloons strapped to my chest.
But I had no time to waste.
According to the plot of Chronicles of the Dragon God, the Qiao Patriarch-my "father"-would soon arrive with a demonic cultivator looking for a fresh infant to use as a cultivation furnace.
It was a neat, horrifying way to erase the family's shame.
In the original story, the grief-stricken, vain Qiao Ling allowed it to happen, convinced by her father that getting rid of the bastard would restore her marriage prospects.
Not on my watch.
I raided the room, moving with the desperate efficiency of a paparazzo trying to get a shot before security arrived.
I found a thick woolen cloak to hide my face and the baby. I grabbed stacks of clean linen rags-diapers for him, padding for me. I found a stale crust of bread left by the midwife and forced it down; fuel was fuel.
'What is this woman doing?'
The cynical inner voice of my son piped up again. He was awake, his dark eyes tracking my frantic movements from where I'd laid him on the bed.
'She just gave birth. She should be wailing for servants, demanding ginseng soup, and cursing my existence for ruining her figure. Why is she packing like a thief?'
I ignored the commentary, gritted my teeth against a particularly nasty wave of cramps, and scooped him up. I bundled him tightly against my chest, securing him with a sash so my hands were free.
"Hang on tight, kid," I whispered, my breath ragged. "We're blowing this popsicle stand."
'Popsicle stand? What gibberish is she speaking? Is she taking me to the Patriarch herself to curry favor earlier?'
His suspicion was palpable, but I didn't have time to argue with a newborn regressor.
I slipped out the back door of the small courtyard where they had stashed me during my pregnancy. The night air was sharp and cold, biting at the sweat drying on my skin.
The Qiao estate was massive, a sprawling complex of traditional courtyards and gardens.
My memory of the original host gave me a vague layout, but navigating it in the dark, while hemorrhaging, was a different beast entirely.
I stuck to the shadows, moving along the outer walls. My knees buckled with every step, threatening to spill us both onto the stone pathway.
We almost made it to the servants' gate.
"Well, well. Look what we have here."
The voices slurred out of the darkness, thick with the stench of cheap rice wine.
Three shadows detached themselves from an alcove. Estate guards. Bottom-feeders who weren't good enough for main gate duty, probably slacking off and getting drunk on patrol.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic staccato beat that Mingye must have felt against his small body.
"Isn't this the Eldest Miss?" one of them sneered, stepping into a patch of moonlight. He was missing a tooth, his grin predatory. "Where are you rushing off to in the middle of the night, smelling like blood and milk?"
"Get out of my way," I rasped, trying to inject authority into my voice. It came out weak, trembling.
The second guard laughed making an unpleasant sound.
"Aw, she's trying to give orders. Don't you know, Miss? You're damaged goods now. The Patriarch doesn't care what happens to you tonight, as long as you're here in the morning."
He stepped closer, his eyes raking over my disheveled figure. Even postpartum, covered in sweat and grime, the original Qiao Ling's body was undeniably stunning, a curse in a situation like this.
"Hey," the third one piped up, eyeing my chest. "Let's see what you're hiding there. Maybe we can help you... lighten your load."
'How dare they!' Mingye cursed. 'Run, you idiot. No. She can't run. Did this actually happen? Was this the reason she hated me?'
A heavy hand clamped onto my shoulder, spinning me around. Pain flared in my hips, and I nearly collapsed.
"Come on, sweetheart. Be nice to your uncles..."
The revulsion was instant. It brought back memories of aggressive bouncers, grabby celebrities, and the constant low-level threat of violence that came with my old job.
Don't touch me.
The thought screamed in my head, furious. I was not a victim. I needed them to stop. I needed to revoke their access to me.
DING.
A sound, clear as a bell, rang inside my skull. The headache that had plagued me since waking intensified into a blinding flash.
Above my head, the air shimmered. The black, mechanical box-my Martial Spirit-materialized. The lens extended with a sharp whirring sound, focusing squarely on the three men.
[Congratulations. Trait awakened: Paparazzi.]
A holographic interface, like the view finder of my old camera, overlaid my vision.
[Skill 1: BAN]
[About: As the ultimate observer, you dictate the terms of engagement. Issue a single command to suppress one property of your opponent within your lens's field of view.]
[Hint: You may ban movement, sight, sound, or spirit energy flow. The stronger the opponent, the shorter the duration.]
The guard's hand was tightening on my shoulder, his sour breath in my face. I looked him dead in the eye. The shutter inside my mind clicked.
"BAN: Sight."
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then, chaos.
"My eyes!" The guard gripping me shrieked, releasing me as he clawed at his face. "I can't see! It's dark! Why is it dark?!"
The other two stumbled back, tripping over their own feet, swinging wildly at the air.
"What did you do, you witch?!"
"Where is she? I can't see a damn thing!"
They were flailing like newborn puppies, completely disoriented. Their cultivation base, whatever pitiful level it was, was useless without the ability to target anything.
The drain on me was instantaneous. It felt like someone had hooked a vacuum up to my dantian and sucked out every ounce of energy I had left. My vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.
But I couldn't stop.
I slammed my shoulder into the blinded guard, knocking him off balance, and bolted for the gate. I ran on pure adrenaline and spite, the sounds of their panicked cursing fading behind me.
I burst through the servants' gate and stumbled into the alleyway outside the estate walls. My legs finally gave out. I slid down the rough stone wall, hitting the dirt hard, jarring my entire body.
A whimper escaped my lips, but I bit it back.
'What... what just happened?'
Mingye's internal voice was no longer cynical. It was stunned.
'That spirit... When did she have a spirit? What was that black box? And how did she blind three cultivators instantly?'
I cursed internally, fully aware he had begun to doubt my identity.
'She didn't drop me. She didn't trade me. She fought three men while bleeding out... with me?'
The reality of it crashed against his two lifetimes of trauma, cracking the foundation of his hatred.
I dragged in shivering breaths, trying to stabilize my racing heart. The pain was immense, clawing at my insides.
Slowly, weakly, I pulled the bundle closer, tucking his small head under my chin to shield him from the cold wind. I rocked him gently, the motion as much to soothe myself as him.
"Don't worry, baby," I whispered into the dark, my voice thick with exhaustion but iron in its resolve. "Mommy's got the best martial spirit in the world. I'll protect you."
'...Who are you?' Mingye thought, staring up into the darkness, his tiny fists clutching the fabric of my cloak. 'You are not Qiao Ling.'
I didn't answer him. Without wasting any more time, I pushed myself up to run away from this cursed family.