The smell of blood and burning iron filled the air. General Lan Xinyue stood atop a pile of bodies—both enemy and friend. Her silver armor was shattered, her legendary spear broken in two.
She had held the pass for three days against an army of ten thousand. She had not fallen to the enemy’s blade. She had fallen to poison.
She looked down at the arrow protruding from her chest. It wasn’t a barbarian arrow. It was fletched with the royal colors of her own Emperor. Betrayal.
“General Lan,” a voice sneered from the shadows. “You were too powerful. The Emperor fears no enemy, but he fears a woman who commands the loyalty of dragons.”
Xinyue coughed, black blood spilling over her lips. Her vision blurred. The snow around her turned grey.
“You may kill this body,” she whispered, her voice cutting through the wind like a rusted blade. “But my spirit… will never kneel.”
She closed her eyes. The cold took her.
Chapter 1: The Stunt Double
Los Angeles, California, 2024.
“Cut! Cut! That was pathetic!”
The shrill voice echoed through the warehouse set of The Crimson Empress, a B-grade action movie filming in Burbank.
Lily Hart hung upside down from a wire harness, thirty feet in the air. She was twenty-two, exhausted, and currently playing the stunt double for America’s sweetheart (and nightmare), Tiffany Stone.
“I’m sorry!” Lily called down, blood rushing to her head. ” The harness is a little tight, I can’t rotate fast enough.”
Tiffany Stone sat in her director’s chair, sipping an iced oat milk latte. She was beautiful, blonde, and vindictive. She hated Lily because Lily was naturally prettier, despite being a “nobody” stunt girl.
“Excuses,” Tiffany rolled her eyes. She looked at the Stunt Coordinator, a beefy man named Brad who was also Tiffany’s secret boyfriend. “Brad, drop her faster. She needs to look like she’s falling to her death, not floating like a feather.”
“You got it, babe,” Brad grilled. He looked up at the rigger. “Loosen the safety brake. Drop her on my count.”
“Brad, that’s dangerous,” the rigger warned. “If we override the brake, she hits the mat at forty miles per hour.”
“Just do it!” Tiffany screamed. “I have a nail appointment at four!”
Brad smirked. “Three… two… one.”
Snap.
The cable didn’t just loosen; it snapped.
Lily screamed. The ground rushed up to meet her. The safety mat was too thin. She hit the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
The set went silent.
“Lily?” someone whispered.
Darkness swallowed the girl from Missouri who just wanted to be a star.
Chapter 2: The Iron Beast
Beep… Beep… Beep…
The sound was annoying. rhythmic. Like a cricket trapped in a jar.
General Lan Xinyue opened her eyes.
She expected the fires of the underworld. Instead, she saw a ceiling of white tiles and a light so bright it hurt her eyes. She tried to sit up, but her body felt incredibly heavy. Weak.
Where is my armor? Where is my spear?
She looked at her hands. They were soft. Uncalloused. The hands of a useless court concubine, not a warrior.
“She’s waking up!” a voice said.
Xinyue turned her head. A man in a white robe (a healer?) was looking at a glowing box next to her bed.
“Where am I?” Xinyue croaked. The language was strange to her tongue (English), but somehow, she possessed the memories to speak it. Lily Hart. 22 years old. Los Angeles. Stuntwoman.
Two sets of memories clashed in her skull. The General and the Loser.
“You’re at Cedars-Sinai Hospital, Ms. Hart,” the doctor said. “You took a nasty fall. Mild concussion, bruised ribs. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Xinyue sat up, ripping the tubes out of her arm.
“Ms. Hart! Stop!” The doctor rushed forward.
Xinyue’s instincts took over. She grabbed the doctor’s wrist. She didn’t use strength; she used leverage. She pressed her thumb into a pressure point on his radial nerve.
The doctor gasped, his knees buckling, paralyzed by pain.
“Do not touch me, sorcerer,” Xinyue hissed. Her eyes—Lily’s soft blue eyes—were now cold, ancient, and terrifying. “Where is the Emperor? Where is the battlefield?”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the doctor squeaked.
Xinyue released him. She looked in the mirror on the wall.
She saw a girl with messy brown hair and a hospital gown. A weak vessel. But the fire in the eyes was familiar.
I have been reborn, Xinyue realized. In a land of metal and glass.
She stood up. Her legs wobbled.
This body is pathetic, she thought with disgust. No muscle tone. Shallow breathing. I must train it.
“I am leaving,” Xinyue announced.
“You can’t!” the nurse cried. “Insurance…”
“Silence,” Xinyue commanded. She possessed an aura of authority that made the nurse step back instinctively. “Give me this girl’s garments.”
Chapter 3: The Jungle of Stars
Walking out of the hospital was an assault on the senses.
Xinyue stood on the sidewalk of Beverly Blvd. Giant metal beetles (Cars) roared past, spewing smoke. Buildings touched the clouds. People walked around staring at glowing rectangular slabs (Phones), oblivious to their surroundings.
