Mountain winds crept through the silent ravine, weaving between the dark stones that lined the ancient sealing path. A faint green glow shimmered within the deepest cracks. A night pathkeeper stood trembling at the edge of the stone terrace, his torch nearly extinguished.
A sharp cracking sound—like stone teeth grinding—echoed faintly, crawling up to the surface. The ground beneath their feet quivered, then fell still again. The seal etched into the rock pulsed once, as if exhaling.
One of the pathkeepers spoke, voice shaking as he turned to his companion.
"Did you hear that? That… wasn't a normal sound, right?"
The other simply nodded, his breathing uneven. They exchanged a glance, then one of them turned and ran up the stone trail. The torch in his hand shook violently, scattering small sparks into the night air.
It didn't take long for word to reach Wei Ren at the guards' barracks. He stood in the corridor, listening to the pathkeeper's report with narrowed eyes, a faint smile creeping up at the corner of his lips.
He spoke softly, voice slick with hidden glee.
"The crack moved on its own? Hah… or maybe someone gave it a little push from the inside?"
He strode quickly toward Elder Fan's hall, his robes dragging cold dust along the floor. Outside the chamber, he bowed halfway—but raised his voice deliberately.
"Elder Fan! The pathkeepers heard cracking sounds. The altar's path is slowly opening… and I dare say, this isn't natural. Someone's pulling from the inside. Yanzhi…"
Elder Fan's gaze lifted sharply, piercing through Wei Ren's expression. His fingers tapped against the stone table, his tone flat, but heavy with menace.
"Are you certain?"
Wei Ren lowered his head, the sly smile never fully leaving his lips.
"I heard it from the guards myself… the spiritual mist along the path is acting strangely. If it's not the remnants of the seal inside Yanzhi's body—then what else could it be?"
Elder Fan rose slowly, his broad shadow swallowing the hanging lantern's light.
"If he's toying with the key again… drag him to the altar at dawn. With his head, if that's what it takes."
Wei Ren hid a smile behind his lowered gaze.
The crack in the ravine had truly awakened.
The rumor had been planted.
And now the bait waited—
For Yanzhi to fall into it.
---
In the Inner Pavilion, the night dripped from the old rooftop tiles. Han Ye sat slouched against the doorframe, eyes half-closed in feigned sleep. A bamboo curtain hung in front of him, shielding the view of the inner chamber.
But in the hush between the mountain winds, he caught a strange scent—burnt spiritual residue, faint like the ashes of incense. A wave of hot air seeped through the door crack, stinging his nose.
Slowly, Han Ye opened his eyes, tilting his head toward the sound of uneven breathing. Yanzhi's breath came shallow, trembling faintly in his chest. Han Ye held his breath, crouching slightly as he peeked through the curtain.
Beyond it, Yanzhi sat cross-legged on a bamboo mat, his body shivering slightly. His fingertips pressed tightly against his arm, right at the vein. A faint heat shimmered from the contact, casting a dim aura along his skin.
Han Ye muttered softly.
"What are you hiding now…"
He stepped forward slowly. The wooden floor creaked. Yanzhi flinched, shoulders jerking up, his eyes half-opening. The Spirit at the back of his head hissed immediately, its voice slick against his ear.
"Don't let him see your seal."
Han Ye approached, gaze sharp.
"Show me your arm, Yanzhi."
Yanzhi held his breath. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of his robe. He shook his head, voice rough with suppressed heat.
"What do you want to see? I'm just sitting here."
Han Ye's jaw clenched. He stepped even closer.
"Don't play dumb. Open your robe. Let me see which path you're messing with."
The Spirit chuckled, whispering more pointedly.
"Good. Push back. Use your words—soft and sharp. Make him step away."
Yanzhi inhaled sharply. His shoulders trembled slightly from the heat crawling up into his chest. His eyes locked onto Han Ye's, damp with sweat—but fierce.
"If you want to see it, go ahead. Want to rip off my robes? Do it. Want to cut my chest open? Go ahead. Will that satisfy you?"
Han Ye froze, his jaw tightening. He looked closer and saw the veins in Yanzhi's neck and temple pulsing beneath his skin.
He lowered his head, voice gravelly with held-back anger.
"You think this is a joke? You're playing with fragments of the seal… one wrong move, and you die. And everyone else in this sect goes down with you."
Yanzhi let out a short, dry laugh—almost like mocking himself. His fingers clenched tighter around his sleeve.
"Don't act like you care, Han Ye! You're guarding me because they told you to. If I die, you're the one dragged before the Elders. That's all, right?"
Han Ye stepped in closer, just a breath between their faces. His glare was sharp, but underneath it trembled something more vulnerable.
"If I only cared about saving my own skin, I would've let you fall apart yesterday."
Yanzhi held his gaze. His voice dropped, but his lips stayed firm, refusing to shake.
"If you want to protect me, then protect me. If you want to kill me, do it now. But don't ask me to bare everything in front of you."
The Spirit chuckled again, its whisper slithering behind Yanzhi's ear.
"Good… you're learning to resist. Let him unravel. Let him wonder."
Han Ye exhaled harshly. His hand lifted halfway, as if to rip Yanzhi's sleeve off by force—but stopped in midair. His gaze turned toward the door, his breath stuck in his chest.
