The night was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the sky stretching overhead in a tapestry of deepening violet. A hush had settled over the land, save for the steady clop of hooves against the dirt road.

  From her perch high in the gnarled branches of an ancient tree, Yáo Yā (妖鸦) watched them. "Demon Crow"—it was the name Qi Tian had given her, and she wore it with pride. Hidden in the shadows, her presence was an absence, a void in the world. Even the wind did not dare rustle the leaves around her.

  The trio below rode on, oblivious to her piercing gaze.

  Xu Lian sat straight-backed in the saddle, her hands resting lightly on the reins as she listened to Zhen Wei chatter beside her. The god-pretender spoke with an easy warmth, his voice tinged with amusement.

  "Meditation should be like a fine wine… let it settle into your soul," Zhen Wei mused, flipping his ever-present fan open. "And speaking of wine, I happen to know that a sip of the right brew makes enlightenment all the more... transcendent."

  Mo Chen, riding slightly ahead, exhaled sharply. He didn’t turn, but the slight tilt of his head spoke volumes. "That explains a lot," he muttered.

  Xu Lian laughed, bright and free, the sound of it like a ripple in still water. "Is that why you're always carrying that gourd? You’re not secretly meditating at all, are you?"

  Zhen Wei pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "My dear disciple, I am always meditating. I simply prefer to do it with flavor."

  Mo Chen remained quiet, his thoughts heavier than the road beneath them. The rumors in the last town still gnawed at him, whispers of strange occurrences, of missing travelers, of a presence lurking in the night. More than that, the journey itself was stirring memories long buried, memories he did not care to unearth.

  The road stretched on, the shadows between the trees deepening. As the hours passed, the forest thickened, its towering trunks weaving together like silent sentinels. The world was growing darker.

  Xu Lian yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Zhen Wei, seeing her, rolled his shoulders exaggeratedly. “Maybe we should find a place to camp, lest we wear out our adventurous lady here, eh?” He smiled, nodding in Xu Lian’s direction.

  Mo Chen agreed with a small gruff “Mmm.”

  He had already noticed the quiet pull of fatigue in Lian’er’s frame, the way her shoulders eased, just slightly, with each breath. She sat with practiced grace, but even so, the long ride weighed on her. A light blue ribbon wound through the dark silk of her hair, its strands catching the breeze like a whisper of sky bound to earth.

  It was such a fragile thing.

  Just weeks ago, she had lain pale and broken, struggling for breath. Now, she rode beside him, chasing after fate with unshaken resolve. But the road ahead was long, and he could not help but wonder; how much of this would she endure before the burden became too great?

  Would she ever tell him if it did?

  How had it come to this?

  He had sworn never to look back, never to entangle himself in the world’s affairs again. And yet, here he was, riding alongside a girl who did not belong in his world, too bright, too untouched by ruin.

  He did not deserve a second chance.

  Xu Lian was too precious, too undamaged. She should not be walking this path, should not be within arm’s reach of his cursed fate. He had seen what happened to those who stood too close to him. They burned.

  Like she did.

  The weight of guilt coiled in his chest, as suffocating as the past itself. It was his fault that -she- died. If only he had been stronger, if only he had seen the betrayal before it wove itself into the fabric of their lives.

  The memory clawed at him, Qi Tian’s deception unraveling their world like an unhemmed tapestry. The weft and warp, twisted and impure. The shuttle darting through the loom in a frenzied, intricate dance, too fast for his eye to follow, the pattern already broken before he could grasp its design.

  And now, history threatened to repeat itself.

  How could he trust himself not to fail again?

  He had no right to hold even a shred of affection for Xu Lian. It was dangerous, reckless. A weakness he could not afford.

  He chided himself for the flickers of warmth, the quiet thoughts that surfaced when he let his guard slip.

  He must not make that mistake again.

  He must not be the reason someone else is hurt.

  Mo Chen slowed his horse, scanning their surroundings. A small clearing off the road caught his eye. Flat land, enough space for a fire.

  Zhen Wei sighed in relief. "Finally, mercy upon my poor bones." He stretched dramatically. "I was starting to think we'd be riding until the next lifetime."

  Dismounting, they led their horses into the clearing, tying them loosely to a nearby tree. Xu Lian tended to them first, pouring out a portion of grain from her saddlebag. A short distance away, a narrow stream cut through the underbrush, its waters gleaming silver in the fading light.

