Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation
75.5 Mothers & Daughters

Bang!

A table hurtled across the stone chamber, shattering against the wall in an explosion of splinters.

"Goddammit!!" Yanjiang roared, reaching for something else to throw. Her hand grasped at empty air.

She paused, breathing hard, eyes sweeping over the wreckage. Her entire training room—doubling as her bedroom—was in ruins. Broken chairs, splintered tables, shattered weapon racks. Even her bed lay in pieces, the once-sturdy frame reduced to kindling.

“Fuck!” She stomped her foot against the hardened stone floor, the force of her rage cracking the Qi-resistant material, spiderweb fissures spreading beneath her heel.

"What’s the point of all this if I can’t even protect my little brother?!" Her scream tore through the chamber, her fingers tangling in her hair as she sank to the floor.

A voice broke through her storm.

“No one is born invincible and all-powerful.”

Yanjiang’s head snapped toward the doorway, where her mother stood, calm and composed.

“That’s why we train,” Huo continued, stepping inside. “And train some more. Until we become invincible and all-powerful.”

Yanjiang scowled. "What?"

"You’re about to reach adulthood. You know what that means, right?" Huo stopped before her, crossing her arms.

"Yeah… the longevity disease," Yanjiang muttered, still too frustrated to focus. "But why bring that up now?"

Huo placed a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“When dragons come of age, we stagnate—an incurable disease locks us in place. But if we push through it, if we endure, we reach heights of power that lesser species can’t even dream of.” She exhaled, her gaze turning distant, thoughtful.

Then, just as quickly, she sighed dramatically.

“Ah, screw this.” Without warning, Huo flopped onto the floor beside her. “Gah! It’s so exhausting trying to sound calm and wise. How does Jiamei pull this off all the time?”

Yanjiang blinked at her mother’s sudden shift, then snorted. The forced, wistful expression on Huo’s face had been so bad.

A laugh bubbled up from her chest, and once it started, she couldn’t stop.

“What?” Huo’s eyes narrowed. “Brat, are you laughing at your own mother right now?”

Before Yanjiang could answer, Huo lunged.

A fierce wrestling match broke out, the two of them rolling across the wreckage, fiery hair tangling as they fought for dominance. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, filling the ruined chamber with warmth.

By the time they finally stopped, both were breathless, their faces flushed as red as their hair. They lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

Then, without warning, Yanjiang turned and threw her arms around her mother, burying her face in her chest. A ragged sob tore from her throat, and before she could stop herself, the floodgates opened.

"Momma!" she wailed. "I couldn’t protect Jinshu! Not from that roc… not from Aunt Zui either!"

Huo didn’t say a word. She simply held her daughter close, stroking her hair in slow, soothing motions. She let Yanjiang cry—loud and unrestrained—until her sobs quieted and her tears ran dry.

Only then did she speak.

"I already told you. No one is born invincible."

Yanjiang stiffened.

"You are weak—"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with raw betrayal. "Mom—!"

Huo only smiled. "Well, it’s true. Especially compared to Long Zui."

She rose to her feet, pulling Yanjiang up with her, and began brushing the dust and debris from her daughter's clothes. "If you want to protect your brother in the future, then grow stronger. Don't let anything stop you."

Yanjiang’s jaw clenched. Her eyes, still red from crying, burned with renewed determination. She nodded.

Huo’s smile softened. She patted Yanjiang’s shoulder, then turned to leave.

Just as she reached the doorway, she paused and glanced back, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Oh, and clean your room."

With a laugh, she disappeared down the hall, leaving Yanjiang standing in the middle of what looked like the aftermath of an explosion.

Yuetu’s ears twitched restlessly as she poured ingredients into the three-legged pill furnace.

"Hmm… will it work this time?" she mused aloud, brow furrowed in concentration. "The pill worked perfectly when I gave it to Xiao Shu, but every time I try to replicate it, I fail…"

Placing her hands on either side of the furnace, she injected her qi into the grooves, igniting a flame beneath it as the inlaid runes flickered to life. She had just begun the refining process when a knock sounded at the door.

"I'm busy!" she snapped, irritation flaring. She had clearly left a sign warning not to disturb her during pill refinement.

Yet the knocking came again.

"I said, I'm busy!"

The door creaked open.

