I fastened the last cloth button, my fingers trembling slightly.
Lu Jiuxuan didn't look at me; he stood with his back to me by the wall, gripping that sword in his hand. The sword was stuck in a brick crevice, and he was leaning on the Sword Hilt, his shoulders extremely tense. That burst of wild Sword Qi earlier had caused a backlash, and he had blocked most of the recoil for me. Now he couldn't even stand steadily, yet he was stubbornly holding himself up.
There was movement outside the temple.
First, a rustling, like Withered Leaf being crushed underfoot, followed by Footsteps—not many, but steady—circling the Ruined Temple. Firelight seeped through the window paper, yellow and flickering, casting moving Shadows against the wall, as if someone were pressing against the window, peering inside.
“Hey, kid inside!” The voice was rough, laced with suppressed malice. “Have you seen a Wandering Girl? Seventeen or eighteen, black hair, a Copper Ring on her left ear—she’s injured, can’t have gone far!”
My throat tightened, and I instinctively wanted to answer.
But before the words left my mouth, Lu Jiuxuan suddenly turned, crossed the distance in one stride to stand in front of me, grabbed the back of my Neck, and pressed down.
Our lips met.
It wasn't soft; it was cold, dry, and tasted faintly of Rust. He didn't stop. Spiritual Power seeped in through the gap between our lips, like a thin thread sliding down my throat, wrapping around my Vocal Cords. My whole body went numb, and I wanted to pull back, but he held me fast.
“Don’t struggle,” he squeezed the words in against my lips, almost inaudible. “The Spirit Flow is about to break.”
I understood.
He couldn't hold on much longer. He couldn't draw another talisman; this was the only way to suppress my voice. That kiss just now wasn't taking advantage; it was saving my life.
I gritted my teeth and raised a hand to press against my own throat, cooperating with the downward pressure of that Spiritual Flow. My Vocal Cords were forcibly stretched tight, as if a string was being twisted several times by hand. Taking another breath, my voice had already sunk low, no longer the clear tone of a Young Girl, but the hoarseness of a boy going through puberty.
He sensed the change and his fingers loosened for a moment, but he didn't pull away.
Someone shouted again from outside: “Is anyone in there? The Cult Leader has ordered that anyone harboring a fugitive shares the same guilt!”
I opened my mouth and replied in that suppressed voice: “Haven’t seen anyone.”
When the sound came out, I myself was stunned. It was rough, as if ground by sandpaper, so low it was almost inaudible, but it was definitely a male voice.
Silence outside for a few seconds.
“Why is the door locked?”
“Who would be staying in a Ruined Temple? It probably collapsed long ago.”
“Check it out.”
Footsteps approached the door panel, the Firelight pressed closer and brighter, and two Shadows, one tall and one short, both carrying blades, were projected onto the window paper.
Lu Jiuxuan still hadn't retreated; we were still very close. His breath brushed my face, short and rapid, and cold sweat trickled down his temple, dripping onto my neck. I knew he couldn't last long; his Spiritual Power was already depleted. That kiss just now was an overdraft.
“If they ask again, just say ‘they just left,’” he whispered close to my ear, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Say they went east.”
I nodded.
The door panel was kicked once, shaking dust down from the rafters.
“Open the door!”
I cleared my throat and shouted in the new voice: “They just left! Headed toward the Woods in the east! Wearing a Grey Robe!”
Silence outside for two seconds.
“East? That leads to the Cliff.”
“Never mind that, chase them!”
The Footsteps turned, the Firelight moved away, and a circle of figures hurried eastward. Quiet returned outside the temple, leaving only the wind whistling through the broken window.
Lu Jiuxuan finally let go, stepped back half a pace, and slid down against the wall. He raised a hand to wipe his mouth; his fingertips were bloody. His lip was split, I couldn't tell if from biting or the Backlash injury.
I stared at him, unmoving.
He gasped, glanced up at me once, then quickly averted his gaze.
“The talisman… can only mask aura, not sound,” he explained, every word labored. “Just now… it was unavoidable.”
I looked down at my own cuff; a patch of Herb Ash had stained it. I brushed it off, looked up, and said, “Tell me next time beforehand.”
He froze, and the tips of his ears slowly turned red.