  She carried a bucket to its edge, dipping it beneath the surface. The moment the water rippled, a strange sensation crawled up her spine, a prickling awareness, as if unseen eyes bore into her back.

  She froze.

  The trees whispered, their branches swaying in the breeze. A single crow let out a sharp caw in the distance.

  Xu Lian exhaled slowly, shaking off the unease. I’m just tired. She lifted the bucket, returning to the camp.

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  She did not see the shadowed figure watching from the canopy above, unmoving, breathless.

  By the time Xu Lian returned, arms still damp from the stream, the camp had taken shape. The flickering fire cast its glow over the small clearing, illuminating the precise order of Mo Chen’s work of stones neatly arranged in a circle, kindling stacked with measured care. His efficiency was methodical, practiced. The mark of a man who had spent many nights beneath an open sky.

  She took a seat on the smooth rock Mo Chen had positioned near the flames, a small act of consideration he did not acknowledge. He stretched out on a simple horse blanket nearby, while Zhen Wei strung his hammock between two trees, humming contentedly.

  After he secured his hammock, he produced two extravagant tents from his pack, their embroidered silk shimmering even in the dim firelight. A striking contrast against the rugged simplicity of the wilderness.

  Mo Chen eyed them, unimpressed. "Do you always travel with your entire estate?"

  Zhen Wei spread his arms grandly, his face alight with pleasure. "A man of taste must have his comforts. If I must suffer the road, let it at least be in style."

  Xu Lian let out a quiet laugh. "You should be grateful, Mo Chen. Imagine sleeping under the stars in this cold while Zhen Wei lounges in silk."

  Mo Chen huffed but said nothing, dropping another log onto the fire.

  The air was cooling rapidly, the night thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Shadows deepened between the towering trees, creeping along the forest floor like ink spilled over parchment. Xu Lian rubbed her hands together, savoring the warmth of the flames.

  Mo Chen finally settled, the flickering firelight casting restless shadows across his form. He stretched out on a simple horse blanket, his dark robes pooling around him like rippling ink. The golden glow of the flames caught the fine embroidery at his cuffs, glinting in fleeting patterns as though ancient sigils lay hidden in the threadwork. He rested his forearm over his knee, the shifting light carving sharp angles across his face, half-illumined, half-lost to shadow. His gaze, deep and unreadable, remained fixed on the fire’s heart, where embers smoldered like dying stars in a midnight abyss.

  Zhen Wei, ever dramatic, rested in his hammock between two trees, humming in contentment.

  "Ten hours in the saddle," he sighed, "and my poor, noble backside has borne the brunt of it. Xu Lian, remind me never to agree to such an uncivilized journey again."

  She grinned. "You instigated this, remember?"

  Zhen Wei waved his fan lazily. "In a moment of weakness, yes. I was swept away by the romance of adventure. But now I am reconsidering my life choices."

  Mo Chen exhaled sharply. Was that almost a laugh?

  Xu Lian smirked. "I think some meditation might help ease your suffering. Maybe you should focus your qi instead of complaining."

  "Ah, my brilliant disciple," Zhen Wei sighed theatrically, "I have taught you well. But why waste meditation on pain when a good drink does the job much faster?"

  Mo Chen rolled his eyes. "Is that the wisdom you're passing down?"

  "The wisdom of survival," Zhen Wei said, fanning himself with flair. "And speaking of wisdom, Xu Lian, how has your cultivation been feeling? Any new insights since the last time we trained?"

  Xu Lian tilted her head, thoughtful. "I think I'm starting to grasp the circulation of qi better. When I meditate, it feels… warmer, like a current flowing through me. But it’s slow, and sometimes, if I focus too hard, it vanishes."

  Mo Chen nodded. "That’s natural. You're still laying the foundation. Cultivation is not about force but harmony. Trying to grip qi too tightly is like trying to catch water with your fingers. Let it move as it wishes."

  She hummed in understanding. "So I should focus on guiding it, not controlling it?"

  Zhen Wei smirked. "She listens better than most. Many cultivate with impatience, trying to force the heavens to bend to their will. But true power is found in patience."

  Mo Chen gave him a sidelong glance. "A rare moment of wisdom."

  Zhen Wei chuckled, swirling the gourd in his hand. "I have many. You simply choose to ignore them."

