Blade in the Belly
The stage of Yunhan Society was still ablaze. The bodies of her parents and fellow disciples lay scattered across the ground.
As Yunjin’s spear pierced the throat of the third Oda soldier, Hayami Hidetada polished the blood off his blade.
“How dare a mere opera singer rebel?” Hayami Hidetada’s dagger pinned her to the ground with effortless ease.
The moment the blade drove into her abdomen, she bit her lip until it split open.
Amid excruciating agony, her fingers fumbled for her father’s dagger. The first thrust sank into his ribs; the second tore through his waist and belly; the third buried itself deep in his chest.
With one final flash of cold steel, she drove the entire blade into Hayami Hidetada’s neck.
Aether lifted her from the pool of blood. “Hold on…”
When the physicians of Liyue Harbor removed the broken shards of blade from her abdomen, they found her clenched fist still clutching a half-torn piece of bloodstained opera costume.
The fire raged fiercely.
The carved and painted stage of Yunhan Society had turned into a massive bonfire, crackling and groaning, painting the night sky an ominous shade of orange-red. The stench of burning wood, thick blood, and the pungent fumes of scorched paint permeated the courtyard that once echoed with melodic music and flowing silk sleeves. Flickering flames lit up the corpses strewn across the ground. The troupe master—her father—curled at the edge of the stage, a horrific wound in his back nearly splitting him apart. Old Zhang the luthier lay slumped over his broken qin. The young apprentice actors, with whom she had practiced and laughed only that morning, now lay cold and silent between fire and blood.
Yunjin stood in the heart of this blazing hell. Her spear Piercing Cloud trembled slightly in her grip, its tassel soaked through with thick, dark crimson. The third man. This was the third Oda soldier to fall beneath her spear. Gurgling air escaped the soldier’s throat as he stared in disbelief at the blood-soaked young girl whose eyes burned with terrifying brightness, before collapsing limply to the ground.
She gasped for breath, her lungs burning with searing pain. Sweat mixed with unfamiliar blood streamed down her forehead, blurring her vision. Yet she dared not close her eyes. Behind her lids replayed the haunting scenes: her mother shoving her away amid a storm of blades, shielding her with her own body; her father shouting hoarsely for her to run before being impaled by a spear.
Her gaze cut through the wavering flames, locking rigidly onto one figure.
Hayami Hidetada. The samurai clad in Nanban armor, the mastermind behind this slaughter. He stood leisurely in the courtyard, methodically wiping the blood from his katana with a white cloth. His bearing was not that of a battlefield warrior, but of a man admiring an antique in his private garden. Firelight glinted off his cold armor, casting flickering glints like the pupils of a demon.
Sensing Yunjin’s stare, he lifted his head. Beneath the shadow of his helmet, a faint, mocking smirk tugged at his lips—tinged with the cruel amusement of a cat toying with a mouse.
“How dare a mere opera singer rebel?” His voice was low, yet it cut clearly through the roar of flames and the crash of collapsing timber, a cold awl piercing Yunjin’s ears.
Yunjin gave no reply. Her answer came as Piercing Cloud split the air with a shrill whistle. She pushed off the charred ground and warm pools of blood, her spear tip darting with streaks of icy light, aiming straight for Hayami Hidetada’s face, throat, and heart. Every strike poured forth all her grief, rage, and strength—swift as lightning, fast as a shooting star.
Yet Hayami Hidetada only sidestepped slightly, parried, then shifted again. His movements were concise, efficient, honed by countless battles into icy precision. His katana arced through the air, effortlessly deflecting her fierce assault. The gap in their strength was despairingly vast. Yunjin’s spearplay, taught by her father, was lithe and quick, but against a seasoned battlefield killer like him, it seemed overly ornate, lacking the ruthless edge to strike a fatal blow.
Clang! Another brutal clash. Yunjin’s palm split open at the tiger’s mouth, her spear nearly slipping from her grasp. The impact sent her staggering backward, her breath falling into disarray.
Hayami Hidetada shook his head, faintly disappointed. He stepped forward sharply, a flash of steel—not a slash, but a brutal blow from the flat of his blade slamming into Yunjin’s wrist.
“Ugh!” A pained cry escaped her, and Piercing Cloud clattered to the ground at last.
