Power Up Artist Yang - Chapter 343

Her first memory was not like any other’s. Perhaps a typical person might recall the face of a sibling, a parent. Or perhaps one might recall exploring an outdoor garden as one crawled on all fours. Or perhaps the first memory would be crying over some reason that one can’t even think of.

In her first memory, she could not cry.

She wanted to. The emotions within her were akin to a deep well, pooling until they were at the brim, threatening to spill with just an extra drop. Yet she couldn’t feel her eyes pricking with tears at all.

In that moment, she felt helpless. So helpless, so incapable, so paralyzed, that she could not even cry.

She was sitting— collapsed— in the midst of ruins. Although she could not recognize it, it felt like it must’ve been a village at one point. It was a village that had been ransacked, a village that had been torn apart, the people slaughtered, the valuables stolen, until nothing more than some crumbled straw, splintered wood, and ashes upon ashes were left behind. She was collapsed onto a doorstep— or what appeared to be a doorstep— where the door had been slammed open. Her eyes looked inside.

There were bodies fallen onto the floors of the house, bodies of a man, a woman, and two young boys. They were all killed, red lines drawn upon their necks, blooming red patterns woven across their c.h.e.s.ts.

They were the first things she saw. She did not recognize them, did not pair any names to their faces, yet when she saw them, there, the urge to cry, was again, swelling up within her.

Why? Why did she want to cry so bad? Who were these people? And who was she?

She turned away.

As she stared at the destruction before her, her legs still too weak to stand, she realized she could not recall her name. She did not know who she was, why she was here, or anything else. With horror, she reached into her mind, searching for anything— a sliver of information, a flash of a memory, anything— yet nothing appeared. Her memories were as dark as a fathomless night sky. No lanterns, no stars, no moons. It was the sort of darkness where not even shadows existed, when everything was blanketed in pitch black.

Venturing in the darkness, she thought she caught something for a moment, a flicker of light, a word left unspoken, yet when she reached out for it, her head split open. Pain shot through her mind in a burning white flash, forcing her to fall back, opening her eyes.

She sat there for a few moments, clutching her head. Following that, she stood up. She somehow managed to find strength in her legs, pushing herself up. Staggering a few steps forward at a time, she made her way through the ruins. Everything was demolished, and all around, she could see no living, only corpses.

And then, she saw him.

He tossed aside that woman’s body and charged towards her.

Now, she could see his face. It was a terrifying view, when she saw all the scars across his bulging eyes, crooked nose, and dirt-stained cheeks. He was a large man, taller than the one dressed in armor from behind, his body ripped with muscle. When she saw him rushing to her, only one word appeared in her mind. Bandit.

She froze. She could not summon the urge to run or to even move, frozen as still as a statue to the spot.

The bandit shot his arms out, about to grab her, but that was when his large eyes bulged out even more. The tip of a sword protruded from his c.h.e.s.t, red spilling out, and he froze as well. The bandit crumpled to the ground.

From behind, the armored man stepped forward. Pulling out his sword from the flesh of this bandit, he swung it down again, and again, stabbing it into the bandit’s c.h.e.s.t until he stopped moving. She could only watch this bandit get slaughtered, witnessing his limbs twitch and body struggle until there was no more. Until he became as still as something that never knew life.

Her eyes traveled back to this armored man. He locked his eyes on her as well. He drew the sword he held back out of the bandit’s body. Scarlet blood dripped down the side.

She could finally move, but she only fell back, toppling onto the dirt ground. He approached her, step by step. She was sure that this man just saved her, yet she could not explain the fear rising up within her. It was a feeling of her gut, perhaps similar to the reaction of a rabbit spotting a wolf.

Before he could get any closer, she squeezed her eyes shut and found her voice. It was barely more than a whisper, but in the quiet air, her words were clear.

“Thank you.”

At this, the man paused. He had his eyes fixed on her, still, but he inclined his head to the side by just a degree. “Thank you?” he repeated.

“F-for saving me. From him. The bandit.”

