After sneaking out of the infirmary, Haoran made his way back to his private quarters in the Vermilion Bird Wing, hoping to avoid the rush of concerned visitors who would arrive by morning, eager to hear about his “incident.”
Sliding into the familiar warmth of his bed, he tried to quiet his mind, but sleep came uneasily. The attack lingered, and so did Songhe’s unsettling visit. Tiredness, however, won out, and he drifted into restless sleep, plagued by visions of a monstrous spirit.
In the nightmare, he stood before a terrible beast—a shadowed creature with claws like knives and eyes burning like embers. It lunged for his throat. Haoran fought desperately, his blade cleaving through its form until the beast crumbled to pieces. But even in victory, a cold dread clung to him.
A sharp knock jolted him awake, scattering the fragments of the dream like ashes upon the wind. Disoriented, Haoran blinked at the morning light pouring through the window, relief flickering as he realized the horror had been not been real.
The knock came again, firm and insistent, drawing him fully into wakefulness.
Dragging himself up, he opened the door—and froze.
Qiang Huifen stood there with a bundle of dishes. Beside him loomed a figure Haoran had not seen up close in years: Lady Qiang Lian, Huifen’s mother. Her presence filled the doorway, a quiet grandeur that pressed in without effort.
Where He Yu Zōng prided itself on modesty and restraint, Qiang Lian embodied non of it. She carried herself with a regal elegance that stood in quiet defiance of the sect’s understated traditions.
She wore a flowing crimson gown that caught the light with each subtle movement. Her hair glittered with sapphires, delicate pieces winking like drops of frozen sky against her dark hair. There was no mistaking their origin—Hao Yang Sect, her birthplace, a land where wealth was not displayed but assumed.
Qiang Lian bore that legacy without effort.
As the first daughter of Qin Sanglan, her marriage to Qiang Zhenwu had once sent ripples through both sects. She had been a ruthless cultivator then, her name spoken with equal parts respect and caution. Yet she turned from that path, setting aside the climb for something far less understood.
Today, she stood not as the woman she had been, but as a mother. Huifen, frustrated after hearing of the attack, seemed to blame himself, so she accompanied him to the Vermilion Bird Wing to comfort him.
Haoran greeted Lady Qiang Lian with the respect her status commanded, bowing his head deeply. As children, he and Huifen had spent countless hours under her watchful eye, but the years had worn those memories thin, leaving only traces of her elegance and quiet strength.
“Good morning, Haoran.” Her voice was smooth and poised, like a blade wrapped in silk. “It seems you have endured more than your fair share of excitement.” There was no pity in her tone—only a cool acknowledgment of his ordeal.
She studied him for a brief moment, then gave a small nod. A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face; his injuries were not as severe as the rumors had claimed. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered well enough.”
With measured grace, she offered her well-wishes, then turned to Huifen. Her expression softened, if only slightly, as she murmured a few quiet words to her son. Then she departed, her crimson dress trailing behind her like a retreating flame.
Without waiting for an invitation, Huifen stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He urged Haoran toward the bed.
“Sit first,” he said. “You need to rest.”
Haoran obeyed, settling back against the bedpost as Huifen drew close—too close—his eyes narrowing.
“Why did you leave the infirmary?” he asked without preamble, his tone edged with reproach. Before Haoran could answer, he reached forward, his fingers tracing the scar on his neck.
The strange mark deepened his frown. “What happened?” His gaze sharpened.
Haoran hesitated. Songhe’s visit had left him unsettled, the memory of the attack close behind it. He did not want to lie to Huifen, yet the truth felt tangled, too raw to speak again. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I… I went into the Black Wood.”
Huifen’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from concern to shock.
“The Black Wood? Since when are you that desperate to prove yourself?”
The Black Wood stretched east of Songhe’s residence. It was no mere grove, but a place of dread that haunted even the bravest disciples. Tales of its terrors lingered in the sect’s whispers, horrors that had swallowed countless adventurers whole.
Haoran managed a weak smile. “I didn’t get far,” he said softly. “That’s probably why I made it back in one piece.”