The next moment, a brutal kick struck the back of her knees. She crumpled to her knees involuntarily. Before she could rise, Hayami Hidetada planted his foot on her back, pinning her firmly to the cold, filthy earth. Dust and blood filled her mouth and nostrils in an instant.
“Is that all you have?” Hayami Hidetada’s voice came from above, dripping with undisguised mockery. He bent down, pressing his knee into her lower back, and grabbed her hair roughly, twisting her face sideways to force her to gaze upon the burning stage and the bodies of her slain family and kin.
With his other hand, he drew a tantō from his waist. The blade was little more than a foot long, narrow and glinting with a cold, eerie light.
“I’ve toyed with you long enough. Time to send you to join your family.”
The icy tip of the dagger pressed against the small of her back. Every muscle in Yunjin’s body tensed instantly. She thrashed like a fish out of water, yet against his overwhelming strength, all resistance was futile.
Then came the tearing pain.
An indescribable, raw, violent agony exploded from the point of contact, surging through every limb and bone, shattering her will and consciousness entirely. The dagger slid unimpeded into her abdomen, twisting deeper downward with cruel slowness. Her vision blazed red then plunged into blackness. In her ears roared the rush of blood and the grinding crunch of her own teeth biting down hard. Her lips were mangled, her mouth filled with the sickening taste of iron.
She thought she would die at once.
But on the brink of being swallowed entirely by darkness, her right hand, convulsing in agony, brushed against something cold and familiar on the blood-soaked ground beneath her cheek.
A hilt. The hilt of a tantō.
Her father’s dagger. The small blade he kept close daily for trimming paper and mending stage props. It lay not far from where he had fallen.
The instinct to survive—or the obsession for revenge—crushed the throes of dying pain. From nowhere surged a burst of desperate strength. She curled inward sharply, her right hand closing tightly around the heirloom dagger.
Hayami Hidetada sensed his prey stirring beneath him, yet he paid it no mind. He twisted the blade buried in her abdomen harder, revelling in the thrill of holding another’s life in his hands.
Now.
Yunjin let out an inhuman, bestial snarl. Her body twisted at an impossible, contorted angle. With her father’s dagger clutched in her right hand, she drove it upward with every last spark of life she had left.
First strike! The blade sliced through the seam of her skirt armor and sank into Hayami Hidetada’s ribs. His body stiffened, the mockery on his face freezing solid.
Second strike! Ignoring the blade still embedded in her own body, letting it carve deeper wounds, she twisted her wrist and slashed horizontally. The scrape of steel against bone set her teeth on edge.
Hayami Hidetada roared in agony, instinctively trying to yank his dagger free and retreat.
Yunjin gave him no chance. Third strike! Summoning her final ounce of strength, she raised the dagger high then drove it down with merciless force. This time, the tip slipped perfectly through the gap in his armor, burying itself deep in his chest.
Hayami Hidetada’s eyes bulged wide, filled with shock, rage, and the terror of death. His mouth gaped open, yet no coherent sound escaped him.
Yunjin stared at him, her bloodstained face devoid of all emotion—only a cold, hollow stillness. She released the hilt lodged in his chest, then seized his wrist still gripping the dagger inside her abdomen. With unnatural strength, she wrenched the blade partway out of her own wound.
In that split second, her right hand closed again around the slick, blood-soaked hilt—this time, Hayami Hidetada’s own tantō. Seizing the moment his guard dropped in agony, she drove the entire blade, along with his hand still wrapped around it, deep and unyielding into his neck.
Squelch—
The dull, clear sound of steel severing tendons, piercing the windpipe, and grinding against cervical bone.
Hayami Hidetada’s movements froze completely. The light faded rapidly from his eyes. His body swayed, then crashed heavily backward, stirring a cloud of dust.
The world spun and crumbled before Yunjin’s eyes. The wound in her abdomen became a black hole devouring all sensation, agony crashing over her like a tidal wave, shattering what remained of her consciousness. She did not even have the strength to glance at her fallen foe before collapsing limply to the cold ground.
Before darkness claimed her entirely, a flash of brilliant gold drifted into the edge of her blurred vision.
Someone had broken through the flames, stepping into this field of death. The figure rushed toward her, carrying an air of urgent anxiety.
She felt herself gently lifted by strong arms, spared from slamming hard into the earth. A strange voice, laced with a foreign accent yet thick with desperation, sounded beside her ear.
