Dawn broke through the forest canopy in pale ribbons of gold and silver.
Li Feng was already standing.
His cloak shifted lightly in the morning wind as he watched the edge of the clearing, still and alert. Jin Yue stirred behind him, groggy, eyes still heavy with sleep.
But before he could speak, Li Feng held up a hand — the silent gesture freezing him mid-motion.
There was a presence.
Footsteps, quiet and deliberate, approached from the shadows between trees.
Then a figure emerged.
Clad in black robes, a long scar crossing his cheek, the man looked like a phantom pulled from memory. His eyes — dark and sharp — settled on Li Feng.
"Well," the stranger said with a dry, unreadable tone, "I see you're still breathing."
Jin Yue sat up, confused. "Who—?"
Li Feng's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air around him — taut as a drawn bowstring.
"You followed me," Li Feng said, voice low.
"I watched you leave," the man replied. "And I knew you wouldn't stay hidden for long. Not after what you did."
Jin Yue's eyes darted between them. "You… know him?"
The man chuckled. "You could say that." Then, to Li Feng: "You're still pretending, aren't you? Wearing a new name in a world that doesn't know what you are."
Li Feng's jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
"You're not as far from the past as you think, Feng," the man added, taking a slow step forward. "And the ones you left behind—they haven't forgotten you."
Jin Yue's chest tightened. He could feel the tension rolling off Li Feng, quiet but deadly.
"Leave," Li Feng said.
The man tilted his head. "So cold. Just like before."
"Now."
There was a pause.
Then the man gave a slight, mocking bow. "Very well. But this world isn't as different as you hoped. Blood finds blood. And your scent… carries."
He turned and melted back into the woods.
Jin Yue stood slowly, voice tentative. "Who was that?"
Li Feng didn't answer immediately.
Then, after a long moment, he murmured, "Someone who should've stayed buried."
And with that, he walked ahead, not looking back.
But Jin Yue saw it — the faintest trace of something brittle in his expression. Not fear.
Regret.