The Return Undeserved

Xue Yiran had worn many masks in her life.

The frost-born prodigy.

The mouthy brat with a crown of arrogance.

The calculating heir to the Frozen Crown.

But today, as the bitter winds howled around the gray stone path winding toward Mount Kuthal, she wore something different.

Authority.

It shimmered across her robes like diamond-threaded steel. The Iceheart sigil blazed silver-white on her back, bordered in the crimson trim of a Candidate Envoy. A forged scroll of inspection—signed and sealed under Elder Qun's borrowed authority—tucked neatly in her inner sleeve. She walked ahead, unflinching, steps slow and sure as they neared the outer perimeter of the ruin.

Behind her, Shen Yan wore the uniform of a sect escort: shoulder armor dusted with his clan's crimson crest. Beside him, Su had traded the worn cloak of a slave for a crisp, narrow black robe and sash. Her hair was tied back into a warrior's knot, her eyes downcast, jaw clenched with silent fury.

No one spoke. Not until the shadows grew long enough that even the frost turned gray.

The sentry at the lower checkpoint was young, barely a Core Disciple. He stepped out from behind the layered gate, spear gripped too tightly.

"Halt. These paths are sealed by decree—"

Xue Yiran didn't wait for him to finish. She raised one gloved hand and extended the scroll like a blade.

"By authority of the Inner Council and Candidate Envoy privileges, I am authorized to inspect the buried ruins beneath Mount Kuthal. Official Record: Inquiry 1180-Q."

The guard blinked, caught between fear and confusion.

"W-what are you looking for?"

"Residual trace of Curse Sigils, Class-III or higher. I've received intelligence that something embedded from the War of Split Crowns might still be leaking entropy radiation."

His mouth opened, then closed. He stared at Shen and Su.

"Escort. Retainer." Xue's tone allowed no room for questions. "Will you block my duty, or open the gate?"

He stood aside, stammering out, "I'll inform Senior Watcher Huo…"

"Do that," she said, and passed without hesitation.

Once inside the outer ring, the path narrowed.

The mountain didn't look like a prison. No iron gates. No towers. Just ancient broken tiles winding down into a craggy crevice, frostbitten and unmarked.

But the further they walked, the colder the air became—not just in temperature, but in soul. Shen tensed beside her. Even Su felt it, breathing slow, footsteps careful.

"This doesn't feel like any cursed ruin," Su whispered.

"Because it's not," Xue Yiran said. "This was a holding chamber once. Long before the Concord claimed this land."

"Then why keep it?" Shen asked.

"Because it's easier to hide rot in places already buried."

They reached the first stone archway. Unlike the frost-covered ruins above, the arch was clean—too clean. There were no vines, no dust, not even a scent of mold. The place felt… sterilized.

And that was what frightened her most.

Xue stopped.

"We go in together. No sound. No lights unless needed. Su, stick to the left. Shen, right. Watch for movement."

They nodded.

And then they descended.

The inner hallway was shaped like a jaw.

Long, narrow, ribbed with iron seams and dark inscriptions along the walls that shimmered faintly when passed. It was too silent. Even their breathing felt distant.

Here, beneath the surface, the Concord's real face revealed itself—one cut in stone and silence.

After three bends, the floor changed. No longer stone, but blackened obsidian, carved with concentric rings.

They stepped onto it cautiously.

And then—

"Halt."

A voice, deep and clear, rang through the chamber.

A lone figure stepped from the far end of the corridor.

Her robes were dusk-colored. Black and violet, trimmed in the runes of suppression. Her long hair was woven through with threads of gold, and her mask—an ornate bone-white curve—hid half her face.

Her presence was not loud. But it was undeniable.

Camellya.

"State your purpose," she said again, though her voice was more curious than angry. "Few step here without cause."

Xue stepped forward without bowing.

"Candidate Envoy Xue Yiran. Official inspection."

Camellya tilted her head. Her eyes—those amber, emotionless eyes—did not blink.

"You bring weapons. And unfamiliar faces."

"Inspection needs protection," Xue answered smoothly.

A beat.

Then Camellya smiled faintly. Not warmly. Not cruelly. Simply… as if she already knew what they were doing.

"Then I shall escort you. We wouldn't want anything unrecorded to happen during your visit."

Xue nodded coolly. But her throat tightened.

She knows.

She's toying with us.

They walked deeper.

Camellya led them through an angled corridor lined with cells—though the word felt too crude. These were chambers, crafted with careful symmetry, each containing only a slab, a single chain, and a sigil on the wall.

Some sigils glowed.

Some were cracked.

Some... were bleeding. Not blood. But concept. A leaking of identity.

