Moonlight spilled over the ruins, the air thick with the stench of blood among the shattered walls.
The caravan guards silently tended to their wounds, cleaned up the aftermath, collected the bodies of their comrades, and took inventory of the damaged goods. The atmosphere was solemn.
Fang Han stood before the collapsed inn, his Cloud Splitting Sword sheathed, his green robes swaying gently in the night wind.
His gaze swept across the devastated inn, finally settling on Lan Yuexin.
She was speaking softly with Chen Qiong, making arrangements.
Though her face was pale and her hair slightly disheveled, her gaze remained steady. She issued commands with a calm certainty, revealing a remarkable resilience.
"Miss Yuexin."
Fang Han stepped forward, his voice even.
"We shouldn't linger. The attackers have retreated, but there's no guarantee they won't return."
