The days that followed passed in quiet rhythm — four dawns and four dusks beneath the vast canopy of the endless forest. Each morning, the mist curled low between the trees, and each night, the campfire's glow became their tiny world. Tianlan had begun to walk with something like purpose again, though he did not yet know where the road would lead. Ember trotted alongside him, her limp almost healed, her fur brighter now — a living flame against the dull greens of the forest.
There was a fragile peace between them, a wordless companionship born of shared silence. Tianlan often spoke softly to the air, to fill the void that lingered in his chest, and sometimes to Ember — though she usually pretended not to listen. She would glance at him with that knowing look, her amber eyes gleaming faintly with secrets he could not yet fathom.
The world beyond the mortal veil felt distant still, merely a whisper. Until that night.
The forest was restless. Clouds veiled the moon, and the wind that moved through the branches carried the scent of rain and something metallic — blood. Tianlan's campfire sputtered, struggling against the damp air. He sat close to it, roasting a few mushrooms and strips of dried meat, while Ember lay curled beside him, tail flicking idly.
A sound cut through the stillness.
It was faint — the snap of a twig, followed by a heavy, staggering breath. Tianlan froze, his hand instinctively moving toward the small knife at his belt. Ember's ears twitched, her gaze turning toward the darkness beyond the trees.
Then, from the shadows, she appeared.
A girl stumbled into the faint circle of firelight — bloodied, pale, her robes torn and clinging to her form. The once-silver fabric was streaked with crimson, and her long black hair hung in damp strands across her face. For a heartbeat, Tianlan thought she was a spirit — some vengeful shade of the forest. But then she looked at him, and he saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the faint tremor in her hands as she struggled to remain standing.
Her beauty struck him like cold moonlight.
She was young, perhaps only a few years older than he was, but there was something timeless in her bearing — an elegance that did not belong to this world. Her face was delicate yet unyielding, the soft curve of her lips contrasting with the sharpness of her gaze. Her eyes were a pale silver, like frost reflecting starlight, and within them lingered both pride and grief. A faint glow seemed to cling to her skin, as though she carried the moon's own light within her.
Tianlan rose slowly. "Are you—?"
"Stay back," she said, her voice quiet but edged with authority. Even wounded, she spoke like one used to command.
He stopped where he stood. The girl's breath came uneven, her right arm pressed tightly against her side to stem the bleeding. For a moment, neither spoke — only the rain beginning to fall through the leaves, soft and cold.
"I'm not here to harm you," Tianlan said carefully. "You're injured. Let me help—"
"Do not touch me," she interrupted, her tone calm but final. "Tend to your fire, mortal. My wounds are my own concern."
The word mortal caught him off guard. He blinked, confused. Mortal? As if she were something else entirely.
Still, he could not just stand there. "You'll bleed out if you don't treat that properly. There's a stream nearby, I can—"
Her eyes flicked toward him — cold, assessing. "I said no." Then she turned away, limping past the edge of the camp, disappearing behind a curtain of wet leaves.
Ember rose slightly, watching her go with unblinking eyes. For a moment, Tianlan hesitated, torn between concern and caution. But something in her tone — the quiet weight of it — made him stay where he was.
He sighed, sinking back down beside the fire. "What a strange woman…" he murmured.
Ember only huffed softly, her gaze following the girl's fading trail.
Beyond the trees, the wounded girl knelt by a pool of water, her reflection trembling beneath the drizzle. She peeled away the blood-soaked cloth from her arm, wincing as the air touched the raw wound. A faint shimmer of spiritual energy gathered around her palm — pale silver light that pulsed softly as she pressed it against the injury. The bleeding slowed, then ceased, though her expression remained cold and distant.
Foolish. I overestimated myself again.
The thought echoed in her mind, bitter and sharp. She had sought to challenge a Foundation Establishment stage beast — a mid-tier one, she had believed. But what awaited her had been far more — a late-stage beast, its strength crushing hers like the weight of a mountain. Even with her blade and her cultivation, she had barely escaped, forced to use the last of her father's treasures — the Moonlight Jade Pendant — to slip away in a burst of light.
Now, that treasure was gone. And she was left broken, humiliated, her pride shattered among the ruins of her purpose.
Her name was Yuexian Mingyue — Immortal Grace of the Bright Moon. Once, she had belonged to a small but proud clan nestled near the Celestial Ridge. That clan was now ash, devoured by flame and ambition. Her family's blood had painted the stones of their ancestral home, and she alone had survived. From that day, her heart had turned to steel, her path set in cold vengeance.
