By the time the mist lifted from Xianxiu Peak, the courtyard of Jingshou Sect was already stirring with movement.Disciples gathered in muted lines, carrying satchels, talismans, and bundles of supplies. The chill air shimmered faintly with spiritual light as the departure formation was drawn upon the ground.
Wei Jingyan and Zhou Qingrong stood near the steps, both robed in traveling colors — Jingyan's posture composed, Qingrong's expression more solemn than usual.Before them, Lin Wuyue gave her final instructions to the six disciples chosen for escort — all young, disciplined, faces tight with a mixture of fear and pride.
"Maintain the formation," she told them quietly. "If you sense a disturbance, close ranks at once. Do not draw talismans without order."
They nodded in unison. Her calm steadiness steadied them in turn.
Ling Xiuyuan stood at the head of the small company, robes flowing dark and clean, the sword Qinglan at his side once more.
Nie Xiaohuan stood at the gate, eyes lowered but unblinking.
Just then, at the far side of the courtyard where the servants' path curved beneath the pines, Mingyue stood.
Xiuyuan's stride shortened. He walked across the polished stones without haste, the others parting silently to let him pass. When he stopped before Mingyue, the noise, the clatter of harness, the soft murmur of the company — all of it seemed to fall away.
He spoke simply. "Would you come with me?"
Mingyue blinked once, the calm on his face not quite masking a small surprise. "If Shizun asks…" he began, voice barely more than a breath.
"Then come with me," Xiuyuan said, and the tone held no room for refusal — not harshly, only as a tether offered and taken.
Mingyue bowed, placing his bundle aside. "Yes, Shizun."
A hush ran through the small group. Wei Jingyan gave a quick, appraising look.
The company fell into order: Wei Jingyan and Zhou Qingrong moved to flank the leader, Lin Wuyue fell into command over the six disciples, and Mingyue took a place a little behind Xiuyuan, as if by instinct.
Nie Xiaohuan watched them mount and form. His hands were clenched for a moment; then he let them fall, bowing low to the receding figures. "Please return safely, Shizun," he murmured again, to sky and stone and to whatever unseen thing kept accounts of vows.
The caravan began its descent along the mountain path. Horses' hooves struck soft against the stone road; disciples walked in pairs behind the elders. The forest that wrapped around Xianxiu's slopes rustled with wind, the leaves whispering as though offering a farewell.
Mingyue rode a little behind, his expression serene as ever. Every so often, Xiuyuan's gaze drifted toward him, then away again — a glance both habit and something more fragile. Wei Jingyan broke the silence, voice low and wry. "It's strange, isn't it, Shixiong? Leaving Xianxiu again after so long."
Xiuyuan's reply was soft. "Perhaps it was time."
Lin Wuyue, riding at the company's flank, looked toward the cloudy horizon. "Tianyin lies west of the Nine Ridge Mountains. If we keep pace, we'll reach their border by nightfall tomorrow."
Zhou Qingrong nodded. "They say the disturbance began near their northern training valley. A place once used for night meditation, now abandoned."
A pause — the kind that falls when everyone remembers the gravity of what they face.
"Do we know what kind of presence it is?" Wei Jingyan asked.
"Only that it frightened even their inner disciples," Lin Wuyue said quietly. "The sect leader's letter called it a 'shadow with no shape.'"
The road curved into a narrow pass, cliffs rising on either side like gray ribs. Mist hung thick between the rocks, muffling sound and light alike.
Mingyue turned his head slightly. "It feels colder here."
"It's the wind from the western peaks," Xiuyuan said. Yet even he could sense it — not simply chill, but a heaviness that clung to the lungs, an echo that seemed to follow each step.
A raven cried somewhere in the mist, wings flashing once, then vanishing.
As the company pressed onward, night approached faster than it should have. The air dimmed; the road narrowed into a ribbon of silence.
By nightfall, the road turned pale with fog. The horses could no longer see the path, their hooves hesitating on the stones. Lin Wuyue called softly from behind, "Shizun, the way ahead is unclear. We should rest."
Ling Xiuyuan reined in his horse and nodded. "We stop here for the night."
They found a clearing between two low ridges where the trees thinned and the stars could be seen faintly through drifting mist. The disciples unpacked supplies, set down blankets, and started a small fire. Its glow spread like amber across their faces, pushing the cold back by an inch.
Wei Jingyan soon drew the younger disciples into laughter. He sat cross-legged near the flames, gesturing animatedly as he told them stories from his early cultivation years — about a spirit beast that had stolen his boots and how he'd chased it barefoot through the mountains. The disciples laughed so hard they nearly dropped their bowls.
Zhou Qingrong, seated beside Ling Xiuyuan at the edge of the firelight, smiled faintly. "He always finds a way to make others forget they're frightened."
Xiuyuan watched the circle of warmth in silence. The laughter seemed far away, like an echo of a world he'd once known.
After a pause, Zhou Qingrong glanced at him. "It's good to see them laugh again, isn't it?"
He didn't answer at once. His gaze remained fixed on the firelight flickering across the disciples' faces. "It is," he said finally — the words quiet, measured.
When Mingyue appeared from the shadows, carrying a flask of hot water, Zhou Qingrong noticed at once. She rose, brushing the dust from her robe. "I'll see what mischief Jingyan's telling now," she said lightly, and went to join the others, her laughter mixing with theirs.
Mingyue approached slowly. The fire painted his face in soft gold, his expression calm yet uncertain. "Shizun," he said, kneeling to pour water into a cup. "You haven't eaten much."
"I'm not hungry."
"Still," Mingyue murmured, "it's cold. You should drink something warm."
Xiuyuan accepted the cup. Their hands brushed briefly — a fleeting touch, yet Mingyue drew his own hand back too quickly, eyes lowering. The faintest flush touched his cheeks.
Xiuyuan noticed. He said nothing, only watched the rippling surface of the tea. "You're not used to travel, are you?"
"I am," Mingyue said quietly. "But I've never gone this far from Jingshou Peak."
"Then rest early. There's a long road still."
"Yes, Shizun." He hesitated, as though to speak again, but the words dissolved into the still air.
For a moment, only the crackle of the fire filled the silence. The mist had lifted just enough for the stars to appear — faint and scattered. Xiuyuan looked at them, his expression unreadable.
When Mingyue turned to leave, Xiuyuan's voice stopped him. "Mingyue."
He looked back, startled. "Yes, Shizun?"
Xiuyuan studied him for a long moment. The firelight caught in his eyes — something uncertain, searching. "Do you ever dream?"
Mingyue blinked, confused by the question. "Sometimes," he said after a pause. "But I don't remember them when I wake."
"I see."
There was no smile, no further word. Xiuyuan turned his gaze back to the stars, and Mingyue bowed slightly before retreating into the dark.
When he was gone, Xiuyuan lifted the cup once more. The tea had cooled, but he drank it anyway — its faint bitterness grounding him. His pulse beat softly beneath the silence.
The fire dwindled to embers.
Above them, the night sky stretched endlessly, vast and unfeeling.