“This isn’t… that kind of thing,” his voice dropped. “It’s required by the Technique.”
“Mm, Technique,” I sat down beside him, not too close, not too far. “So what do you need now? To catch your breath? Or stop the bleeding?”
He didn't reply, only pulled the sword from the brick crevice and re-sheathed it in his belt. The movement was slow, and his hands shook violently.
I reached out to support his arm: “Can you walk?”
He nodded, pushed off the ground to stand, but his knees buckled, and he nearly fell to his knees. I quickly grabbed his Shoulder, using the leverage to pull him up. He stabilized himself, didn't shake me off, nor did he say thank you, but merely took one step forward and stopped.
“The Barrier… is at the Academy Gate,” he said. “Go through the back mountain path; you can make it before dawn. The Barrier recognizes the aura of an Academy Disciple; the Shadow-Concealing Talisman you have will last for Half an Incense Stick's Time.”
I touched my forehead; a dried blood streak remained there from when he drew the talisman earlier. The talisman had taken effect, suppressing my Demonic Qi, but the Pendant pressed against my chest, feeling slightly hot, as if it were absorbing something.
“What about you?” I asked. “Can you hold out until then?”
He didn't answer, just lifted his foot and walked forward.
He kicked the temple door open, and the night wind rushed in. It was pitch black outside; the Woods looked as if ink had been spilled over them, and the distant mountain shadows pressed against the clouds, obscuring the path.
We entered the Woods, one after the other.
Our steps made soft sounds on the Withered Leaves. He walked ahead of me, his back swaying, but he didn't stop. I stared at the Silver Hair tied at the back of his head, blown flat against the side of his neck by the night wind, wet—I couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood.
The Half an Incense Stick's Time was almost up.
The talisman on my forehead began to feel hot, like a dying ember. But the heat from the Pendant was rising, spreading from my chest to my fingertips, as if collecting some residual aura—Demonic Qi? Killing Intent? Or perhaps the tracking Imprint left by that group just now?
I remained silent, just tucking the hem of my robe inward.
Mist began to rise from the depths of the Woods, white and creeping along the ground. Lu Jiuxuan’s pace slowed, his hand resting on the Sword Hilt, his breathing growing heavier. The Cloth Strip on his left Shoulder was soaked with blood, dripping down his sleeve and leaving a trail of dark spots on the Withered Leaves.
“You can’t go on,” I caught up a step and reached out to support his arm.
He shook his arm once, but I didn't let go.
“Don’t slow us down,” he said. “Just two more *li*… and we’ll reach the Barrier Stone Tablet.”
“You’re about to collapse.”
“I can walk.”
“You can walk my foot,” I reached out and hooked my arm around his Shoulder. “Stop playing the tough guy; you were almost kneeling earlier. If you keep pushing it, both of us will end up as wolf feed.”
He gritted his teeth and stopped struggling.
We changed positions; I half-carried him forward. He was a head taller than me and incredibly heavy; every step made my shoulder ache. But he didn't push me away again, nor did he say, “I’m fine.” He just took a step forward and paused.
The fog grew thicker, making the path unclear.
Suddenly, he stopped dead.
“Someone’s here,” he murmured.
I held my breath.
Between the tree shadows ahead stood a Stone Tablet, half-buried in the earth, inscribed with the four characters for “Academy Barrier,” the writing blurred. A figure stood before the tablet, back to us, clad in a Black Robe, holding a lamp.
The lamp was extinguished.
But there was a Crack on the Lamp Base, as if struck by something hard.
My Heartbeat sank.
That was a Soul Devouring Lamp.
Situ Lie’s lamp.
But the figure didn't move, utterly still, as if dead, or perhaps waiting.
Lu Jiuxuan’s hand slowly moved toward the Sword Hilt.
I lowered my voice: “Don’t move. It might be bait.”
He didn't listen and took another step forward.
The Black-Robed Person slowly turned around.
The face was empty.
No features, just a sheet of ashen white, like paper burned by fire molded into a face.
Lu Jiuxuan raised his hand, the sword drawn three inches from its sheath.
That face suddenly split open with a seam, like a mouth, emitting a hoarse sound:
“She… has returned.”