Two years. Two long years wandering this wilderness, pushing her cultivation to its limits. Yet she could not break through the barrier — the elusive step from late Qi Refining to Foundation Establishment. Pills could have forced it, but she refused them. Power bought without struggle was fragile. And fragile things could not avenge the dead.
Now, her arrogance had left her half-dead, in the domain of beasts and ghosts — and somehow, she had stumbled upon a mortal.
A mortal, here.
She closed her eyes, the faintest trace of disbelief crossing her features. Impossible. This region crawled with Foundation Establishment beasts; even lesser creatures could tear an ordinary human apart within moments. Yet that young man had sat calmly by his fire, speaking as though he had merely been camping in some quiet wood.
How has he survived? she wondered. Luck, perhaps. Or foolishness.
But there had been something in his eyes — not fear, but gentleness. A rare thing in this cruel world.
Mingyue's fingers tightened briefly around her arm. It doesn't matter. I have no time for mortals or their kindness.
She rose quietly, her long hair clinging to her back, dark as the night sky. The rain had stopped. Her reflection rippled in the water — pale face, bloodied robes, eyes that no longer belonged to the innocent girl she once was.
The moon broke through the clouds above, its light falling upon her like a blessing and a curse.
When she returned to the camp, Tianlan had dozed lightly by the fire, his cloak draped over his shoulders. Ember looked up as Mingyue approached, her fur bristling faintly but her eyes calm. The fox's gaze met the girl's — a brief, silent exchange that carried more understanding than words could.
Mingyue seated herself near the edge of the clearing, not asking permission, merely existing as though the forest itself yielded to her presence.
Tianlan stirred and sat up, blinking sleepily. "You're back… I was worried."
She gave no reply.
He hesitated, then smiled faintly. "At least rest by the fire. It's warmer here."
Still no response. Yet after a few moments, she shifted slightly closer — not enough to suggest acceptance, but enough that the warmth touched her face.
They sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling softly between them. Finally, Mingyue spoke, her tone even.
"What are you doing here, mortal?"
Tianlan blinked. "What do you mean?"
"This forest is not a place for humans like you," she said, eyes half-lidded, her voice as calm as moonlight. "Beasts of Foundation Establishment level roam these woods. Even cultivators avoid them." Her gaze flicked briefly to Ember. "How have you survived so long?"
Tianlan scratched his neck awkwardly. "Well… we haven't seen any fierce beasts. Just deer, rabbits, a few boars. Nothing dangerous."
For a moment, something unreadable passed through her expression — disbelief, almost amusement. Ember, meanwhile, rolled her eyes in a distinctly human gesture and turned her head away, her tail flicking irritably.
Rabbits and deer, he says. The fox thought, half-exasperated. If not for my aura keeping those creatures at bay, you'd have been torn apart a dozen times over.
But she said nothing. Her pride would not allow it.
Mingyue regarded Tianlan in silence for a moment longer. His tone was honest, almost naive, and there was no trace of cultivation in his presence. Just a mortal — a fragile being who somehow had walked unscathed through a land that devoured strength.
"You truly are… a strange one," she murmured, mostly to herself.
He smiled faintly, mistaking her words for curiosity. "I could say the same about you. You appeared out of nowhere, half-dead, calling me mortal like it's an insult."
Mingyue's eyes met his — cold silver against warm brown. "It is not an insult. It is what you are."
He frowned slightly. "And what are you, then?"
Her gaze softened, though only barely. "Someone who walks a different path."
The flames flickered between them, and for a moment, Tianlan saw not arrogance in her eyes, but sorrow — deep, unhealed sorrow buried beneath layers of pride. He wanted to ask more, but the look she gave him silenced him before he could speak.
The night stretched long and quiet.
Ember lay beside Tianlan again, eyes half-closed, tail curling protectively near the fire. Mingyue sat still as a statue, her profile illuminated by the soft glow of the embers. There was an otherworldly grace to her — the kind of beauty that belonged not to flesh and blood but to legends whispered beneath the moon.
And yet, behind that beauty was fragility — a girl who had walked too long in darkness, who bore the weight of vengeance on shoulders too slender for the burden.
The forest wind stirred, carrying the scent of damp earth and rain. The fire crackled, and somewhere far away, the howl of a beast echoed through the night.
Tianlan glanced once at Mingyue, her face calm in the firelight, her silver eyes distant.
He did not know that beside him sat a cultivator whose name once echoed across distant valleys — nor that the faint shimmer of moonlight that brushed her skin came from spiritual energy barely suppressed beneath her wounded flesh.
To him, she was just a girl — wounded, proud, and alone.
To her, he was just a mortal — fragile, fleeting, and strange.
Yet fate had bound them beneath the same sky, and the embers of that meeting would not fade easily.