“Hold on… don’t fall asleep.”
The words seemed to drift from an immeasurable distance, carrying an unshakable resolve. Then came endless darkness, and the swaying motion as if adrift upon storm-tossed waves.
……
Bubu Pharmacy, Liyue Harbor.
Thick medicinal fragrance drowned out the lingering stench of blood in her memory. Her consciousness reassembled slowly, like fragments sinking up from the deep ocean.
Agony still throbbed through her body, yet it was no longer the tearing, destructive torment—muted into a dull ache, soothed by cooling salves and tight bandages. She struggled to lift her heavy eyelids. Blurred sight cleared to reveal plain linen curtains and the familiar sea-scented daylight filtering in from Liyue Harbor beyond the window.
A blond figure slouched over the bedside, asleep from utter exhaustion. The traveler… Aether.
She tried to flex her fingers, only to jolt her abdominal wound and draw a sharp gasp.
The small noise roused Aether from his light slumber. He lifted his head at once, bloodshot eyes lighting up the moment he saw her awake.
“You’re awake! Don’t move—your wound is far too deep…” His voice held hoarse relief and lingering dread.
Yunjin parted her lips, her throat too parched to speak. Aether promptly handed her a cup of warm water, lifting her gently to sip it slowly.
The warm liquid soothed her raw throat and cleared her foggy mind. Fragments of memory crashed over her: fire, blood, falling bodies, Hayami Hidetada’s ferocious face, the cold steel piercing her flesh, and finally—the dagger driven into her enemy’s neck.
She had survived.
He had saved her.
“…Thank you.” Her voice was faint as a mosquito’s hum.
Aether shook his head, his expression tangled with relief and sorrow. “I arrived too late… I could only get you out alive.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Hayami Hidetada is…”
“He’s dead.” Yunjin cut him off calmly, her tone flat as if speaking of a stranger. “I killed him.”
Aether fell silent for a long moment, then nodded softly.
Just then, the elderly pharmacist Baizhu stepped into the room. He exhaled in relief upon seeing Yunjin awake. “It is a blessing you have roused, Miss Yunjin. A true blessing.” He stepped forward to check her wound and pulse carefully. “Your injuries are grave, yet no vital organs were harmed. With proper rest and care, you will heal in time.”
As he spoke, Baizhu seemed to recall something and picked up a tray from the medicine cabinet, holding several twisted shards of metal stained with dark dried blood. “These were removed from your abdomen… fragments of the broken dagger. It took great effort to extract them all.”
Yunjin’s gaze fixed on the shards, her pupils narrowing slightly. This very blade had stolen everything she held dear, and nearly claimed her life as well.
Yet her eyes soon drifted away from the metal fragments to her own right hand. Wrapped in clean gauze, her fingers were still clenched tight, knuckles white with unyielding pressure.
Aether and Baizhu both noticed the gesture.
“Miss Yunjin, your hand…” Baizhu spoke gently, fearing she might unknowingly lacerate her palm.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Yunjin uncurled her fist.
Resting in her palm was not nail marks of blood, but a scrap of fabric. Half a tattered piece of opera costume, stained black with old blood, its original lavender hue and delicate cloud embroidery still faintly visible. It was a scrap she had secretly kept as a memento, cut from the new costume her mother had sewn for her with her own hands.
She had clutched it tightly even through her deepest coma, never letting go.
A heavy silence settled over the room. Only the distant bustle of the city market and the soft simmer of medicinal herbs broke the stillness.
Yunjin bowed her head, staring long and hard at the bloodstained scrap in her palm. Then slowly, she closed her fingers once more, gripping it firmly and pressing it to her heart.
Beneath her chest lingered no longer only heart-wrenching grief. Something cold and unyielding had sprouted quietly from the ashes.
Her stage was burned to the ground. Her family was gone.
But her opera was far from over.
She lifted her gaze to the sky of Liyue Harbor beyond the window, her stare piercing the lattice toward some distant, unknown horizon.
Her blood feud had only just begun.