One showed a chained creature of glass. Another, a man made of coiled books.

"These are prisoners?" Su whispered.

Camellya answered without turning.

"These are truths deemed too dangerous to let speak."

Xue clenched her fist inside her robe.

Is this what they'll do to Jin Mu?

They stopped at a sealed gate.

Camellya tapped it once.

"Would you like to see your subject now?"

Xue's heart skipped.

"What?"

Camellya turned fully.

"You came to see if something dangerous was buried here. Something… unruly."

"Yes," Xue said carefully.

"Then come."

The gate creaked open.

A flicker of shadow stirred within.

The door creaked open with theatrical slowness.

Shen's hand instinctively moved toward his blade. Su's breath caught. Xue Yiran's heart slammed in her chest as the chamber revealed itself—dark, lined with sigils, etched in chains of suppression, a place where monsters and traitors were buried and forgotten.

A flicker of movement.

A low vibration in the air.

Su's eyes widened.

"Is that… humming?"

The three stepped in cautiously, Camellya right behind them, expression unreadable.

And then—

"🎵 I once had a path made of marble and flame… now I've got soup, and I'm oddly okay~ 🎵"

They froze.

In the center of the room—bare-chested, towel slung over one shoulder, legs lazily crossed atop a sealed stone slab—was Jin Mu, humming an off-key ballad to an invisible crowd.

A pot of boiling stew sat over a controlled flame beside him, and he was stirring it absently with a wooden ladle. Behind him, an open crate of books was spread out, along with several stacks of papers, a crystal board game, and a half-carved figurine made of bone.

He looked up, spoon still in mouth.

"Oh. You came."

Silence.

Xue Yiran, for the first time in her cultivated, cold-hearted, clan-raised life, stammered.

"W–WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

Jin blinked slowly.

"...Lunch?"

Camellya stepped around them, graceful as ever.

"I believe the term you're looking for, Candidate Envoy Xue, is 'house arrest under informal supervision.'"

"Informal?! This looks like a vacation hut in the middle of a cursed hell-chamber!"

Jin raised a brow. "It's not that nice. The bed is a bit hard."

Su just gaped. "You're not tied up?"

"Nope."

Shen coughed. "...Why are you shirtless?"

Jin shrugged. "You try sparring with a Concord Enforcer while meditating inside an entropy chamber. Clothes get inconvenient."

"You sparred?" Xue echoed.

Camellya answered this time, tone calm. "Naturally. Several times, in fact. He lost three, won two, and one ended with a draw when he tried to distract me with poetry."

"I call that last one a morale victory," Jin added, sipping soup.

"And you LET him cook?" Xue gestured wildly.

"He threatened to Distort my tea into vinegar," Camellya said without a hint of irony.

"I also bribed the entropy ward into flickering for comedic timing," Jin muttered proudly.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Xue pinched her temples.

"I gathered intelligence. Staged an infiltration. Faked inspection records. Wore formal robes. Su cried. Shen looked dashing. AND YOU'VE BEEN—"

"—making lentil stew and winning at chess," Jin finished. "Also, I read five treatises on the Ash Court's political sub-sects. Their poetry is decent. Very bleak."

Xue stormed forward, finger jabbing.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DYING!"

Jin blinked. "I mean. Existentially? Yes. But right now, no."

Camellya cleared her throat gently.

"If it helps, I did plan on breaking his spirit. But it turns out he's aggravatingly comfortable with solitude, pain, and philosophical inconsistency. And he's good at cooking."

Shen blinked. "So... you're not the villain?"

Camellya looked insulted. "I'm an administrator."

Jin added, "She's also not half bad at swordplay. She kicked me into a pillar once. It was humbling."

Xue groaned.

"Do you have ANY idea the effort it took to get here? I thought you were mutilated. Missing. Psychologically scarred."

"I am all of those things," Jin said, slurping his stew. "Just not currently expressing them."

Su tilted her head. "...Can I have some soup?"

"Of course." Jin handed her a bowl. "Just don't touch the orange root. It screams."

Shen sat down, defeated. "I need a nap."

Camellya sat too. "You're all welcome, as long as you don't bleed on the entropy grid. It's hard to clean."

"THIS IS MADNESS!" Xue howled.

"Madness," Jin said serenely, "is just intelligence with too much time."

And so, beneath a mountain supposedly haunted by cursed artifacts, the group sat in a circle around bubbling stew while Camellya summoned a flame with one hand and adjusted her boots with the other.

Xue, of course, sulked furiously.

Su slurped happily.

Shen laid back on the cold floor like he'd been unburdened by ten years of stress.

And Jin Mu—scarred, hunted, sharp-tongued regressor—smiled quietly at the absurdity of it all.