Huifen shook his head, clearly troubled. “Reckless, as always. Listen. The time will come for you to enter the Black Wood. When it does, you won’t face it alone. We’ll go together.”
He exhaled, the frustration still lingering, but let the matter drop.
Silence settled.
Huifen reached for the bundle he had carried and unwrapped the dishes, preparing a bowl. He scooped a spoonful and held it out, his voice softening into something rare.
“Now eat. You look as if you could shatter into pieces at any moment.”
Haoran laughed, brushing his hand away with a shake of his head. The gesture caught him off guard, but he was grateful for it. “I’m not that sick, Huifen. I can feed myself.”
They shared a brief laugh, the tension easing, the space between them turning familiar once more. For a moment, the attack and the restless dreams faded.
When the laughter ebbed, silence returned. Haoran broke it before it could settle again, his expression hardening.
“Huifen. Come night hunting with me. Let’s go down the mountain. Just the two of us.”
His voice was steady, but something beneath it reached deeper.
Huifen leaned back, arms crossed, his gaze fixed. He studied Haoran for a long moment, weighing the unrest in his eyes.
“Are you truly unworried about the coming Emergence Trials? Night hunts demand effort, not to mention the risk of injury. Cheng Haoran, should you not be using your free time more wisely?”
Haoran did not flinch. “The trials won’t begin until late spring. We’ve still got time. Besides,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “the whole sect already knows who the next scion will be. So what’s there to worry about?”
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The jab was light, but it struck. Huifen’s eyes narrowed, and a reluctant smile touched his lips.
“The whole sect, save for me.”
Haoran raised a brow, but no answer came. Huifen exhaled, the smile deepening a fraction. “And besides, you’re hardly in condition to go night hunting. You’d only slow me down.”
Haoran chuckled, warm and unguarded. For a heartbeat, the world seemed simple again.
Their eyes met, steady and unguarded.
Then they both laughed, loud and unrestrained. The last of the tension slipped away, their bond settling into something familiar once more.
At last, Huifen sighed, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “Alright, fine. I’ll go night hunting with you. Just the two of us. But only if you rest and recover. You’re no use to anyone looking like this.”
Haoran grinned, his victory unspoken but clear. “Deal.”
With that, Huifen rose and departed, returning to his banner. Haoran remained behind, the air lighter now, carrying the promise of what lay ahead.
* * * * * *
For three days, Cheng Haoran had braced himself for this moment. As he made his way to Songhe’s residence, his mind was a tangled mess of emotions. The memory of his previous visit clung to him like a shadow—the surprise attack, the unbearable pressure of an invisible force pinning him in place, the deep helplessness that followed. No matter how hard he tried, the memory would not loosen its grip.
A spirit.
Haoran, though only at the disciple rank, had faced his fair share of evil in many shapes and sizes. Yet never a spirit. Such beings were as rare as immortals or gods. He had studied them, but the mystery surrounding Elder Songhe’s dark spirit made it impossible for him to form a clear image in his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder: was it as fearsome as the other creatures of malice he had hunted and fought before? Or was there something more to it—something that had earned the Elder’s trust?
The closer he drew to the residence, the more he steeled himself, shaking off the nerves clawing at his resolve. Three nights of restless turning and endless speculation had wrung him dry, but he had resolved to see this through. He would listen to the apology, accept it, and leave.
It would be as straightforward as that.
When he finally arrived, he took a deep breath, forcing calm into his chest. His hand hovered at the door before he pushed it open.
Inside the common room, his gaze instantly fell upon the boy seated at the low table.
The boy—he couldn’t be much older than thirteen, perhaps fourteen—sat with an unnerving calmness, his hands folded loosely in his lap. Haoran’s mind reeled. This was the same child the initiates had found, unconscious and barely clinging to life not so long ago. There was no forgetting such a face.
Now, the boy was sitting upright, his posture relaxed but undeniably poised, as though he had all the time in the world. His clothes, though simple, were clean, the fabric falling in neat folds around him. His hair—amber-red, striking—was brushed back from his face, revealing the delicate angles of his sharp features. There was a peculiar elegance about him, something controlled yet wild beneath the surface.