Yuetu whirled around, fury ready to lash out—only for her words to freeze in her throat.

"Mother…" Her ears flattened in embarrassment, the anger in her eyes vanishing as quickly as it had come. She offered a sheepish smile. "What brings you here?"

Tuzi opened her mouth to speak but suddenly paused, nose twitching as she sniffed the air. A moment later, she sighed.

"Your pill is going to fail."

Yuetu's ears perked up in alarm. "What? No, this time it’s—"

Pop!

A small explosion erupted from the furnace, sending a puff of black smoke curling from beneath the lid.

Yuetu groaned, slumping in frustration. "Ahh! Nooo! I was sure this one was the one!" She shot her mother a look of barely concealed bitterness, as if the interruption had somehow caused the failure.

Tuzi shook her head. "It was going to fail regardless. You used too much fire for the Maji Root extract." She gestured toward the gnarled root on the table, a small portion freshly cut.

Her nose twitched again as she scanned the array of ingredients. Tilting her head curiously, she turned back to her daughter.

"What pill are you concocting? I don’t recognize these ingredients from any of the formulas I taught you."

Yuetu scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. How much should she say? After all, her creation wasn’t exactly… safe.

"Uh… I’m just experimenting a little," she said, forcing a casual tone.

Her mother’s sharp gaze narrowed.

"And the truth?"

"It is the truth…" Yuetu tried weakly, but under Tuzi’s unyielding stare, she wilted.

She sighed. "I made a pill once. It worked perfectly. But I can’t seem to replicate it."

Tuzi’s expression remained unreadable. "What kind of pill?"

"A… a healing pill," Yuetu whispered, her ears twitching anxiously. But as she continued, her voice grew more passionate, excitement slipping into her words. "I fed it to Xiao Shu when he was injured, and it worked perfectly! It healed his deadly wounds in seconds!"

"A healing pill? Not an antidote?" Tuzi’s sharp gaze flicked to the table, where an assortment of powerful antidote ingredients lay scattered.

"Um… well…" Yuetu hesitated, fidgeting. "I used… Dragonsbane as the main ingredient…"

Tuzi froze.

"…Dragonsbane?" She repeated slowly, as if struggling to comprehend the words. Her ears twitched, and a dangerous silence filled the room.

Yuetu gulped.

Then, step by step, Tuzi approached, lifting a hand in a way that sent shivers down Yuetu’s spine.

"M-Mom…?" Yuetu stammered, instinctively backing away—only to hit the pill furnace behind her. Trapped.

Slap!

A sharp sting bloomed across her cheek.

Yuetu clutched her face, staring at her mother in shock, eyes brimming with aggrievement.

"You stupid girl!" Tuzi shouted, raising her hand again. "You gave your little brother Dragonsbane?! Is that head of yours just for decoration?!"

Another slap landed, followed by another.

"Ow—wait, stop! Stop! I'm sorry! Please stop hitting me!" Yuetu yelped, shielding her head as slaps rained down like a merciless storm.

"I'm going to beat some sense into that empty skull of yours!" Tuzi declared, her strikes relentless.

The chaotic beating continued until a voice interrupted from the doorway.

"Ahem. Am I interrupting something?"

Both panting mother and cowering daughter turned toward the source.

Jiamei stood in the entrance, arms folded, watching with an amused glint in her eyes.

Tuzi fixed her daughter with a fierce glare. "Go apologize."

"But—"

"Now!"

Under her mother's sharp gaze, Yuetu scrambled to her feet, ears flattened against her head. She bowed stiffly before Jiamei. "Aunt Jiamei… I'm sorry."

Jiamei raised a brow. "Oh? What are you sorry for?"

"I… I-I…" Yuetu stuttered, struggling to find the right words. In the end, she just blurted it out. "I fed Jinshu a pill made from Dragonsbane!"

"Hm? Really?" Jiamei tilted her head. "Well, I was actually coming to thank you for that, so there's no need to apologize."

Both Tuzi and Yuetu stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.

"You… you're okay with that?" Tuzi finally asked.

"Of course." Jiamei smiled faintly. "She saved my son's life. I don't care how, as long as he's alive."

Then, in that same calm, measured tone, she added, "Though, if what she had done resulted in his death… I would have killed both of you."

A chill crept through the air.

