Lǐ Yúnzhōu didn't move with the grace of a master. He moved because he had to. He stepped into the path of the blow, his own boots skidding on the loose volcanic grit, and caught Lei Ze's fist. The impact didn't just ring; it traveled up Lǐ Yúnzhōu's radius bone, a dull, jarring thud that made his elbow ache instantly.
He shoved the boy's arm wide, his own breathing coming out in a sharp, unintended grunt.
"Lei Ze, stop this!" Lán Tíng's voice was a ragged edge, stripped of its usual clarity. She looked small against the backdrop of the cooling basalt, her hands hovering near her throat as if she were trying to physically hold her own heart in place.
"How could you?" Lei Ze's voice was a wet rasp. It sounded like he'd been swallowing glass. The black veins on his neck were still swollen, but the initial violent tension was leaving his frame, replaced by a heavy, slumped exhaustion. Tears cut through the soot and ash on his face, making pale, ugly streaks down to his jaw.
"I trusted you. Everything. You looked at me and you lied. You told me you didn't know where the smoke came from." He didn't sound like a demonic threat anymore. He sounded like a tired, hurt animal.
Yáng Zhàn stood a few paces back, his boots crunching rhythmically on the dry earth. He didn't hide his satisfaction behind a mask. He watched the boy's shoulders shake, his eyes tracing the flickers of dark energy with a cold, professional interest. He was already calculating the weight of those cores, wondering how much strain that young, brittle spine could take before it snapped.
Jìng Xū didn't try to wipe the blood from his mouth. He stood there, his robes torn and coated in a fine layer of gray ash. He took a step forward, his knee clicking loudly in the silence. He didn't raise his hands. He just offered his chest, the fabric of his inner tunic visible through the rips.
"If my death is what you need, then take it. Kill me," Jìng Xū said. His voice was flat, the sound of a man who had run out of excuses. "I thought... I thought the secret was a wall. I thought it would keep the wind off you."
A sudden, hot surge of dark Qi scorched the air between them. It smelled like singed hair. "For my safety? No," Lei Ze spat. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing the soot further. "You did it for the shame. You didn't want to look at the mess you made."
Lǐ Yúnzhōu reached out, his fingers twitching as he went to touch the boy's shoulder. Lei Ze flinched back so hard he nearly tripped over a jagged rock. The rejection was physical, a sharp divide that made Lǐ Yúnzhōu's hand drop heavily to his side. Jìng Xū went quiet then, his skin turning a sickly, translucent gray.
"I'm never coming back," Lei Ze said. The heat in his voice was gone, replaced by a flat, metallic chill. He turned his back on them, his gaze fixing on a spot on the horizon where the heat haze made the mountains look like they were vibrating.
"Lei Ze, think about what you're saying," Lǐ Yúnzhōu said. He felt the grit in his own mouth, the dry, alkaline taste of the valley.
"I'm going to the Northern Lands. I'm going to find the man who started this. I'm done with the sects. I'm done with all of you."
He didn't wait for a reply. He kicked off the ground, a clumsy, forceful ascent that sent a spray of dirt over Lán Tíng's boots. She screamed his name, her voice echoing flatly off the canyon walls, but he was already a dark, receding smudge against the bruised purple of the sky. She tried to jump after him, but two other disciples grabbed her by the elbows, their grip bruising her skin.
"Let him go," Lǐ Yúnzhōu muttered. He watched the sky until his eyes burned from the glare. "He's on his own path now. God help him."
Jìng Xū didn't look up. He turned and began the long flight back toward the Green Pine Sect, his posture hunched, his movements slow and mechanical, like a clock that had been wound too tight and finally broke its internal gears.
Across the clearing, Yáng Zhàn signaled his followers. "This is the start of the rot, Jìng Xū," he whispered, the words lost to the wind. He rose into the air with his disciples, leaving the valley to the heat and the dead.
Lǐ Yúnzhōu watched them go, his hand clenching into a fist until his knuckles turned white and the tendons in his forearm throbbed. "You'll pay for the theater, Yáng Zhàn. I'll see to it."
By the time the last of the Green Pine disciples took flight, the valley was empty. The only sound was the rhythmic, distant thud of the volcano and the hiss of cooling lava.
The central hall of the Green Pine Sect felt like a tomb. The air was thick with the smell of old incense and damp stone. Jìng Xū sat in his high chair, but he didn't look like a leader. He sat with his head buried in his palms, his fingers digging into his scalp as if he were trying to physically press the memories out of his brain.
Lǐ Yúnzhōu stood before the gathered elders. His legs ached from the flight, and his voice was grit-dry. "We have to be more vigilant. The Jīn Yàn Sect isn't just competing anymore. They're dismantling us. With the other continents in ruins, we're the only target left. They'll come from the flanks, from the trade routes, from everywhere."
"Lord Elder," a junior official asked, his voice wavering. He was nervously twisting a loose thread on his sleeve. "What about the boy? What about Lei Ze?"
Lǐ Yúnzhōu looked at a crack in the floorboards. "Lei Ze is alive. He's walking. That's all we can say." He didn't want to talk about the black energy or the way the boy's eyes had looked. He wanted to focus on the grain stores, the town influence, the things that didn't involve souls tearing apart.
"What about the Grand Tournament?" someone else called out.
Lǐ Yúnzhōu paced, his boots echoing sharply on the wood. "Weeks away. Ten students. But with Mò Zhàn staying in the region, the Jīn Yàn Sect has a hammer we can't match. If Lei Ze were here... maybe. Now? It's a slaughter."
Lán Tíng stepped forward. Her eyes were rimmed with red, the skin puffy and raw, but the shaking in her hands had stopped. She looked at Lǐ Yúnzhōu with a terrifying, blank resolve. The sorrow had hardened into something cold and jagged in her gut.
"I'll do it," she said. Her voice didn't echo; it hit the walls like a stone. "I'll face Mò Zhàn. I'll be the one to pay him back for the brothers he broke. He doesn't deserve the air he breathes."
Wèi reached out, his fingers catching her forearm in a panic. "Lán Tíng, look at the reality! That guy is a freak. You can't take him. You'll just get crushed."
She jerked her arm away, the movement so sharp her sleeve hissed. "I don't care about winning. I want him to lose. Even if it costs me my life, I'm taking a piece of him with me."
"Lán Tíng, that's suicide. You want to die?"
"If it's for my brother, then yes," she snapped, her jaw set so hard her teeth ground together.
Lǐ Yúnzhōu raised a hand. The room went quiet, save for the sound of a distant shutter banging in the wind. He looked at Lán Tíng and saw the same fire that had consumed Lei Ze. It was a waste of a good life, but he didn't have many options left.
"Lán Tíng... if you're set on this, you won't sleep. You won't eat without training. Every second for the next few weeks will be a struggle. I will break you before Mò Zhàn gets the chance, just to see if you can be put back together."
"I crave it, Lord," she said, her voice flat.
She bowed—a stiff, awkward motion that lacked any of her usual grace—and walked out of the hall. She didn't look back at the elders or the disciples. She was alone now. If she wanted to survive a monster like Mò Zhàn, she knew she had to stop being a disciple and start being a weapon. Her shoulder throbbed where Wèi had grabbed her, a small, nagging pain she welcomed. It was something real to focus on.