The violent glow around her faded—just a flicker at first, fragile as dying candlelight. Then her body slumped mid-air inside the shimmering barrier, and she dropped to the wooden bridge floor like a puppet whose strings had been severed.
"Is it over?" Rourou asked in hushed, hopeful whisper.
But suddenly, shadows erupted from beneath the bridge like black serpents birthed from nightmare, writhing upward with predatory hunger. The bridge creaked in agony as the planks began to blacken, rot spreading like ink bleeding through water—inevitable, consuming, absolute.
Yan Zheng stepped protectively in front of Xinyu with warrior's instinct. "No. It's preparing a final assault."
Mochen grabbed Xinyu by the shoulder with bruising force. "Step back now."
But Xinyu shook his head with stubborn determination. "She's still in there. I won't abandon her."
The shadow tendrils twisted into terrible form—tall, insectile, vaguely humanoid but far too long in the limbs for any creature belonging to this world. It hissed without mouth, without eyes, but its presence alone filled the air with dread that pressed against their souls.
"You... have meddled... enough..."
"Back!" Mochen roared, launching another talisman with desperate strength. It struck the figure's chest and detonated in a flash of golden fire that set the fog ablaze.
The shadow spirit screamed—a sound that tore through reality itself—twisting like smoke consumed by wind. More talismans flew in rapid succession—Qingze, Mochen, and even Shen Yao threw every paper charm they possessed. Runes lit up the fog-drenched air with holy light, tearing holes through the spirit's form like wounds in decaying flesh.
Suddenly, Lingque stirred inside the barrier with new determination.
Her voice—her real voice, clear and strong—rang out across the chaos:
"Xinyu! Let me help!"
"But you're exhausted—!"
"I'm your spiritual beast. I can channel through you. Use your energy!"
Xinyu's eyes snapped open with sudden realization. "Alright..."
He closed his eyes and focused inward, gathering every thread of consciousness. Silver-blue energy spread from his core like roots seeking purchase, weaving into the runes on the barrier with new purpose.
Lingque flared her magnificent wings with renewed strength. A burst of radiant light erupted from her chest—pure, celestial, unstoppable—striking the spirit dead center with the force of divine judgment.
The screech it released was high-pitched and unbearable, shattering the fog itself and making the bridge tremble as if heaven and earth were colliding. The shadow began to dissolve, burning at the edges like parchment thrown into roaring flames, until with one final crack that echoed across eternity, it shattered into black mist that evaporated into the mountain air like morning fog.
Silence.
The fog lightened, retreating like a defeated army.
Lingque slumped once more, utterly exhausted but blessedly conscious.
Everyone stared in collective awe.
Yan Zheng exhaled first, voice carrying relief. "So... your pet peacock is a talking spiritual beast capable of channeling sacred energy."
"I'm not a pet!" Lingque said with indignant fury, feathers puffed to magnificent size. "I'm a noble beast of the Vermillion Range!"
"...She's definitely his," Shen Yao muttered with reluctant acceptance.
Xinyu reached for her gently, tears of relief shining. "You came back to me."
Lingque let out a tired huff that trembled with spent emotion. "Of course I did. You'd perish without my guidance."
No one laughed. The moment held too much weight.
The group stood silently on the bridge, each member visibly shaken by the battle's ferocity, by the revelation of bonds unseen, by the realization of how close death had walked among them.
Hua Ling turned away first, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "We must continue. The cave awaits."
---
Inside the tent, incense curled lazily through the dim air like captured ghosts, the flickering oil lamp casting long shadows against silk walls that seemed to hold secrets in every fold. A low table stood between them—brother and sister—with tea cooling in fine porcelain cups that remained untouched for far too long.
Chi Wuwei sat with effortless grace, a man carved from restraint and stone. His dark robes were meticulously arranged with obsessive precision, a signet ring gleaming coldly on his left hand as he lifted his teacup with unhurried deliberation. Everything about him whispered control. His silence spoke louder than most men's desperate words ever could.