This world is loud, Xinyue thought. And the people are soft. They would not last an hour against the Huns.
She found Lily’s car in the parking lot—a beat-up 2010 Toyota Corolla. Accessing Lily’s memories, she understood how to operate the “Iron Horse.”
She drove. It was terrifying at first, but Xinyue’s reflexes were superior. She wove through traffic like a chariot racer, honking at slow drivers.
She arrived at Lily’s apartment in North Hollywood. It was a shoebox.
She opened the door to find her roommate, Chloe, crying on the couch.
“Lily! Oh my god, you’re alive!” Chloe hugged her. “I saw the news. TMZ said Tiffany Stone pushed you.”
“Tiffany Stone,” Xinyue tasted the name. The memories flooded back. The blonde woman. The mockery. The sabotage.
So, this Tiffany was the enemy General.
“She tried to kill this vessel,” Xinyue said calmly.
“What? Vessel?” Chloe pulled back. “Did you hit your head hard?”
“Chloe,” Xinyue said, walking to the fridge and pulling out a raw steak (Lily had bought it for a special occasion). “Do we have a sword?”
“A… sword?” Chloe blinked. “We have that plastic prop from your last gig.”
“Plastic. Useless.” Xinyue grabbed a kitchen knife. She began to eat the steak raw.
“Lily! Cook that!”
“I need protein. Fast,” Xinyue said, tearing into the meat. “Tomorrow, I return to the battlefield.”
“You mean the set?” Chloe asked, horrified. “You can’t! You’re fired. Brad texted. They said you were ‘clumsy’ and caused a liability issue.”
Xinyue paused. She wiped blood from her lip.
“They fired me after trying to kill me?”
A dark smile spread across her face. It wasn’t Lily’s shy, apologetic smile. It was the smile of a General who had just found a reason to go to war.
“Good,” Xinyue said. “Then I do not go back as a servant. I go back as a conqueror.”
Chapter 4: The Return
The set of The Crimson Empress was in chaos.
Tiffany Stone was throwing a tantrum.
“I can’t believe we have to delay shooting!” she shrieked, throwing her oat milk latte at an intern. “Find me another stunt double! Someone who isn’t a fragile doll!”
The Director, a stressed man named Marcus, rubbed his temples. “Tiffany, the scene requires complex swordplay. Lily was the only one who knew the choreography. We have to wait for a replacement from Hong Kong.”
“We don’t have the budget!” the Producer yelled.
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the soundstage creaked open.
Silhouettes appeared in the bright sunlight.
A figure walked in. She wore black leggings, combat boots, and a simple tank top. Her hair was tied back in a severe, tight bun.
It was Lily.
But she walked differently. She didn’t scurry. She strode. Her steps were silent, measured, predatory.
“Lily?” Brad the Stunt Coordinator laughed nervously. “Look who crawled back. You here to beg for your job? Or settle the medical bill?”
Xinyue ignored him. She walked straight to the weapon rack.
She picked up a prop sword. She frowned. “Aluminum. Hollow. Balanced like a drunkard.”
She tossed it aside. Clang.
She picked up a prop spear. Better.
“Hey! Don’t touch the props!” Brad marched over, puffing his chest out. He was six-foot-four, pure muscle. “Get out of here before I throw you out.”
Xinyue looked up at him.
“You are the one who cut the wire,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“It was an accident,” Brad sneered, leaning down to intimidate her. “Prove otherwise, sweetie.”
He reached out to grab her shoulder.
Flash.
Xinyue moved.
She didn’t punch him. She spun the spear shaft, striking him in the solar plexus with the blunt end. As he doubled over, gasping for air, she swept his legs.
Brad hit the concrete hard. Before he could blink, the tip of the spear was resting against his throat.
The entire studio went silent.
Tiffany dropped her phone. Marcus, the Director, stood up, his mouth open.
“In my time,” Xinyue said, her voice echoing through the silent warehouse, “men who harmed women were gelded and left for the wolves. Consider yourself lucky I am in a merciful mood.”
She pulled the spear back and looked at the Director.
“I hear you need someone to fight,” she said.
Marcus stammered. “I… yes. But the choreography…”
“I do not need choreography,” Xinyue said. “Tell your men to attack me. If they can touch me, I leave.”
“You’re crazy,” Tiffany laughed shrilly. “Security! Get her!”
Three security guards and two stuntmen (loyal to Brad) stepped forward. They held batons and prop swords.
“Get her,” Tiffany ordered.
Xinyue smiled. She spun the spear, the air whistling around the shaft.
“Come.”
Chapter 5: The Dance of the Dragon
What happened next wasn’t a fight. It was art.
The first guard lunged. Xinyue sidestepped with terrifying speed—Qinggong footwork that made her look like a ghost. She tapped his wrist, disarming him, and kicked him into a stack of cardboard boxes.
Two stuntmen attacked with swords. They were trained in stage fighting—wide, dramatic swings.
