Above Her Lips (GL) - Chapter 1

Meeting Mu Fei for the first time feels as if it were only yesterday.

But as for when I fell in love with her, I can no longer remember.

I only know that by the time I realized the intensity of these feelings, I was already mired deep within them, beyond all hope of redemption.

To embrace that clarity and warmth once more, I will drag her down into the abyss—to the place that belongs only to me.

— Epigraph

Xijie: The High Sector of Heresy Trials

A solemn, secret execution is about to take place.

Everything seems to be in a state of tense preparation.

Gray rain begins to drift from the sky, the downpour growing heavier and heavier.

Suddenly, a terrifying roar erupts. A massive section of the perimeter wall, laced with tens of thousands of volts of electricity, collapses under a gargantuan impact.

The low-level guards, faces frozen in shock, are almost entirely wiped out by such horrific destructive power.

Beneath the shattered stone pillars, blood blooms like seductive, demonic flowers.

It spreads wantonly.

For centuries, this High Tribunal has been washed by time; “solemnity,” “coldness,” and “obedience” have been its absolute synonyms.

Yet at this very moment, an unprecedented chaos has forced this vast region into a state of emergency. Terrified alarms pierce the sky.

“Warning! Unknown intruder— Warning! Unknown intruder—”

In truth, walls carrying such high-voltage currents are designed to completely counter the biological tolerance of the Kindred; the possibility of escape is near zero. Even the highest-ranking nobles imprisoned here would be as vulnerable as weak humans, left only to await their final fate of death.

It seemed no living creature could survive even a single breath under such intense current.

Until this sudden situation occurred, everything had been running perfectly.

No one expected that a special-material wall, more indestructible than steel, would be reduced to a pool of ruins by an unknown force.

Standing up slowly from the center of the crater is a woman with silver hair.

Her features are obscured by the wind and sand, but the tips of her hair have already been stained a deep crimson.

Blood seeps from her arms; she has clearly just endured a brutal battle.

Beneath her torn clothing, her skin is a deathly, plaster-like gray, etched with strange, faint runes. She carries with her an indescribable, unnatural malice.

Cold. Desolate.

The moment she rises, she is struck by a pillar of gunfire. Countless silver bullets—the lethal bane most feared by vampires—pierce her body.

Instantly, the air is saturated with the scent of her blood.

It is an aroma that seems to herald her impending death.

Inside the surveillance room, the Chief Executioner watches with bated breath.

The expression on his face is not the relief of victory, but visible, genuine terror. He desperately hopes that this catastrophic, terrifying person will have her life ended right here.

He will not allow anyone—any heretic—to break the order of the Trial Sector. Such a thing can never be permitted.

The verdicts handed down by the Sector demand absolute obedience, even for the nobility.

But no one expected this person to arrive today.

Wasn’t she supposed to have perished in that sea of flames?!

“Analyze the death data immediately!”

The sector-wide monitors lock onto the lifeform in the crater. However, the sensors cannot determine if the intruder is alive or dead. What is certain is that she is absolutely not human.

If she were a vampire, there would be no chance of survival after taking that many silver bullets.

As a gust of gore-scented wind sweeps past, every member of the staff stares with widened, terrified eyes.

The woman—who should not, could not have survived that firepower—stands quietly in place. Around her lies a horrific, scarred purgatory.

She seems oblivious to pain. Her body, riddled by the silver bullets, looks like a pitiful, broken remnant, yet she still does not die.

Expressionless, she tilts her head up. Her pitch-black eyes glance at the aerial surveillance devices above. Then, her lips twitch eerily, curling into a mocking smile.

The iron-blooded executioners in the monitor room feel a chill down their spines, their bodies trembling. That smile seems to say:

You cannot kill me.

In an instant, every silver bullet drops out from beneath her skin. Her body begins to heal with terrifying speed, stitching back together until the last piece of fallen flesh is reattached.

Then, the silver bullets scattered on the ground are pulled by an invisible force of immense tension. They fly in all directions, accurately destroying every camera and aiming device.

Every surveillance screen in the sector instantly turns to static.

She lowers her head slightly. Rainwater, mixed with tears born of agony, falls into her palm.

Even though the wounds heal quickly, the skin-crawling pain remains. Nevertheless, with a calm face, she walks toward the execution zone.

“Don’t let her get near there—!! Activate Level 10 Lockdown!”

The woman does not stop at the warning of the high-ranking vampire in the distance. Though the man wears specialized protective gear, he is exposed in her line of sight. As he prepares to pull the trigger, she raises her eyes, meeting his coldly, and issues a low command.

(Quiet.)

In the next second, all the roaring sounds outside seem to enter a vacuum tunnel.

Dark clouds loom, the gray rain stops abruptly, and everything ceases.

The voice of the guard, along with his protective suit, instantly turns into a mist of blood.

Immediately after, countless vampire death-seekers released from the surrounding cells begin to intercept the silver-haired woman.

Clearly, the high-ranking officials have offered a cunning deal: kill this unidentified woman, and all crimes will be pardoned.

However, these obstacles—who have snatched countless lives—are like ants before her. Aside from eyeballs that haven’t had time to feel despair before hitting the ground, their bodies explode into fragments and dissolve into bloody mist.

The woman does not hesitate for a moment. She breaks through layers of defense systems and forcibly hits the restart switch on the high-voltage equipment. From the darkness, a sarcophagus wrapped in countless chains emerges.

Inside is a Great Noble, forcibly kept in eternal sleep by specialized machinery, awaiting execution today.

The gray rain that had stopped begins to fall rapidly again, washing over these sorrowful, sin-filled steps.

She walks up step by step. Trembling, she reaches out a scarred hand and places it upon the coffin. Her deathly, lifeless expression gradually softens into tenderness, and her eyes shimmer with tears.

“Master Mu Fei…”

You Ran has come to take you home.