Chi Ruyan sat across from him, shoulders tense beneath her crimson outer robe like strings stretched to breaking point. Her painted lips were pressed tight as sealed tombs, her gaze flickering between stubbornness and shame like a candle threatening to extinguish.
Wuwei finally spoke, his tone quiet and almost gentle—but the kind of gentleness that carried frost's killing touch beneath the words.
"Meimei, you've always been far too eager. I've warned you countless times—desire without discipline transforms even the cleverest person into a fool."
He set down his teacup with a soft clink that sounded like a judge's gavel, then looked at her with calm disappointment that cut deeper than anger ever could.
"You rush after him like a common girl chasing through market stalls, and then you wonder—wonder!—why he doesn't even spare you a glance."
Chi Ruyan's fingers curled in her lap until nails drew crescents of blood. She bowed her head, unable to meet his gaze.
"I just... I can't bear to lose him—"
"You never possessed him." His voice remained mild as summer breeze, but the words landed like daggers finding their mark.
Silence settled between them like funeral shrouds. Outside, the wind stirred the tent's flap like a restless spirit seeking escape. Ruyan's breath trembled as if she might break.
"Gege..." she said softly, voice carrying desperate vulnerability. "What if... what if he falls in love with someone else?"
Chi Wuwei's palm struck the table with sudden, explosive violence. The teacups rattled like frightened birds. Ruyan flinched as if struck physically.
"And what of it?" His tone remained smooth as polished jade, but steel had crept underneath like poison in honey. "Love is nothing. Affection is a beggar's dream. You think emotion grants power? You think his heart matters when thrones are at stake?"
Ruyan's heart pounded against her ribs like a caged animal. In her mind, a bitter voice whispered truths she couldn't voice: It does matter. It matters to me more than breath. I can't bear to see him smile at anyone else. The thought burns like acid in my veins.
Wuwei continued with the tone of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student:
"Let him love whomever his childish heart desires. Let him play and sulk and rage like the petulant child he is. You—you—will be queen. You will bear the heir to the Demon Realm itself. That is your purpose. That is the crushing weight you must carry without faltering."
His gaze sharpened to killing edge.
"Unless," he said with dangerous nonchalance, "you've already done something monumentally stupid."
A beat of silence stretched like an executioner's rope. Ruyan looked away, her throat dry as sun-baked earth.
She thought of the poison she'd slipped into Chen Xinyu's meals. Just a drop—just enough to weaken, not to kill, she'd told herself in the dark hours of night. Just enough to make him dependent, vulnerable. But now she couldn't meet her brother's eyes, couldn't bear the weight of his inevitable knowledge.
Wuwei didn't press for confession. He only stood with fluid grace, adjusting the collar of his robe with deliberate precision.
"For now, return to the group. Make yourself appear useful. Speak less. Smile more. And do not embarrass me again with your pathetic displays."
He turned to leave, his presence diminishing like extinguished flame.
At the threshold, he paused—a moment of hesitation that somehow felt worse than any threat.
"Ruyan," he said without looking back, voice carrying across the distance like a curse. "There is still time to become someone worthy of his attention. But not if you keep acting like a lovesick child playing with toys beyond your comprehension."
He stepped out into the wind, leaving cold air in his wake.
Inside the tent, Chi Ruyan sat motionless for an eternal moment, fists clenched against the table's polished wood until her knuckles went white as winter bone. Her carefully drawn brows furrowed deeply as she stared into the tea she hadn't touched—watching her reflection fragment and reform in the liquid mirror.
Then she called, voice tight and trembling with suppressed emotion, "Chao Chao."
A girl entered and bowed low with practiced obedience. "Yes, Madam?"
"Prepare my finest robes," she commanded with renewed steel underlying her words. "We're returning to the group. His Highness may forget my presence, but I won't permit him to cast me aside like disarded shadow."
Her lips curved upward into an expression that wasn't a smile—it was the sharp glint of a blade polished and honed until it could cut through stone itself.
"I will walk beside him again," she whispered to the empty tent. "And next time... I won't falter."
Her fingers brushed against the vial of poison still hidden in her sleeve, and in her eyes burned something darker than despair, colder than frost.