AN LING QI (安泠岐)

  Day 26, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Shuishang Province, Huadu Sect

  Fresh blood is difficult to clean. Dried blood is worse. I had to assist Chen Yahui; though she was cured of the disease, her body remained weak, and she trembled with each movement.

  Perhaps because we were both still processing the trauma of the previous day, we spoke little. Our only exchanges concerned the logistics of replicating and distributing the cure, given that my blood was a necessary component.

  We spent most of the remaining daylight in silence, scrubbing the walls and floors. Blood had soaked into every surface—albeit it was mostly mine, spilled during her repeated attempts to push the bowl away. We made countless trips between the hut and the nearby stream, carrying cloths soaked in red-tinged water.

  Eventually, night fell. I carried out the final bucket of dirty water and tipped it onto the forest floor. My wet hands wiped absently across the front of my robe. Fireflies drifted around me, their glow illuminating the peach blossoms in full bloom. I caught a faint glimpse of my reflection in the rippling surface of the bucket. It was difficult to believe what had happened only hours earlier.

  And of everything that occurred, the only moment I could identify as emotion was when I shouted Chen Yahui’s name. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I simply...didn’t know what it was to feel.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Hmm.

  I turned to head back.

  A grey haze had crept into view, distorting the moonlight and softening the outlines of the trees. I raised my right hand and swept the smoke aside with a gust of magic. Through the thinning mist, I caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure fleeing into the peach blossom grove.

  I dropped the bucket and summoned a weapon, tracing the characters yuèdāo (月刀) in the air. A white dart shimmered into existence at my fingertips. I launched it toward the rogue.

  A grunt sounded in the distance. The dart had found its target.

  I recalled it and conjured a spirit wind. The rogue staggered, their footing lost as the wind closed in. They planted their sword into the ground for stability and coughed violently but still managed to raise the blade and slash their palms. They pressed their bloodied hands to the earth, smearing it deliberately.

  They were forming a portal.

  I teleported to them as the blood marks began to glow. The first sign of a successful cast. The figure vanished just as I reached them.

  I knelt by the blood-stained ground. The formation was single-use and required a cultivation level of at least six. They had been struck by my moon dart, and their cultivation palace would deteriorate without treatment. The portal ensured a quick escape.

  But the question remained: Who would risk sneaking into my domain under nightfall?

  It had been a long time since anyone dared attack me so directly.

  Then again, this hadn’t really been an attack.

  I stood up.

  And the answer revealed itself.

  Governess Pan’s body rested on the ground. Her hands were folded neatly over her chest, and small white flowers had been tucked along her hairline.