腹中刀
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云翰社的戏台还在燃烧，父母与同门的尸首横陈遍地。
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云堇的长枪贯穿第三名织田士兵的喉咙时，林秀贞正擦拭着刀上的血。
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“戏子也配反抗？”林秀贞的短刀轻易将她压制在地。
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刀锋捅进腹部的瞬间，她咬碎了嘴唇。
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剧痛中摸索到那柄属于父亲的短刀——第一下扎进对方肋骨，第二下撕裂腰腹，第三下深陷胸口。
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最后一道寒光，她将整个刀身送进了林秀贞的脖颈。
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空抱起血泊中的她：“撑住……”
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璃月港的医师从她腹中取出断裂的刀刃时，发现她紧握的拳头里，还攥着半片染血的戏服碎片。
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火烧得正烈。
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云翰社那雕梁画栋的戏台，此刻成了巨大的柴堆，毕毕剥剥地呻吟着，将夜空染成一种不祥的橘红。焦糊味、血腥气，混合着油漆彩画燃烧时发出的刺鼻异味，弥漫在曾经丝竹管弦悠扬、水袖翩跹的庭院。火光跳跃不定，照亮了横七竖八倒卧的尸首。班主，她的父亲，蜷缩在戏台边缘，背上一个可怕的创口几乎将他洞穿；琴师老张伏在他的琴上，那琴弦已断；还有那些跑龙套的年轻弟子，她今早还和他们一起练功、说笑……此刻都成了冰冷沉默的剪影，倒在血与火之间。
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云堇站在那片炽热的地狱中央，手中的长枪“破云”还在微微震颤，枪缨已被黏稠的暗红浸透。第三个。这是第三个倒在她枪下的织田军士兵。那士兵喉咙里发出咯咯的漏气声，难以置信地瞪着眼前这个满身血污、眼神却亮得骇人的少女，缓缓软倒。
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她粗重地喘息着，肺叶火辣辣地疼，汗水混着不知是谁的血，从额角滑落，模糊了视线。但她不敢闭眼，一闭眼，就是母亲在乱刀下将她奋力推开，用身体挡住刀锋的那一幕，是父亲嘶哑着喊她“快走”然后被长枪贯倒的身影。
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目光穿过摇曳的火光，死死锁定了那个身影。
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林秀贞。那个穿着南蛮胴具足，指挥着这场屠杀的武士。他正好整以暇地站在院中，用一块白布，慢条斯理地擦拭着他打刀上的血迹。那姿态，不像在战场，倒像在自家庭院赏玩一件古董。火光映照在他冰冷的铠甲上，反射出跳跃的、如同恶鬼瞳仁般的光点。
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他感受到了云堇的目光，抬起头，那张被头盔阴影遮挡大半的脸上，嘴角似乎勾起一丝极淡的弧度，混合着轻蔑与一种猫捉老鼠般的戏谑。
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“戏子也配反抗？”他的声音不高，却清晰地穿透了火焰的咆哮和木材崩塌的巨响，像一把冰冷的锥子，扎进云堇的耳膜。
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云堇没有回答。回答他的是“破云”撕裂空气的尖啸。她足下发力，踩过焦黑的地面和温热的血泊，枪尖抖出数点寒星，直取林秀贞的面门、咽喉、心口！每一枪都倾注了她所有的悲愤、所有的力量，快如闪电，疾似流星。
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然而，林秀贞只是微微侧身，格挡，再侧身。他的动作简洁、高效，带着一种久经沙场的冷酷和精准。打刀划出弧光，轻易地荡开长枪的猛攻。力量上的差距悬殊得令人绝望。云堇的枪法得自父亲真传，灵动迅捷，但在林秀贞这种战场杀将面前，却显得过于花哨，缺乏一击致命的狠辣。
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“铛！”又是一次沉重的交击。云堇虎口崩裂，长枪几乎脱手，整个人被震得踉跄后退，气息彻底紊乱。
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林秀贞摇了摇头，似乎有些失望。他猛地踏步上前，刀光一闪，不是劈砍，而是用刀身侧面狠狠拍在云堇的手腕上。
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“呃！”云堇痛哼一声，“破云”终于脱手，当啷一声掉在地上。
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紧接着，一股巨力踹在她的膝弯。她不受控制地向前跪倒，未等起身，林秀贞的脚已经踩上了她的背脊，将她死死地按在冰冷而肮脏的地面上。尘土和血污瞬间涌入口鼻。
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“就这点本事？”林秀贞的声音从头顶传来，带着毫不掩饰的嘲弄。他俯下身，膝盖顶住她的后腰，一只手粗暴地抓住她的头发，将她的脸扳得侧过来，迫使她看着那燃烧的戏台，看着那些死去的亲人同门。
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另一只手，则抽出了腰间的短刀。那短刀不过尺余长，刀身狭长，闪着幽冷的光。
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“陪你玩够了，该送你去和家人团聚了。”
