Morning light seeped through the cracks of the wooden shutters, painting thin golden lines across the quiet inn room. The air smelled faintly of herbs and dried blood.
Xiao Fang stirred. His body ached as if crushed beneath a mountain, his breath shallow but steady. He felt the warmth of Qi flowing gently across his wounds — soft, deliberate, careful.
"You're awake," Xun Wei's voice broke the silence.
She sat at his bedside, sleeves rolled up, hands glowing with faint green light as she channeled restorative Qi into the deeper cuts that hadn't yet closed. Her hair was still damp from the rain, clinging to her cheeks, but her focus didn't waver.
Xiao Fang's vision cleared slowly, the events of the previous night bleeding back into his mind — lightning, screams, and the face of a man he had thrown down from the clouds.
His throat was dry. "Where… are the other two?"
