The Broken Paths

The fire crackled low in the Silver Lotus Sect's great hall, throwing flickering shadows along the walls. The others had gone to sleep, leaving only Layla and Meyu seated on the floor, a bottle of warmed rice wine between them. Outside, the winter wind howled through the trees, but inside, the silence stretched thick between them.

Meyu swirled her drink lazily, side-eyeing Layla. "Alright. Out with it. And before you lie, let me tell you something first."

She leaned forward, voice dropping. 

"You don't sleep well. Every night, you're gasping, panting like you just ran for miles. You sweat so much, I have to wipe you down so you don't freeze. And when you wake up, you pretend like nothing happened." Her eyes sharpened. 

"So don't tell me it's nothing. Just tell me the truth."

Layla didn't respond immediately. Instead, she watched the flames dance, trying to find the words. How could she explain the nightmare without unravelling herself completely?

After a long pause, she spoke. "Something attacked me in my sleep."

Meyu sat up straighter, sharp eyes locking onto her. "Attacked you? Physically?"

Layla hesitated. "Not exactly. It—dragged me somewhere else. A place that wasn't real, but felt real. It—" she exhaled sharply. "It showed me things. Told me things I didn't want to hear."

Meyu's expression didn't change, but her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.

"What did it say?"

Layla's throat felt dry.

That I shouldn't exist. That I stole a life that wasn't mine. That if I disappeared, no one would mourn me.

She couldn't say those words. Not yet.

Instead, she settled for "That I was weak. That I wasn't enough. It showed me a world where Shen Mu killed me that night. My father never came. The sect was slaughtered. I saw another where we lost, where I survived, but the looks on their faces—on my father's face—were worse than death. It felt real, Meyu. Too real."

Meyu studied her carefully. Then, to Layla's surprise, she leaned back against the pillar, head tilting toward the ceiling. "You're not the only one who's heard that before."

Silence. Then, softly "You know how I was a slave before Atlas found me."

Layla turned her head sharply. She knew Meyu had been through hell, but the details had always been vague, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and deflection.

Meyu exhaled, eyes distant, as if seeing a different time. "I don't even remember my parents' faces. All I know is that I was sold young. By the time I was ten, I had been traded three times, ending up in a noble's estate in the Western territories." She traced a finger along the rim of her cup. 

"They weren't the worst owners. At least, not compared to what came after."

Layla said nothing, letting the words come at their own pace.

"I got too old for them" Meyu continued. 

"Or maybe I got too sharp. Either way, they sold me off to a traveling merchant, and I ended up in a place where I saw what happens to people who aren't useful. The broken ones. The ones who can't smile when their master demands it."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They disappeared. Or worse."

Meyu swallowed hard. "Sometimes, they were made examples of. A girl who tried to run had her legs shattered, left to crawl until they decided she was too slow to be worth keeping. Others were given to the guards for sport. If you fought back, they'd take you to the courtyard and beat you until you forgot why you ever resisted in the first place. Some didn't even make it that far."

She let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. "I learned fast. Smile when they tell you to. Lower your eyes. Move like a ghost. Don't get noticed. Because if they saw you, you'd end up like the others."

Meyu's fingers curled slightly around the fabric of her sleeve. "But sometimes, it didn't matter if you did everything right. I was pretty, and that made me valuable in ways I never wanted to be. They sold me to those who wanted entertainment. Not just in the usual way but also in the 'service' way." Her voice wavered, but she kept going. 

"They had healers—ones who could stitch up flesh and mend bones. They experimented, seeing how much pain a person could take before they broke. How many times you could cut someone open and put them back together before they stopped screaming." She swallowed. 

"Turns out, people can last a long time."

Layla felt something inside her tighten, a boiling mix of rage and horror burning her chest. Without thinking, she reached forward and pulled Meyu into a tight embrace.

Meyu tensed at first, then slowly relaxed, her breath unsteady against Layla's shoulder.

Layla's grip tightened as memories of her past life surfaced—of laws she had written, of battles she had fought to protect women from this very fate. But those victories meant nothing here. Nothing to Meyu, who had endured what she had only ever seen from a throne.

She whispered, voice raw "You're not there anymore. They can't hurt you now."

Meyu let out a shaky exhale, pressing her forehead against Layla's shoulder. 

"I know. But sometimes, it still feels like they can."

Layla's hand clenched. "And Atlas?"

Meyu let out a short, humourless laugh. "Atlas was an idiot. He saw me in an auction and spent every coin he had to buy me. He had nothing after that. No food, no shelter. He couldn't even afford the papers to keep us safe from bounty hunters."

She looked down at her hands. "We suffered together. Starved together. Ran together. From Europe to Jin, scraping by, building his business piece by piece. The world tried to break him. But he never let it."

She exhaled, voice quieter. "He should have left me behind. I would've understood. But he didn't. He kept moving forward, kept talking like everything was just another game to win, even when we were on the verge of collapsing. I didn't get it at first—I thought he was just too stupid to feel fear."

