That morning, the world woke as if still half-dreaming.
The air, usually crisp with dawn's dew, now felt like a cold thread slipping into the bone. Birds scattered from the sect's rooftops, not in random flight—but all toward the same direction.
A direction no one would willingly follow.
Yan Zhi stood by the window, eyes narrowing. The tree's shadow in the courtyard stretched toward the east, though the sun had just risen from the southwest. He drew a long breath, trying to dismiss the unease gnawing at his chest.
Lack of sleep… that's all.
But this morning, the world felt like it was looking back at him.
---
In the training yard, a few young disciples ran across the stone tiles. One of them—a girl—glanced his way and smiled. It was too calm a smile. Too unfamiliar. Her gaze rooted him in place, and in the reflection of her eyes… a dark corridor pulsed faintly.
The same corridor from his dreams.
Yan Zhi looked down at once, pretending to adjust the sash of his robe. Yet the vein along his arm throbbed harder, as though it had recognized something. From afar, he caught the faint sound—tap… tap… tap—not from footsteps on the ground, but from inside the chest of another laughing disciple.
---
By midday, his shadow began to feel… delayed.
When he raised a hand, the shadow followed a heartbeat later. Sometimes, it even moved farther—reaching for something just beyond his sight.
In the supply hall, an elder stopped speaking mid-sentence. His eyes went blank for a moment, then he smiled faintly, shook his head, and continued as if nothing had happened.
But Yan Zhi knew—in that pause, the world had gone silent. Even his own breathing had vanished.
---
Toward evening, he walked alone along the corridor. Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of black cloth darted at the far end—always in the same direction. His arm pulsed; cold crept up the back of his neck. And then the voice came again, not through his ears, but inside his head:
"You've seen me now. You won't get away."
He froze, swallowing hard. His heartbeat no longer matched its rhythm; it was trying to fall in step with the hollow knocking of bone that came from every direction at once.
---
Night fell. Lanterns along the hall swayed without wind. Shadows on the walls began to widen, cracking open like fractured glass. Through those gaps, cold air seeped in, carrying the scent of iron and damp earth.
And there—behind the crack—he saw it. Not the whole figure, only fragments: the hem of a black robe, a pale hand with fingers too long, and something that seemed to… smile, though it had no face.
Before the crack sealed shut, the voice whispered, slow and deliberate:
"You think I only wait there? I've been walking behind you since yesterday."
---
Yan Zhi blinked—
and found himself already inside his room. His chest rose and fell sharply.
The door was slightly ajar… just like two nights ago.
But this time, from inside the room, he heard it—breathing.
Cold.
Close.
---