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冰冷的刀尖，抵上了她后腰偏下的位置。云堇全身的肌肉瞬间绷紧，挣扎如同离水的鱼，但在对方绝对的力量压制下，一切反抗都是徒劳。
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然后，是撕裂。
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一股无法形容的、纯粹的、暴烈的痛楚，从接触点猛地炸开，瞬间席卷了她的四肢百骸，冲垮了她所有的意志和思维。那短刀毫无阻碍地刺入了她的腹部，并且还在向内、向下深入，搅动。视野瞬间被染红，又迅速变黑，耳边是血液奔流的轰鸣和自己牙齿咬碎的咯咯声。嘴唇被咬烂，满口腥甜。
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她以为自己会立刻死去。
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但就在意识即将被黑暗彻底吞噬的边缘，就在她脸贴着的、被血和火浸透的土地上，她的右手，在剧痛的痉挛中，触摸到了一样冰冷而熟悉的物件。
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是刀柄。一柄短刀的刀柄。
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父亲的短刀。他平日用来裁纸、修理道具的贴身之物。此刻，它静静地躺在那裡，就在父亲倒下的不远处。
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求生的本能，或者说，复仇的执念，压倒了濒死的剧痛。那瞬间，不知从何处涌起的力量，让她猛地蜷缩身体，右手死死握住了那柄短刀。
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林秀贞似乎察觉到了身下猎物的异动，但他并不在意，只是更加用力地将手中的短刀在她体内拧转，享受着这种掌控生死的快意。
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就是现在！
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云堇发出一声不似人声的、野兽般的嘶吼，身体以一个扭曲的、不可思议的角度翻转，右手握着的父亲遗物，带着她全部的生命力，狠狠地向上扎去！
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第一下！短刀穿透裙甲的连接处，扎进了林秀贞的侧腹肋骨。他身体一僵，脸上的戏谑凝固。
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第二下！云堇根本不顾还插在自己体内的那柄利刃，任由它造成更可怕的创伤，手腕一翻，短刀横向撕裂！刀刃刮过骨头的摩擦感令人牙酸。
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林秀贞痛吼一声，下意识地想拔出自己的短刀后退。
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但云堇没有给他机会。第三下！她用尽最后一丝力气，将短刀高高扬起，再狠狠刺下！这一次，刀尖精准地从铠甲的缝隙楔入，深深陷进了他的胸膛！
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林秀贞的眼睛瞪得溜圆，充满了惊愕、愤怒，以及对死亡的恐惧。他张着嘴，却发不出完整的声音。
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云堇看着他，染血的脸上没有任何表情，只有一片死寂的冰冷。她松开嵌在他胸膛的刀柄，左手猛地抓住他还握着自己体内短刀的手腕，不知哪里来的力气，竟将那短刀硬生生从自己腹中拔出了一截！
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然后，在那电光火石之间，她的右手再次握上那沾满血滑腻的刀柄——这次，是林秀贞自己的短刀——借着对方因剧痛而松懈的刹那，将整个刀身，连同他握刀的手一起，狠狠地、决绝地，送向了他的脖颈！
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“噗嗤——”
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利刃切断筋肉、穿透气管、直至颈骨的声音，沉闷而清晰。
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林秀贞的动作彻底停滞了。他眼中的光彩迅速黯淡，身体晃了晃，沉重地向后倒去，发出一声闷响，激起一片尘埃。
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世界，在云堇眼前旋转、崩塌。腹部的创口成了吞噬一切的黑洞，剧痛如同潮水般再次涌上，将她残存的意识拍得粉碎。她甚至没能再看一眼那仇人的尸体，便向着冰冷的地面瘫软下去。
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在彻底陷入黑暗之前，模糊的视线边缘，似乎闯入了一抹耀眼的金色。
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有人冲破了火焰，来到了这片死地。那人影飞快地靠近，带着焦灼的气息。
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她感觉自己被一双有力的手臂小心翼翼地托起，避免了直接撞击地面。一个陌生的、带着异国口音，却异常急迫的声音在她耳边响起：
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“撑住……别睡！”
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那声音像是从极遥远的地方传来，带着一种不容置疑的力量。随后，是无边无际的黑暗，以及……仿佛置身于波涛之上的摇晃感。
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……
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璃月港，不卜庐。
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药香浓郁，盖过了她记忆中最后那浓烈的血腥。意识如同沉入深海的碎片，一点点艰难地重新拼凑。