For a moment, Haoran was at a loss for words as he tried to make sense of it all. The frost-bitten child—how was he the same creature that had attacked him three nights ago?
A spirit? It wasn’t monstrous!
“Cheng Haoran. You have come.”
Songhe’s voice cut through the silence, pulling Haoran’s attention away from Ling Feng. His tone was neutral, but there was an underlying gravity.
“Good. We can settle that matter today.”
Haoran straightened, belatedly realizing the elder’s presence. He bowed in respect.
“Elder Songhe,” he greeted evenly, though his eyes flickered back to the boy. “This is... Ling Feng?”
“Yes,” Songhe confirmed. “He is the one responsible for your injury. He has something to say.”
Haoran’s jaw tightened as memories of the attack surged back. He stared, caught between anger and disbelief. The calm demeanor of the child before him only made it harder to reconcile with the feral, invisible creature that had nearly taken his life.
He had expected something… else.
Ling Feng stood, moving with a grace that made Haoran stiffen instinctively. There was no hesitation, only a calmness that felt out of place given what he had done.
“I…” Ling Feng began, his voice low but steady. His gaze met Haoran’s, held for a breath, then flickered toward Songhe before returning. “I am here to apologize.”
Ling Feng bowed deeply and held the posture.
Haoran’s shoulders tightened. So this was it.
“Why did you attack me?” he asked, his voice tight and clipped. “What was it all for?”
Ling Feng did not rise.
The silence stretched.
Beneath the lowered angle of his head, his breath caught. His hands tightened faintly at his sides before slowly relaxing. For a moment, he remained there, uncertain how to proceed.
At last, he released a quiet breath and straightened.
His gaze moved first to Songhe, a flicker of annoyance passing through his eyes, before returning to Haoran.
“It was never my intention to hurt you the way I did,” he said, his voice carrying the lightness of the child he appeared to be. “At first, I only wanted to frighten you. I wasn’t supposed to be seen, and I thought it would be amusing to play a small trick.”
He paused, his expression tightening slightly.
“But one thing led to another...”
Haoran’s restraint tightened.
“Amusement? That’s it? You nearly killed me. For amusement?”
“Yes...” Ling Feng started, but the word stumbled out too quickly. He faltered, glanced toward Songhe again, then forced out the rest with a crooked, humorless smirk.
“Well, I was also starving.”
Silence settled over the room.
“It wasn’t meant to go so far,” he continued, his voice low. “A taste would have sufficed...”
Songhe’s gaze fell on him like a weight. Ling Feng caught it, stopped, and corrected himself.
“What I mean is—I never intended to take your life. It’s just that your blood was...”
“Ling Feng.” Songhe’s voice cut in—not sharp, but warning. The fox stopped talking.
“What about my blood?” Haoran asked, forcing calm into his voice.
Ling Feng’s jaw tightened. When he met Haoran’s eyes again, something darker flickered there. His voice dropped.
“Your blood is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered, the moment I sipped, I couldn’t stop.”
The words held more fascination than regret.
Haoran narrowed his eyes.
“You... d-drink blood?”
Ling Feng did not deny it.
At length, he spoke again, his voice softer.
“I am sorry I attacked you. It will not happen again.”
He bowed deeply once more.
“Very well. I accept your apology,” Haoran said calmly, a quiet threat threading his voice. “But I refuse to trust you. The hunger in your eyes speaks louder than your words.”
He stepped a fraction closer as Ling Feng straightened.
“If you so much as think about attacking me again—or anyone in He Yu Zong—I will be ready.”
Ling Feng did not flinch as he met the words with silence.
Haoran turned to Songhe, bowing deeply.
“It’s settled, then.”
Songhe nodded.
With that, he turned to leave.
He paused briefly before exiting, not looking back but carrying the weight of the exchange with him. As he stepped into the cold air, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Ling Feng’s apology had only scratched the surface of something deeper and far more dangerous.