Mystique Soul: A Cultivator's Flame
Chapter 105: Mo Tianze

Chapter 105: Mo Tianze

Mo Tianze sat behind her Feng Jiao Xue silently.

Above the clouds, the sky felt like a world of its own. An endless stretch of blue brushed with golden light. Below, the earth was nothing more than a blur of green and mist, distant and quiet, as if none of its troubles could reach them here.

It was peaceful.

Too peaceful, maybe, for someone like him.

His eyes shifted to her back, Feng Jiao Xue’s slender frame upright and calm, her long hair dancing freely behind her, just like the first time he saw her, though back then she wore more frost than warmth.

Back then... everything was different.

He was different.

A tool, a shadow. A forgotten thing meant to obey and bleed in silence. That was all he was, until she looked at him, not as a beast, not as a slave, but as a person.

And it unsettled him.

Still does, if he’s being honest with himself.

What had started as a quiet sense of loyalty now twisted in his chest, strange and uncertain. Not quite worship, not quite friendship. Something unnamed, something warm and terrifying.

He didn’t know what to call it.

He was no fool. He knew she didn’t need him. Not really. She was powerful, clever, sharp as the winter winds and just as untouchable. If she wanted, she could probably conquer kingdoms or vanish into the world without a trace.

But for some reason, she had looked back once and offered her hand.

And he had taken it.

Now here they were, gliding through the clouds on a winged deer he never dreamed he’d ride, heading to a place he never thought he’d be allowed to enter, not as a beast, not as a shadow, but as someone who could learn. Live. Breathe.

"Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath with a quiet huff of a laugh. His silver tail flicked once behind him, betraying the nervous energy crawling under his skin.

He didn’t know what lay ahead. He didn’t know if he was enough.

But he knew one thing: he would follow her.

Always.

Even if she told him not to.

Even if she never asked.

Even if, someday, she flew too far beyond his reach.

This strange woman that is so cold it’s scary yet so warm that you will just be drawn to her.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to glimpse the delicate motion of her hair fluttering in the wind. Feng Jiao Xue’s figure sat steady, always steady, like a pillar that didn’t know how to bend. She was silent, but not cold. Calm, but never unfeeling. So much like snow and yet so painfully alive. The more he looked, the more it ached.

He had never once imagined he would end up here. Not in the sky, not on a flying deer of all things, and not next to someone who...

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

What was he supposed to call her, really?

Savior? Master?

Friend?

Sometimes, "sister" just doesn’t feel right anymore.

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he had the right.

When Feng Jiao Xue bought him from that merchant, he’d expected to be used the same way everyone else had used him before. He still remembered the rough metal of the collar around his neck, the tug of the leash, the casual way the merchant spoke of his kind. "Demi-beast," they’d spat with amusement, "Obedient if you beat ’em enough."

And yet... she hadn’t even looked at him with disgust. Just a single glance, quiet and sharp, before tossing the bag of gold like it meant nothing.

He didn’t ask why she bought him. He was used to not asking questions.

He’d been broken when she took him in—limping, starving, barely able to keep his balance. And what did she do?

She didn’t demand his loyalty. She didn’t test his obedience.

She fed him. Healed him. Let him sleep.

When he woke, he thought surely there must be some hidden price. Some command, some task, some punishment if he refused.

But none came.

Instead, she sat with him.

Read near him.

Sometimes, she asked how he felt.

And that terrified him more than any pain he’d ever known.

He wasn’t used to being treated as if he mattered.

So he tried to prove he was useful. He cooked. Cleaned. Stood guard through the night. Fetched whatever she needed before she even spoke. Every small praise she gave was a treasure to hoard. And still, he feared it would never be enough. That if he wasn’t perfect, she’d grow bored. Leave.

But she never did.

Even when he made mistakes.

Even when he stared too long.

Even when he flinched.

She never yelled. Never struck.

Only told him to rest. To eat. To live.

As if he deserved to.

He swallowed hard, a lump tightening in his throat.

He hadn’t known he could be more than a servant. More than a shadow. More than a beast on a leash.

And yet she looked at him and said...

"You are Mo Tianze."

He still remembers the way her voice had cut through the silence. Clear. Firm. Unyielding.

"You’re not a tool," she’d said, "not mine, not anyone’s. You’re your own person. So act like it."

He hadn’t known how to answer then. He still didn’t, not fully.

When they first met, she was walking amongst the crowd and he was being dragged by his chain.

He didn’t know what got into him that day but when he saw her, something in him roused. His instinct telling him to grab on to her, to stay by her side.

