Chinese Wuxia Veil Novels & Stories

I was to pretend this affair didn't exist and do nothing to stop them. Something wrapped its arm around my throat. I tore the contract into shreds. Nathaniel had kept the affair a secret for five whole years. That was something I didn't see coming. … It happened one night when I came home—three months had passed since our wedding. The first thing that greeted my eyes was a house turned upside-down. I saw torn clothes, undergarments, and questionable stains all over the ground. I walked into my bedroom. That was where I found Nathaniel in bed, naked with another woman. The scene hit me like a sledgehammer.

The Grand Hall of Veils had become a battlefield. Magic exploded in violent bursts of silver and violet, shattering crystal pillars and setting floating silks ablaze. The three moons burned overhead like judgment, pouring raw power into the chaos below. Shouts, steel clashes, and screams of pain mixed with the lingering echoes of pleasure from the interrupted ceremony. Kaelith lay on the steps of the dais, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His silver veins were almost completely dark, reduced to faint grey lines beneath his obsidian skin. He tried to push himself up, but his arms shook with the effort.

"The veil there is less than a micron thick. We’re getting reports of 'Non-Biological Entities' manifesting in the middle of traffic." Evangeline turned to face him, her "True Sight" flickering. For a moment, she didn't see the man who had been her protector; she saw the archetype he represented. And in her reflection in the glass, she saw the "Goddess of Justice" that the ancient Wyrd texts - and the Veil’s own twisted research - had prophesied. "It’s not just about the science anymore, Xander," she whispered. "The Veil called me the 'Catalyst,' but the old scrolls called me the 'Scale.' The one who balances the scream of the Wyrd with the silence of the mundane."

He opened it, retrieved a large, impossibly soft cashmere shawl—deep, rich black—and placed it over her shoulders himself. ​"Your immunity is a liability, Amara," he stated, his voice flat. "Do not compromise your health. It compromises the objective." ​The shawl was a functional object of care, stripped of romance, yet the action was profoundly intimate—a powerful man tending to her physical comfort.

He'd whisper, "That's Mrs. Parker, and that's the representative from Versenne." With him around, I could face anyone with ease. Now, he was gone. I couldn't tell who mocked me and who pitied me. Murmuring an excuse, I slipped backstage into an empty lounge. Yet even there, the voices seeped through the walls. "Who's she fooling? Fiona bragged about that wedding dress she hand-sewed with three thousand pearls, and now it's just trash." "Who knows where Vincent went? Probably found someone new already."

Marcus drank every drop, not stopping until she was whimpering, oversensitive. He rose, stripping off his soaked shirt to reveal chiseled muscle and scars. His belt hit the floor. Pera's eyes widened at the sight of his massive cock, thick, veined, nine inches of intimidating girth, already leaking precum. "It won't fit..." she whispered, voice husky.

“All we can do is try and get the masses to accept multiple marriages and change the laws.” “I see,” Xuanlu replied, rising from her position and placing her red veil over her face to complete her attire. “Wow, you can’t see your face at all. Can you really see through that veil?” Sylvia asked, waving her hand over to where Xuanlu’s eyes would be. “Yes, I can see perfectly, and stop waving like that.” Xuanlu giggled over Sylvia’s actions. The women then began to talk mainly about Blake and his quirks, which Xuanlu had to watch out for, and Xuanlu let her know that Blake had also made another breakthrough into the Martial Venerate realm.

"You should know. You're one of them." ​A faint, bitter smile touched the corner of her lips. She didn't pull away. Instead, she took the needle and thread from the kit, her hands moving with a cold, practiced skill that told me she had seen rooms like this long before she ever met my name. ​"We are both wolves, Valeriano," she murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer as she pulled the first stitch tight through my skin. "The only difference is, you keep your weapons in the safe... and I keep mine behind my teeth."

Where its eyes should be, there is nothing but endless white. Rylan scrambles in front of me without hesitation, body screaming in protest as he shields me with his own. “Stay back,” he growls. The thing tilts its head. “The wolf is unbound,” it says—not aloud, but everywhere. “And yet he still guards her.” I push to my feet, my legs trembling. “Who are you?” The veil ripples. “I am what answers when destiny is wounded.” My stomach drops. “The Veil,” I whisper.

It made the treatment difficult. Still struggling to tend to my wounds, Madam Apricot barged into my room. "You won't be able to dress your wounds properly yourself," she said. "Sit," she commanded. "I will help you dress them from here on." I obediently sat and she tended and dressed my wounds very neat. "There you go!" She said when she was through. "And I must say, that was a smart move using veilroot to mask your scent. Only few werewolves know the significance of veilroot, it is most times discarded as common weed.