  They spoke for a while longer, discussing techniques she could practice along the road, the importance of breathwork, and even the dangers of rushing into higher levels too quickly. Mo Chen warned her against arrogance, and Zhen Wei, in his own playful way, reminded her that cultivation wasn’t just about power, but endurance.

  The fire crackled, low embers glowing like scattered rubies nestled in the ash. The night breathed around them, alive with the rustling of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. Cicadas droned in a steady, hypnotic rhythm, their song rising and falling like waves against the hush of the trees. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, its mournful cry answered by another, a hollow echo carried on the wind. Leaves whispered as the branches swayed, shifting like spirits in the dark. The scent of pine and damp earth mingled with the faint trace of smoke curling toward the heavens, dissolving into the boundless expanse of midnight.

  As the night wore on, Xu Lian let out another yawn, stretching her arms. "I should rest. Long ride ahead tomorrow."

  She excused herself, retreating to her tent. Mo Chen watched as the fabric shifted, her silhouette barely visible through the dim light inside. Only when all movement ceased did he look back to the fire.

  Silence settled between them.

  Zhen Wei, still lounging in his hammock, eyed Mo Chen carefully.

  Then, with a sigh, he moved. Unfastening the gourd from his belt, he stepped closer and crouched by the fire, offering it wordlessly.

  Mo Chen stared at it for a moment before finally taking it. He turned the gourd in his hands, fingers tracing the intricate etchings along its surface.

  "You should drink," Zhen Wei said lightly. "It helps loosen that iron grip you have on your thoughts."

  Mo Chen smirked, shaking his head. "You just want an excuse to see me drunk."

  "That would be a fine bonus," Zhen Wei admitted with a grin. "But no… I just don’t enjoy drinking alone."

  Something about the way he said it made Mo Chen pause.

  He took a slow sip, the burn familiar, comforting. The taste of old nights and simpler times.

  Zhen Wei shifted his weight around to get more comfortable. "It’s odd, isn’t it? We’ve only known each other a short time, but somehow, this, " he gestured to the fire, the quiet, "it feels familiar."

  Mo Chen studied him for a moment before turning his gaze back to the flames. "It’s been a long time since I’ve sat by a fire like this." His voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. "A long time since I’ve had company I could tolerate."

  Zhen Wei chuckled. "I’ll take that as high praise."

  Mo Chen exhaled, shaking his head. He did not know why, but tonight, something felt different. The years of bitterness and solitude had thickened into armor, but Zhen Wei was prying through the cracks with nothing but warmth and patience.

  And against his better judgment, Mo Chen found himself appreciating it.

  The friendly drink between newfound companions had ended, and each had retreated to their respective places of rest. The fire had burned low, its embers pulsing like a slumbering heart, casting faint glimmers of light upon the clearing.

  Zhen Wei lay in his hammock, one arm draped lazily behind his head, his eyes tracing the constellations above. He seemed at ease, lulled by the sway of the trees, but beneath the idle fa?ade, his fingers rested against his fan, unmoving, tense.

  Mo Chen remained within his tent, his breath slow and measured, though sleep eluded him.

  The night stretched on, deep and unbroken. The cicadas had fallen quiet, their endless song dwindling into silence. Even the distant owls, who had once called to each other across the darkened woods, had gone still.

  Only the wind stirred, rustling through the leaves in hushed murmurs.

  And in the gloom beyond the fire’s reach, a crow sat perched upon a twisted branch, its dark feathers melding into the void of night. It did not blink, did not stir.

  Yáo Yā watched.

  Silent. Unseen. The weight of her master’s will pressed upon her like a second skin. She would follow them, track them, wait.

  And soon, very soon, Qi Tian’s patience would bear its fruits.

  piece of Qi Tian’s game moves into place. Yáo Yā, the Demon Crow, is no idle watcher, her presence signals that their journey is no longer theirs alone. From here on, every step forward is a step closer to an unseen snare.

  ?? Mo Chen’s internal struggle—tragic? Infuriating?

  ?? Zhen Wei—master of mischief, or does he see more than he lets on?

  ?? Yáo Yā—silent observer, or something far more dangerous?

  ?? Current Work: "When the Heavens Turned Away" (天道无归 – Tiān Dào Wú Guī)

  ?? Themes I Write: Xianxia | Wuxia | Cultivation | Poetic Tragedy | Immortality & Fate

  ?? Find Me Elsewhere:

  patreon.com/WriterVoidQuill

  https://ko-fi.com/voidquill