"Stand and speak—your name will bind you," Nuwa's voice cut through the hall. I rose from my knees. I stepped closer to the low dais where the goddess sat, her hands folded like a verdict. I kept my eyes on her hands because saints punish the face of those who beg for mercy. "You call me Daji," I said. "Say it again," Nuwa ordered. "Daji," I repeated, sharper. "Forever." The word tasted like a vow. "Not forever." She made a single motion with her fingers. An attendant held a bronze box and slid open its lid. "You will be bound by a name that does not belong to fate until I give it." Bi Xia's heels tapped once and then again. "Mistress," he said, and his voice carried concern. "Naming is a ritual that marks the soul. The ban on saint mimicry—" "It is a ban," Nuwa agreed. "And bans are instructions, not comforts." "You will risk being mistaken for a saint," Bi Xia said. "Mimicry invites demands. Mankind will kneel and point and murder in a saint's name." "Better murder under my order than chaos under their ignorance." Nuwa's tone was blunt. "Do you understand what you ask for, fox?" "I understand," I said. "I have served long enough to know what the cost looks like. I still want to stand where you stand." There was a silence long enough for the torches to snap. The attendants waited. I felt their eyes on me