Xinyue didn’t block. She flowed. She ducked under a blade, using the spear shaft to hook the attacker’s ankle, sending him flying. The second attacker swung at her head. She caught the blade—not with her hand, but by trapping it between the spear shaft and her arm.
She twisted. The prop sword snapped.
She delivered a palm strike to his chest. He flew backward ten feet, sliding across the floor.
“Cut! Keep rolling! I mean—Action!” Marcus screamed, scrambling to get the cameras pointing at her. “Filming this! Is anyone filming this?!”
The final security guard, a massive man, hesitated. He pulled out a taser.
“Lightning weapon,” Xinyue noted. “Interesting.”
She threw the spear.
It flew through the air like a missile. It didn’t hit the man. It pierced the taser gun right out of his hand, pinning the plastic device to the wooden wall behind him.
The guard looked at his empty hand. He looked at Xinyue. He raised his hands and walked away. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Xinyue stood in the center of the room. She wasn’t even breathing hard.
She looked at Tiffany Stone.
Tiffany was trembling. The “loser” she had bullied was now looking at her like she was an insect.
“You,” Xinyue said, pointing at Tiffany. “You are the Empress in this play?”
“I… I am the star!” Tiffany squeaked.
“You have the grace of a cow and the heart of a rat,” Xinyue declared. “You are unfit to hold a blade.”
The crew gasped. No one spoke to Tiffany Stone like that.
Marcus, the Director, ran over. He was practically vibrating with excitement.
“That was… that was incredible! Who taught you that? Jackie Chan? The Matrix guys?”
“My father,” Xinyue said simply. “General Lan.”
“Lily,” Marcus said, ignoring the weird answer. “Forget the stunt double. I want you to play the villain. The Assassin Queen. We’ll rewrite the script. We’ll pay you double what Tiffany makes.”
“What?!” Tiffany shrieked. “You can’t replace me! I’m the lead!”
“You’re the lead in a romantic comedy, Tiffany,” Marcus snapped. “This is an action movie. And I just found a real action star.”
Tiffany turned red. She marched over to Xinyue.
“You think you’re special?” Tiffany hissed. “You’re just a stunt girl. You’ll never be famous. I can ruin you in this town. I know Harvey. I know the executives.”
Xinyue looked at her. In the past, she would have beheaded such insolence. But this was the modern world. She had to adapt.
“You threaten me with gossip?” Xinyue asked.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone. Brad’s phone. She had swiped it when she swept his legs.
“This is the glowing rectangle of your mate, Brad,” Xinyue said.
She tapped the screen. It was unlocked. (Brad was not a smart man).
“Interesting messages here,” Xinyue read aloud. “‘Babe, I cut the wire just like you asked. She’ll be in the hospital for months. We can claim the insurance money.'”
The color drained from Tiffany’s face.
“Give me that!” Tiffany lunged.
Xinyue held the phone high.
“I believe this is called… ‘Receipts’?” Xinyue asked Chloe, who had snuck onto the set.
“Yes!” Chloe cheered from the sidelines. “Post it, Lily!”
“Marcus,” Xinyue handed the phone to the Director. “I believe this is evidence of attempted murder. And insurance fraud.”
Marcus looked at the text. He looked at Tiffany.
“Get off my set,” Marcus said quietly. “Before I call the cops.”
“You… you…” Tiffany stammered. She looked around. Her crew, who hated her, were smiling. Her boyfriend was groaning on the floor. She had lost.
She ran out of the studio, sobbing.
Chapter 6: The New Reign
Six Months Later.
The red carpet outside the Chinese Theatre in Hollywood was packed. Fans were screaming.
A black limousine pulled up.
The door opened.
Lily Hart stepped out. She wore a gown of shimmering red silk, designed to look like stylized armor. Her hair was up, pinned with gold sticks.
She didn’t smile like a starlet. She looked at the cameras with a fierce, regal intensity.
“Lily! Lily!” The reporters shouted. “The movie is a global hit! Critics are calling you the ‘reincarnation of Bruce Lee’! How did you learn those moves?”
Lily stopped. She looked into the camera lens.
“I didn’t learn them,” she said enigmatically. “I remembered them.”
“What’s next for you?” a reporter asked. “Marvel? DC?”
“I am writing my own script,” Lily said. “A historical epic. About a female General who saved an Empire.”
Inside the theater, Marcus the Director hugged her. “You look great, kid. Ready for the premiere?”
“Always, Marcus.”
As the lights went down and the movie started, the screen showed Lily—playing the Assassin Queen—fighting an army of ten men single-handedly.
In the darkness of the theater, Xinyue smiled.
She missed her horse. She missed the open steppes of the North. But this… this “Hollywood”? It was a new kind of battlefield.
And she was winning.
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from her agent.
“Steven Spielberg wants a meeting. 9 AM tomorrow.”
Xinyue typed back with one finger:
“Tell him to bring coffee. Black. And do not be late.”
The General leaned back in her plush velvet seat. The conquest of America had just begun.
[The End]