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剧痛依然是身体的主旋律，但不再是那种撕裂性的、毁灭性的痛，而是被某种清凉的药物和紧密的包扎所束缚、缓和后的钝痛。她艰难地睁开沉重的眼皮，模糊的视野逐渐清晰，映入眼帘的是素色的帐幔，和从窗外透进来的、璃月港熟悉的、带着海腥气的天光。
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一个金发的身影趴在床边，似乎因为极度的疲惫而睡着了。是那个旅行者……空。
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她试图移动一下手指，却牵动了腹部的伤口，让她倒抽一口冷气。
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这动静惊醒了浅眠的空。他立刻抬起头，眼中布满了血丝，但看到她醒来，那双眼睛瞬间亮了起来。
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“你醒了！别动，伤口很深……”他的声音带着沙哑的喜悦和后怕。
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云堇张了张嘴，喉咙干涩得发不出声音。空立刻体贴地递过一杯温水，小心地扶起她一点点喂下。
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温水滋润了干涸的喉咙，也让她混沌的思维清晰了一些。记忆的碎片汹涌而至，火光，鲜血，倒下的身影，林秀贞狰狞的脸，还有那刺入身体的冰冷，以及最后……那柄插入仇人脖颈的短刀。
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她活下来了。
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是被这个人所救。
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“……谢谢。”她的声音微弱得像蚊蚋。
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空摇了摇头，眼神复杂，既有欣慰，也有沉重。“我赶到时，已经……太晚了。只来得及把你带出来。”他顿了顿，似乎在斟酌词语，“林秀贞他……”
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“他死了。”云堇平静地接口，声音里没有任何波澜，仿佛在陈述一个与己无关的事实。“我杀的。”
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空沉默了片刻，最终只是轻轻点了点头。
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这时，年迈的白术大夫走了进来，看到云堇醒来，也松了口气。“云先生醒了就好，万幸，万幸啊。”他走上前，仔细检查了她的伤口和脉搏，“伤势虽重，但未伤及根本，好好调养，恢复只是时间问题。”
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白术说着，像是想起了什么，从旁边的药柜上拿起一个托盘，里面放着几块沾染着暗褐色血污的、扭曲的金属碎片。“这是从你腹中取出的……那柄短刀的残片。断裂在里面了，取出来费了不少功夫。”
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云堇的目光落在那些碎片上，瞳孔微微收缩。就是这东西，夺走了她的一切，也差点夺走她的生命。
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然而，她的视线很快从碎片上移开，落到了自己的右手上。那只手，此刻被干净的纱布包裹着，但依稀可以看出，她正紧紧地握着拳头，指节因为用力而泛白。
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空和白术也注意到了她的动作。
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“云先生，你的手……”白术轻声提醒，担心她是在无意识中抓伤了自己。
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云堇缓缓地，极其缓慢地，松开了紧握的拳头。
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掌心里，不是指甲掐出的血痕，而是半片布料。一片染满已经发黑血渍的、依稀能看出原本是云堇色、绣着精致云纹的戏服碎片。那料子，是她母亲亲手为她缝制最新戏服时，她偷偷藏起来留念的一角。
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她一直紧紧攥着，即使在最深的昏迷中，也未曾松开。
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病房里陷入了长久的沉默。只有窗外隐约传来的市集喧闹，和室内药炉咕嘟的微响。
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云堇低下头，看着掌心那半片染血的残片，看了很久很久。然后，她慢慢地，再次合拢了手指，将它重新紧紧握住，贴在了心口。
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那里，不再只有撕心裂肺的痛，还有一种从灰烬中悄然萌生的、冰冷而坚硬的东西。
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她的戏台毁了，家人没了。
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但戏，还没唱完。
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她抬起眼，望向窗外璃月港的天空，目光穿过窗棂，似乎落在了某个遥远而未知的方向。
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血海深仇，才刚刚开始。
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