She paused. "But then I saw it. He was afraid. Just like me. But the moment he let it show, the world would have eaten him alive. So he smiled. He laughed. He played the fool and I followed him, because it was easier that way. Easier than being vulnerable."

She ran a hand through her hair. "I knew—I knew—he had been through something just as bad. Maybe worse. But he never told me. And I never asked. Because if we didn't talk about it, then it wasn't real."

Layla stared at the flames, heart heavy. "So why do you follow him?"

Meyu turned, and for the first time that night, her usual smirk was gone. "Because he gave me a choice."

Her mind drifted back to that day—the day her chains were broken. She remembered the scent of damp wood and sweat, the suffocating heat of the auction house, the way the men leered as they shouted their bids. Then, a voice rang out above the others, sharp and confident.

"I'll take her."

The gavel slammed. Sold.

She expected the worst—another master, another prison. But instead of dragging her away like the others, her new 'owner' knelt before her and, without hesitation, cut the bindings from her wrists.

Atlas grinned, offering his hand like they were about to strike a business deal. "You're free. Do what you want."

Meyu had stared, too stunned to move. "What?"

He stood up, hands in his pockets, like buying a person was no more significant than purchasing a sack of rice. "I don't own you. I just hated the way they looked at you. You can leave, stay, stab me—it's up to you."

She didn't leave. Not that day, not the next. She demanded answers, demanded to know why he did it. But all he ever gave her was that same irritating smirk, same answer and the same shrug.

"Did what felt right. No deeper meaning, sorry."

But she saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he flinched at loud voices, the nights he didn't sleep. He had been there too. He had suffered too.

And like her, he had chosen to wear a mask instead of scars.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Meyu reached for the bottle and poured Layla another drink. Meyu scoffed, but there was no bite to it.

"You think you're the only one who's suffered? You think you get to wallow in this alone?"

Her voice wavered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "You keep everything in, act like you're fine, like none of this is clawing at you. Do you know how exhausting it is to watch someone you care about pretend they're not drowning? I see you, Meilin. I see you breaking. And it pisses me off that you won't let anyone help."

Layla flinched at the rawness in Meyu's words, but before she could respond, Meyu shoved at her shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to shake her.

"I fought Atlas too, you know? When I was too weak to walk, too angry to listen. I screamed at him, hit him, told him to leave me to rot because I thought that was all I was good for. You know what that bastard did? He stood there and took it. And when I was too tired to fight anymore, he just... sat next to me and waited."

Her breathing was uneven now, hands clenched into fists. "So you don't get to shut me out, Meilin. You don't get to pretend you're fine when you're not. Because I will fight you too, and I will win."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. And then, without a word, Layla reached forward and pulled Meyu into a fierce embrace.

Meyu feeling Layla's arms around her, the warmth of the embrace anchoring her. She exhaled slowly. "Now do you get it?" she whispered.

"Why I follow him? Why I'll always follow him?"

Layla tightened her grip. And for the first time, she did.

Meyu shifted slightly, voice quieter now. "Meilin... don't be so hard on Atlas. You don't see it, but I do. He's just masking his pain. His humor, his bullshittery—it's all just a way to cope. You yell at him, call him a scammer, but that man—" she exhaled, shaking her head. 

"That man has never raised his voice at me. Never asked for anything in return. Never treated me like I owed him a damn thing."

Layla remained silent, absorbing the words.

Meyu's grip on her cup tightened. "I've seen emperors, masters, leaders—men who had everything but still took more. Atlas? He had nothing. And yet, he gave me my life back. That's why I follow him. That's why I always will."

Meyu exhaled softly, resting her chin on Layla's shoulder. "You don't have to fight alone, you know. I don't care how strong you think you need to be. You can always confide in me."

Layla stiffened slightly, but something in those words struck deep.

Confide.

When was the last time she had done that? In her past life, there had been no one. Her siblings treated her like an afterthought, if not outright mockery. She had grown up surrounded by people yet utterly alone.

And yet here was Meyu—a stranger, once. Now a presence that felt just as steady, just as warm, as Yuxe Wuye, her mother.

A lump formed in her throat. "You really see me as someone worth protecting?"

Meyu scoffed. "Obviously. You're like the little sister I never asked for but got stuck with anyway."

Layla huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Older sister, you mean."

Meyu smirked. "You wish."

Unbeknownst to them, Lin Wuye stood outside the doorway, listening. His hands trembled at his sides, his usually composed face glistening with silent tears.

Later that night, he sat beside Yuxe Wuye and told the conversation between their daughter and Meyu, his voice hushed but heavy. "She and Meyu… they've found something in each other, something that we weren't able to, and I—"

 His voice broke for a moment. "I failed her, Yuxe. I let our daughter suffer alone and she talked to Meyu instead of us."

Yuxe Wuye placed her hand over his, her eyes full of understanding. "Then let them have it, Lin. Let them be what we couldn't be and strive to be better for her, enough that she too will tell her problems as well."

Lin Wuye nodded, staring at the moonlit courtyard. "I only hope it's not too late."