Zhāng Wei's eyes snapped open.
Something was wrong.
The stillness of the palace chambers pressed too heavily, the air carrying faint tremors that prickled against his skin. He sat up swiftly, nudging the others awake.
"Ughhhh, what is it now?" Hú Lì groaned, rubbing his face, hair sticking up like a bird's nest.
"Shhhh," Zhāng Wei hushed, his tone low, sharp. "Do you feel that?"
"Feel what?" Xiǎo Yǔ mumbled, still curled up with her blanket, rubbing her eyes.
"Qi fluctuations," Duō Yī answered before Zhāng Wei could. His gaze was fixed on the window, eyes narrowing. "Although faint, it's unmistakable. Someone's weaving a spell."
That sobered them instantly.
Hú Lì rolled to his feet, snatching up his weapon, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth though his jaw was tight. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go see what bastard thinks he can hide in the shadows."
They slipped into the night.
The palace courtyards lay wide and empty, cloaked in mist. Beyond, Jiāng Lí's streets stretched silent, the fog swallowing their footsteps. For a long moment there was nothing but the faint clop of boots against stone, the muted rush of wind between roofs, the occasional creak of shutters shifting.
Then Duō Yī stiffened. His hand shot forward.
"Look!" he hissed.
A vine — no, not a vine, something translucent, spectral, slithered down from the night itself. Its form was half smoke, half ghostly flesh, undulating like a serpent. It slipped through the walls of a commoner's house as though the wood and stone weren't even there.
For a heartbeat the silence held.
Then came a muffled scream, strangled and cut short.
The vine dragged a body out through the wall — limp, thrashing — before vanishing into the shadows, faster than sight could follow.
And then the streets bloomed with them.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Ghastly tendrils sprouted from the void, writhing like roots of some unseen tree. They pierced doors, windows, rooftops, dragging mortals from their beds in a grotesque harvest. The faint cries of sleepers carried only a few notes before being choked into silence.
Xiǎo Yǔ's breath hitched. "What… what are those things?"
"Doesn't matter," Zhāng Wei snapped, blade ringing free of its sheath. His eyes sharpened, calm but fierce. "Stay together. Don't let them touch you!"
The vines turned toward them.
They struck.
The first lash went for Hú Lì.
"Too slow!" he barked, swinging his iron mace. His qi flared red-hot, coating the weapon like molten ore. With a thunderous crash he smashed the vine apart, its form bursting into mist. He grinned — until three more lashed toward him at once.
"They just keep coming!" he spat, blocking, his feet cracking the cobblestones under each step. His strikes boomed like war drums, the shockwaves scattering mist. Yet every vine he destroyed simply reformed, reforming into new coils that snaked toward his legs.
"Tch—!" Hú Lì ripped free, blood dripping from shallow cuts already appearing across his arms.
Xiǎo Yǔ pulled talismans from her sleeve with trembling fingers. Her eyes were wide, but her movements sharp with discipline. She slapped one against her palm, feeding qi into the rune.
"Burn!" she shouted, hurling it forward.
The talisman burst, spewing a wave of fire that roared through the street. The blaze consumed a dozen vines, their shrieks like whispering wind as they dissolved into smoke. The glow lit up her determined face as she threw another, then another, the papers igniting midair into streaks of flame.
But the vines adapted. They slithered low, splitting apart, darting like shadows beneath her fire. One shot upward from below, wrapping her leg mid-leap.
"No!" She slashed at it with a dagger, severing the coil. Blood spattered her cheek from the backlash as the cut vine disintegrated — but another shot out immediately, binding her arm before she could throw her next talisman.
She screamed, twisting, trying to break free. Then one coiled her throat, cutting off her cry. The talisman in her hand fluttered uselessly to the ground as she was yanked screaming into the void.
"Xiǎo Yǔ!" Hú Lì roared, fury exploding in his chest.
He charged, tearing a vine apart with sheer brute force, his qi blazing around him like a furnace. His roar echoed down the street as he fought to reach where she had been taken.
"I'll kill every last one of you!"
The vines converged on him like a tidal wave. One slammed across his ribs, flinging him backward into a stone wall hard enough to crack it. Blood spattered the cobblestones as he staggered up again, eyes bloodshot, refusing to fall.
Another vine lanced through his shoulder. Then another pierced his thigh. He roared, ripping them free with both hands, his muscles tearing under the strain. "I'm not… going… down—!"
Six tendrils struck at once, impaling him like spectral spears. His roar broke into a guttural cry as they dragged him into the shadows, his weapon falling from his hand with a dull clang.
Zhāng Wei fought like a storm.
Every sweep of his saber left clean arcs of silver light, cutting through the mist. His qi surged bright and steady, a beacon in the choking dark. The vines shrieked as he carved them apart, his stance unshakable, his strikes precise.
For a moment it seemed he might carve a path through them all. His movements were relentless, refined — every strike efficient, every step measured. He pressed forward, eyes narrowed, determined to carve space for Duō Yī to escape.
But the vines learned. They feinted. Struck from angles unseen. One brushed his leg — and instantly three more snapped tight, coiling with crushing strength.
Zhāng Wei's blade flashed, severing two. His face twisted with effort, veins standing out along his neck. "Duō Yī—!"
The last vine wrapped around his waist and yanked. His saber slipped from his grip, clattering against the stones as he vanished into the void, his cry swallowed in silence.
Duō Yī stood alone.
The street writhed with tendrils, crawling like a nest of spectral serpents from every shadow. His pulse thundered in his ears. Sweat stung his eyes, blood trickled down his arms. Every instinct screamed to flee — but there was nowhere to run.
His grip tightened on his staff.
A soft sigh escaped his lips.
He slashed, parried, pouring every shred of qi he had into the strikes like a cornered beast. Each blow shattered vines, dispersing them into wisps of ghostly fog. But for every one that fell, more replaced it. They were endless.
A tendril lashed his ankle, yanking him to the ground. He spun, crushing it beneath his staff with a desperate swing. Another coiled his wrist, wrenching the weapon from his grip. He tore free, rolling, blood smearing the cobbles where his arm scraped.
Another vine struck from behind, spearing his shoulder. He gasped, vision blurring. His staff clattered onto the stone.
The last thing he saw was a dozen translucent tendrils converging, blotting out the stars above. The sound of his staff hitting stone echoed once. Then he too was pulled into the dead of night.