My Little Sister is from the Fire Cult (3)
Even after Mancheon departed, the conversation showed no signs of stopping. A warm, harmonious atmosphere filled the house. Those who hadn't attended yesterday's welcoming ceremony now offered their belated greetings to the new family member, sharing stories all the while.
Sima Yeomhwa was a clever girl. Through just a bit of talk, she could gauge what others liked and how to win their favor. To Jang Chunhwa, the foster mother who doted on her frail second son, she praised Mancheon for how attentively he'd cared for her yesterday. To Sima Rang and his wife, who had a daughter they cherished like the apple of their eye, she gushed about how adorable and pretty the child was.
She mirrored their likes and showered them with compliments—a simple technique to earn affection. One might dismiss it as mere flattery, but Yeomhwa's refined voice and elegant, aristocratic air lent sincerity to her words. Her hypnotic red eyes, flickering like flames, stirred the heart and infused her speech with conviction.
It had little effect on Mancheon, whose twisted personality led him to dissect every kindness for hidden meanings. But for Jang Chunhwa and the Sima Rang couple—innately good-hearted folks raised in a loving home—it worked wonders. They accepted her goodwill at face value.
Yeomhwa smiled with crinkled eyes, chiming in as Jang Chunhwa recounted Mancheon's childhood antics with delight.
"Was it when he was ten? I tried to scold him for sneaking into my hidden snacks—"
"Kekeke~ Can't you feel the speed gap? Catch me if you can and punish away. -Something like that."
"Oh my~ How cute. And then?"
"So of course I grabbed him and gave his butt a good smack. But then he suddenly blurts out, 'Mama~ This great me did wrong! Forgive your oresama!!'—total nonsense. He was such a peculiar kid."
She called him peculiar and shared her hardships, but her eyes and voice dripped with honeyed affection for Mancheon. Yeomhwa rode that wave, her lips curving into a joyful smile as she praised him.
"He's so cool and mature now. But as a kid, he must've been lively and quirky. Amazing."
It was flattery to match the foster mother's mood, but calling him "cool" held a kernel of truth. Based on what she'd seen last night, he came close to the ideal big brother.
Though... his face isn't my type.
She glanced sideways at Sima Bu, who watched his happily chattering family with a contented expression. Thick brows, sharp jawline, straight nose, wolf-like amber eyes. Aside from the limp, Mancheon was the spitting image of his father.
...That was both appealing and repulsive. Ironically, when Yeomhwa looked in the mirror, she saw echoes of Sima Bu in her own features. It was inevitable. Natural, even.
Time had flown by amid the chatter. Jang Chunhwa rose first to tend to neglected household chores. Sima Rang, still recovering, returned to his room with his wife's support.
Now, only Sima Bu and Sima Yeomhwa remained. The laughter that had filled the house faded, the atmosphere shifting. A brief silence hung between them as they regarded each other wordlessly. Yeomhwa broke it first.
She stood, her red eyes flashing as she smiled radiantly and bowed formally.
"It's been a while, Father. I hope you've been well?"
She wasn't some distant relative—this was a child bound by blood. The air sharpened around that single man. The kindly foster father was gone. He'd shed the gentle sheepskin, revealing the savage wolf: Sima Bu, head of the Sima family. He narrowed his piercing eyes and intoned coldly yet firmly,
"Let's move somewhere else."
Sima Bu's hidden private reception room was warded with formations—no one could see or enter without permission. Sound didn't leak out, either.
"For a child who lost her parents to plague, you seem awfully cheerful."
Yeomhwa met his icy rebuke with a brazen, smiling retort.
"Right~ That was the backstory. Turns out both parents are alive and kicking. My bad for slipping up."
"...What were you thinking, inventing a nonexistent little sister?"
His low, beastly growl pressed down on her like a threat. Indeed, to Sima Bu, no such little sister had ever existed. Yeomhwa being his youngest daughter? A lie from the start. Just a pretext for heading west—and a fabricated family tree to mask her origins when they surfaced. That was the truth of the "little uncle" who'd never once appeared before the family.
His razor-sharp aura pricked her soft skin like needles. Yet she kept her smile. Even if everything was a mirage of deceit, that fake smile was ironically real. Purely Sima Yeomhwa's. So she clenched her fist, nails digging into her palm to stay grounded. She beamed at Sima Bu.
"Father, if you don't plan to kill your one and only daughter, could you rein in your aura?"
Sima Bu withdrew his pressure. Not out of affection, but due to his pact with the Zoroastrian cult.
"You're a foster daughter for now. Can't help it in front of the family, but when we're alone, don't call me Father."
"If you hate 'Father,' how about Papa~?"
Her irritating western tongue made him scowl. He drew a cold line, denying her existence. Crushing anything that could shatter the 'family's' peace.
"...You're just one of the countless seeds I sowed in the Fire Saintess of the Fire Cult that happened to sprout outside."
"……"
"Per our contract, I'll protect you to keep you safe. But that doesn't make you my child. Don't think of me as your father, either."
She'd known. To her father... to Sima Bu, she was nothing but a bothersome thorn. She'd known that long ago. Still, she'd hoped a little. Hoped for love from her father, her family. For something real. Tears welled from her aching heart.
So she smiled. Just like she'd practiced in the mirror—moving her face muscles to craft a smile so beautiful it mesmerized onlookers.
"Yes. I'll keep that in mind."
The Zoroastrian splinter sect Yeomhwa belonged to was a wealthy order brimming with gold, silk, hardy warriors, and legions of faithful. But it wasn't normal. No, in the words of Central Plains folk, it was a demonic cult.
Zoroastrianism fundamentally emphasized the three doctrines of the prophet Zarathustra: good thoughts, good words, good deeds. These gather to make others good, those good ones make more good, defeating evil. Only human goodness can banish Angra Mainyu—the root of all evil, the hostile spirit opposing the creator, the devil of devils.
But Yeomhwa's sect didn't follow that path. They sought another way: the descent of Shaoshant.
Prophecy foretold an unknown future when evil would descend, the world ending once. Angra Mainyu's minions would burn the earth, defiling the creator's works. But fear not. If 'evil' descends, so must 'good.' To save the world from Angra Mainyu's unspeakable servants, a hero emerges from fire: the apostle of Ahura Mazda, god of good, light, and wisdom; creator of all goodness. The mythical savior wielding a flaming sword to rescue suffering Zoroastrian faithful—Shaoshant.
Dedicate to Shaoshant, and all worldly evil purifies.
...Yeomhwa's sect took that doctrine to extremes—seriously or absurdly—interpreting prophecies to hasten Shaoshant's return. They reached a ludicrous conclusion.
No one knows when Shaoshant descends. But Shaoshant appears at the world's end to save humanity. So destroy the world, and Shaoshant will come.
...A laughably absurd syllogism, earnestly embraced by zealots plotting to birth a world-ending monster.
Word reached their palace: the bloodline of that warlord who crushed chaotic times with force, wiped Clan Zhao overnight, seized the realm, then shattered it into sixteen for chaos' abyss—the monster wolf, Sima Yi, sought gold to revive his house.
The demonic cult craved the monster wolf's bloodline to end the world; the Sima sought gold for revival. The pact formed, the monster born.
Burn good thoughts (Fire), burn good words (Fire), burn good deeds (Fire). The Fire Cult's saintess and the last wolf's blood mingled to birth a world-burning (Blazing Fire) existence.
The birth of Sima Yeomhwa.