That raised hand slowly fell. His clenched jaw shifted as if holding back words on the edge of breaking loose.
Their breaths collided in the tight space. The residual heat from Yanzhi's seal clung faintly to Han Ye's open palm, still hovering near Yanzhi's shoulder.
"You're always so damn stubborn… You think I enjoy guarding someone like you?"
Yanzhi stared back, the corners of his eyes red, but a bitter smile ghosted across his lips—like he was daring Han Ye to keep going.
Han Ye scoffed quietly and looked away. His hand pressed down on Yanzhi's shoulder—not out of anger, but as if grounding himself against the storm in his chest.
"Forget it. Breathe. Don't play with fire if you're not ready to burn."
He stepped back, two slow paces, his back brushing the bamboo pillar near the doorway. His eyes stayed fixed on Yanzhi—not the eyes of a guard, but of someone quietly afraid of losing him.
Yanzhi turned his face toward the dying lantern. His shoulders slumped slightly. The Spirit's whisper returned, low and barbed.
"Funny, isn't it? He could end you any moment… but he still walks away. Hold onto that."
Han Ye took a deep breath. He adjusted the sword at his waist, then pushed the door open halfway. Mountain wind slipped in, cooling the last of the heat in the room.
With his back still to Yanzhi, his voice dropped to a flat murmur.
"I'll wait outside. If you want to die—make sure it's not in front of me."
He stepped out. The bamboo door slid shut behind him, leaving Yanzhi alone with his racing heartbeat, the pulsing heat under his skin, and the Spirit tightening around his breath.
---
The next night, the mist-thick rain grew heavier. The Inner Pavilion stood in silence. Outside the bamboo fence, a path guard yawned, unaware of the black shadow leaping silently from the rooftop—slipping through the fog like smoke.
Between the gaps in the bamboo roofing, a spy crept—hired by Wei Ren, from a rival sect. His body was wrapped in a thin black robe, sect insignia carefully hidden beneath his chest. In his hand, a dark dagger gleamed—a soul-siphoning blade, laced with poison strong enough to sever spiritual flow in a single slash.
Inside, Yanzhi sat cross-legged. The fragment in his arm simmered, the Spirit whispering behind his neck.
"Just a little more… if you stop now, that gate will never open."
Yanzhi clenched his teeth. His body trembled, cold sweat dripping from his chin. Unseen above, the shadow crawled lower from the wooden ceiling, dagger gleaming, sharpening the chill in the air behind Yanzhi's neck.
Then, the floor creaked. Creak!
The shadow dropped. The dagger flashed—aimed straight at Yanzhi's back.
"Perfect. That gate… now belongs to us."
Yanzhi jolted. The fragment flared wild, the Spirit shrieking, forcing Yanzhi to draw power faster. Veins along his neck turned deep blue. In a blink, a burst of searing heat exploded backward, scorching the air around the attacker.
The spy staggered. His dagger nearly pierced Yanzhi's shoulder, but the blast of heat knocked him back. Wild energy leaked out, the fragment's glow seeping through Yanzhi's pores.
From outside, the guards caught the scent of something rupturing. Panic.
Yanzhi slumped to the floor, one hand clutching his chest, holding the fragment down before it could erupt.
"Hold it! You want me dead now?!"
The Spirit laughed—half whisper, half guttural snarl full of hunger.
"This is the path you chose. Want power? Take it now. Or let it all burn."
Before Yanzhi could catch a breath, the assassin lunged again. The dagger buzzed with energy, targeting the seal's track on Yanzhi's arm. If it pierced through, the fragment would be forcibly released, tearing the gate open wider.
BANG!
The pavilion doors slammed open. Han Ye burst in, sword drawn across his back in a flash, the blade catching the last flicker of lamplight.
In a single glance, he saw it: Yanzhi collapsed, the wild heat from the fragment raging through his body. His eyes were half-white, veins bulging across his neck, the Spirit overpowering his spiritual channels. Behind him, the spy stood ready, dagger raised high.
Han Ye slashed.
His blade knocked the dagger from the attacker's hand—metal sparked against wood, followed by a strangled grunt from the spy. In one swift motion, Han Ye dropped beside Yanzhi, one arm catching him, the other pressing directly onto the energy channels in his back.
"What the hell are you doing?! You trying to die here?!"
Yanzhi's gaze flicked up at him—dazed, hollow. The Spirit's laughter echoed in his head, mocking.
"Look at him panic. Let him feel how much heat you're holding."
The fragment in Yanzhi's body was seconds from rupture. Han Ye pressed his fingers to the vein beneath Yanzhi's collarbone. His other hand gripped his shoulder, pouring in a sealing technique. A faint blue light flared from Han Ye's touch, slowing the leak of energy.
Blood dripped from the corner of Yanzhi's lips. His breath was shallow, his body limp. Han Ye held him tighter, feeling the tremor in his shoulders.
"Idiot… you hid this from me?"
Behind them, the attacker turned to flee.
Han Ye released one hand and threw a short blade. The knife struck clean through the spy's throat, silencing him with a gurgling hiss of blood.
On the floor, Yanzhi trembled in Han Ye's arms. The fragment pulsed. The Spirit laughed inside his skull. And in the shattered rhythm of his breathing, Han Ye knew—tonight, the rift in the valley had truly awakened.