Both mother and daughter stiffened, their backs straightening instinctively as their ears went completely flat. The unspoken promise in Jiamei’s eyes sent shivers down their spines.

"But luckily that didn't happen, right?"

They nodded rapidly.

Jiamei’s smile returned, serene as ever. "Well, regardless, thank you for saving Jinshu’s life. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come find me."

With that, she turned and left, her presence fading as swiftly as it had arrived.

Silence stretched between Yuetu and Tuzi.

Slowly, Yuetu turned to her mother, voice barely above a whisper. "Mommy… she's scary…"

Tuzi, still visibly shaken, gave a stiff nod. 

"I-I don't think I'll make any more of those pills." Yuetu continued.

"Best not to."

“Hum~ hum hum~ hum~ do~ do do~”

Bing hummed a merry tune as she released a steady stream of freezing Qi from her fingertips. The tiny mouse in her hands froze instantly, its body locked in a perpetual stance—its front paws clutching an invisible blade, its tail curled behind it as if caught mid-motion.

She placed it carefully onto the table beside a collection of other small, frozen animals. Unlike the newest addition, these ones were fully dressed in miniature robes and armed with tiny weapons. They stood in strategic positions, locked forever in poses that mimicked a grand battlefield.

Still humming, Bing reached for a set of tiny robes and gently dressed the frozen mouse. Once satisfied, she took a small wooden sword—no larger than a splinter, but intricately carved—and nestled it into the mouse’s paws.

Taking a step back, she admired her work.

A perfect, frozen battlefield.

Chirp!

Squeak!

  Ribbit!

  Buzz!

Bing glanced over at the cages in the corner of her room, where restless animals shifted and called for her attention.

“Oh, right. It’s feeding time.” She smiled and made her way over, carefully pouring different types of food into their bowls.

As she worked, her gaze flickered to an empty cage.

“Bai Bai died,” Bing murmured, her voice light, almost dreamy. A soft smile touched her lips. “But now she’s forever part of our art. Forever…”

She poured the final bowl of food just as the door to her room creaked open, and she turned to see her mother step inside.

Xue—her mother—was the epitome of a “cold beauty.” Some might even call her a frozen beauty, not just because she was a rare dragon with ice-infused qi but because her face was perpetually locked in an emotionless stare. She never smiled, never frowned. Her expression was a mask of perfect, glacial stillness.

At least, it was until she closed Bing’s door behind her.

The moment the latch clicked shut, Xue's icy mask shattered. Her colorless cheeks turned a soft pink, and silent tears welled in her usually detached eyes, spilling over without sound.

Bing stepped forward without a word, linking her arm around her mother's. Gently, she guided her to the bed, sitting her down.

“Another tough day?” Bing asked once the sobs had quieted.

Xue nodded, dabbing her sleeve against her wet cheeks. The black fabric absorbed the tears as if they had never existed.

“I… I had to have three entire conversations,” Xue admitted, her voice trembling. “It was terrible!”

Bing sighed, rubbing slow circles on her mother’s back to soothe her. “Haa…”

Xue continued to cry for a long time, her trembling shoulders gradually stilling. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she fell asleep curled against her daughter.

Bing adjusted her position, carefully laying her mother down before pulling a blanket over her. As she settled beside her, she reflected on how strange this situation was.

For most children, it was the mother who held them when they cried, comforting them until sleep took over. But for her and her mother, it was the opposite.

From the moment she had hatched, it had been Xue who cried herself to sleep in Bing’s arms.

Her mother, despite all her strength, had never been able to handle social interactions. She kept people at a distance with her cold demeanor, and if forced into conversation, she would retreat here—where she could break down safely.

Bing exhaled, shifting onto her side. She wasn’t much better when it came to socializing. The difference was that she only blushed and stammered.

Her eyes drifted closed, but her thoughts remained restless, playing the same loop they always did before sleep.

How is Jin Shu doing? Are Aunt Zui and he getting along? Should I follow the trace of qi I left on him and make sure?

She hesitated.

No, I should wait.

But the anticipation was unbearable.

She blushed lightly, imagining what her little brother would look like when he returned. Would he be stronger? Taller? Would Aunt Zui’s experiments push him to become a full Azure Dragon—perhaps even greater than their father?

Her thoughts ran wild, a mix of worry and excitement, until exhaustion finally pulled her under.

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