She cast her eyes at the body of the bandit behind that man. Again, she could feel the urge to cry rising up within her, the same feeling as when she saw the bodies inside the house. She could not place her finger on why she felt this way. Perhaps it was a strong response to being saved. Perhaps it was relief.

“I saved you from a bandit, you say,” the armored man mused. He also looked at the body, then snapped his eyes back to her. “Who are you?”

The question took her aback. She stared at him, blankly. She did not know the answer to that herself. How was she supposed to answer him?

She decided to be honest. “I… do not remember,” she whispered. “I can’t. When I opened my eyes, I was here.”

“Do you know your name?” he continued.

She shook her head.

“So, a nameless girl.” He placed his sword down, sinking it into the dirt ground.

“Who are you?” she asked in return. “Who was he? And… she?” She gestured her head at the bodies.

He paused for a brief moment, then answered her latter question first. “He was a bandit. The bandits were pillaging this village. When we arrived, it was too late. This bandit was one left behind by his group. He was raping that woman, and held her as hostage when I approached him. He killed her in an attempt to save his own life, and I imagine that he was ready to kill or take you as hostage as well.”

She thought back to that bandit, the man with the bulging eyes. She thought back to how she first saw them, where the bandit was clutching the body of the woman. She thought back to how he charged at her when he saw her.

There it was again— that feeling of tears that would not come out.

“And you?” she managed to utter.

“I,” he replied, taking a step closer, “am a prince.”

“A prince?” she echoed.

He was now very close to her, eyes peering down to examine her every feature. She saw his face as well, his high-bridged nose, his perfect slope of a jaw, but what caught her attention the most were his eyes. They were pools of darkness, reminding her of the everlasting, inexplicable abyss she saw within her own mind. When she looked into his eyes, she felt a sense of familiarity, yet also hesitation. She did not understand this man. When he looked into her, on the other hand, it felt like he knew everything. It felt as if he was peering into her soul, flipping her like the blank pages of a book. He eyed her with such caution yet such detail, reading every bit about her and perhaps more that she did not even know of.

“You say you are a nameless girl,” he murmured, “one with no family, no past, do you not?”

She managed a nod.

“You have no place to go.”

“Then, would you like to come with this prince? Follow me, and I shall give you a place to live, food to eat, and water to drink.”

“Why?” She may not have had any memories, but she knew that all favors were to be paid.

He explained, “I need a shadow. An extra hand. A set of eyes for the back of my head. And you—” He reached out his hand, brushing it against her chin. His touch was as cold as ice. She shivered but did not flinch away. “You would be perfect.” Like his touch, his words were of ice, emotionless.

She repeated his implications, “You would like me to work for you.”

“Yes,” he affirmed. “What do you think?”

He drew his touch back, placing his hand in front of her, just within reach.

She looked back at him. First, at the sword he held in his other hand, red still stained on the blade. Then, at his armor, so pristine despite the ashes. And at last, in those eyes, ones which she could fall in and be dragged into an eternity of darkness by. They captivated her, as the one thing she could recognize in this place with no memories to call her own.

There was no other answer to choose. She reached out her hand, accepting his.

At this response, he seemed pleased, a smile spreading on his lips. She did not know it at the time, but later on, that would be a smile she would yearn for, a smile she would sacrifice anything to see him give her. She did not know it at the time, but this would be a man that she would take hundreds of lives for, a man that she would rip away her humanity for, and a man that she would consider her only reason for living.

But for now, he was just a prince promising security, and she was just a nameless girl with nowhere to go.

As he turned, gesturing for her to follow him, they walked through the destruction. They passed by the ravaged houses. They passed by the shattered lives. Evening had settled upon the lands, a half moon beginning to fade into the violet-tinged sky. They walked for just a few more steps before he turned, raising his eyebrows.

“You have no name, but I must have something to call you,” he said.

“I have no personal preference,” she told him.

He gave it some thought, head looking up at the sky. His eyes fixed onto the moon, then blinked. “Xianyue. Half moon. What do you think about that?”

Xianyue.

She liked how it sounded on his tongue. The way he said it was almost melodically soft, a breath of sound slipping through his teeth, a note left hanging in the air as he finished the name.

And so, that was how the nameless girl earned her first name.