But now, flying above the clouds behind her, he felt something stir in his chest. Like the sun warming frost. Like the first breath of spring after a long, cold slumber.

It was slow.

But it was real.

She amazed him constantly. Not just her strength, though that was undeniable, but her patience. Her odd kindness. Her ability to shoulder burdens without letting them harden her. The way she could cut down a man with one hand, and then pet his head with fondness the next...

He watched her from behind, the curve of her back, her stillness, the way she always seemed to be listening to something beyond the wind.

How could someone like her exist in this world?

And why... why had she chosen to save him?

When he offered him freedom, he was taken aback. She was a strange lady. To just... let someone she bought go.

She bought him back his freedom, offered him a chance to live a life he had always wanted but...

He didn’t take it.

She offered him his dream, the life he had always wanted.

Yet, he knew, if he accepted, he would never see this strange lady again and something in him made it easy to decline.

He didn’t understand it.

But he was grateful.

Because, whatever it was that made him chose to stay by her side, gave him something much, much better than the simple life he dreamed of.

An exchange he never once regretted.

So painfully, quietly grateful that sometimes it made his chest ache with the weight of it.

He wanted to protect her. To be worthy of her trust.

And yet...

His ears flicked back slightly, tail curling tight around one leg.

A small part of him still whispered: What if it’s taken away? What if she changes her mind?

But he shut that voice down.

Mo Tianze didn’t remember much about his childhood. At least, not the kind of memories other people seemed to treasure, warm laughter, lullabies, a mother’s touch.

No, the earliest thing he could recall was cold metal around his wrists. Shackles. The smell of dirt and sweat and the sting of a whip across his back. He had been a child, but no one saw him as such.

He was a demi-beast. A thing. An object to be sold.

Back then, he had been fierce and feral.

He’d snarled like a cornered animal, bit through flesh with baby fangs, scratched with ragged nails, kicked and screamed until his throat bled. He ran whenever he could, bit the hands that fed him, tore through wooden cages, and vanished into the cracks of alleyways like smoke.

And for a time, he was free.

He lived in the shadows of the city, winding through narrow gutters and broken streets. He ate what he could find. Spoiled fruit. Rotten rice. The bitter peels others had thrown away. Sometimes he dug through ash pits behind kitchens, burned his hands just to get something warm.

He begged, too. stood with bare feet in the mud, tail wrapped tight around his legs, holding out a shaking hand.

Being ignored was... oddly kind.

At least then, he wasn’t spat on.

At least then, no one tried to hurt him.

Most days, the eyes he met were filled with disgust, or worse, fear. Anger. Greed.

He still remembered a man who tried to cut his tail to sell it, thinking it would bring luck.

He still remembered a woman who shoved him so hard into the gutter, he thought he’d drown.

But not all of it was bad.

There had been an old food vendor who used to come by the edge of the market, grumbling and gruff, but with a soft heart hidden under thick brows. He never spoke kindly, but he’d toss scraps Tianze’s way with a mutter of, "Don’t die yet, kid."

He didn’t even ask for thanks.

Mo Tianze would curl up in the same alley every night, hiding beneath crates and broken baskets. His tail, bushy and long, was his only blanket against the cold. He would sniff the scent of spices still clinging to the old vendor’s food and pretend, just for a moment, that someone was waiting for him.

But then, one day, the old man didn’t come.

And Mo Tianze waited.

And waited.

Days passed. Hunger gnawed. His throat cracked from thirst.

The streets became cruel again.

He was forced to fight, other children, older beggars, strays. He bled often. Slept less. Trusted no one.

Until one day, he was caught.

Dragged from behind a pile of crates by rough hands. Thrown into a cage with others like him, scared, angry, silent. He fought with everything he had, but the collar was fastened around his neck before he could even bite.

The traders laughed. "Still has spirit, this one."

He hated them.

He hated the world.

He hated the way people looked at him like a monster, then turned around and wanted to own him.

He was sold, over and over again.

Some masters liked breaking him. Others just ignored him, used him to carry things, to serve meals, to sweep floors, to fight wild beasts for amusement.

He tried not to remember the worst ones.

But the strangest thing of all?

They all died.

Not at once. Not dramatically.

But always, something would happen.

A knife slipped.

A floor collapsed.

A roof caught fire.

He could never recall the details.

One moment they were cruelly alive. The next, they were gone. And he was sold again.

He used to think he was cursed.

That maybe some demon was following him. That he wasn’t just unwanted but dangerous.

Maybe he was.

Maybe that’s why no one ever tried to keep him.

Why no one ever dared to care.

That was just how the world worked.

Until her.

Until she came.

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