The sun stood high and proud, unwavering in a cloudless sky, casting golden spears through the tree canopy that draped the makeshift camp in patterns of dappled light. Canvas tents billowed gently in the mid-morning breeze, their flaps tied open to let in the freshness of day. Here and there, warriors sharpened their blades or tended to their steeds, and the occasional clink of iron on stone rang through the clearing. ~
Li Wuji sat outside his tent upon a woven reed mat, a bowl of broth steaming before him on a flat stone. The sunlight glinted upon the surface of the soup, illuminating the tender chunks of beef that bobbed and swayed with each breath of wind. He lifted the bowl slowly, sipping in measured silence, letting the flavor anchor him to the moment.
His gaze remained distant—fixed not on any one thing, but beyond the trees, into the mist of memory and intention.
"It is unbecoming that the beast continues to elude me... Yet the core still resides within its cadaver. The fault is mine to cleanse."
He chewed thoughtfully, teeth grinding through sinew. From the outside, his face was unreadable, as if carved from old stone. Yet within, plans whirled like storm winds.
The stillness broke.
"Brother Yang!" a voice called, light and familiar, brimming with a kind of easy enthusiasm.
Chi Tang was approaching, the sun catching the embroidery on his robe—a design of plum blossoms twined with phoenix feathers. He stepped lively, his arms crossed behind him in a half-mocking formality. "How fares your constitution? Yuan Yi spoke highly of her remedies."
Li Wuji lifted his eyes but did not stand. He inclined his head in greeting. "My injuries are no longer of concern," he said evenly. "Today I seek the item that will allow me to drive out the demons lurking in these woods. I shall not waste the sun's strength."
Chi Tang paused, visibly taken aback. His eyes narrowed just a hair, the mirth fading into intrigue. He speaks with the finality of a death sentence, Chi Tang thought. Not the tone of one merely boasting.
"I misjudged you, Brother Yang," he admitted, stepping closer and brushing dust from the hem of his robe. "I expected delay, perhaps a few more days' rest, excuses... but you carry yourself as if the road has already yielded."
Li Wuji remained silent for a moment, then lifted the bowl again and drank. "Delay breeds regret. I intend no more of it."
Chi Tang smiled, recovering his usual warmth. "Then allow me to fulfill my part. I shall gather the soldiers and prepare your tools. The pact remains unchanged."
He bowed lightly, then turned on his heel and strode off, calling orders to a nearby guard as he vanished into the midday hum. ~
Li Wuji turned back to his meal, but his fingers stilled. A shadow moved beyond the canvas.
He turned his head slowly.
Yuan Yi stood at the edge of the tent's shadow, her silhouette framed by golden light. Her robes fluttered gently in the breeze, and a few strands of hair had slipped free from her comb to dance across her cheek. She was watching him—not with urgency, but with intent.
"How are you feeling, Li Wuji?" she asked, voice tempered by daylight but low enough to remain private.
He nodded once. "If you speak of wounds, they no longer trouble me."
But he knew better than to believe her concern lay with flesh alone.
She stepped inside, the shift of her boots against dry earth barely audible. "I meant your mind, not your body. I saw how quickly you declared your departure."
Li Wuji tilted his head slightly, watching the way her eyes darted, how her fingers fidgeted with the tassel on her waist. She is not one to mince words, and yet she sways around her true aim.
"My spirit is steady," he answered, choosing each word like a blade drawn slow. "In silence I have found my direction."
Her cheeks colored faintly. She stepped closer, reaching down to brush some dust from the mat at her feet, a gesture perhaps meant to disguise her nerves. "I apologize if I seem intrusive. It's just…" She hesitated, then met his gaze. "You move with the confidence of a general, and it's difficult to ignore that. I find myself admiring that boldness."
Li Wuji's expression did not change. "Your praise is unexpected. And in its suddenness, I detect a purpose. Speak clearly, Yuan Yi—what would you ask of me?"
The words were not cruel, only sharp—meant to cut through pretense.
She inhaled, then straightened her back as if steeling herself against his scrutiny. "I would like to accompany you."
The breeze shifted again, rustling the leaves overhead. A crow cried in the distance. ~
"I believe I could be of use," she continued. "I know the terrain, I've studied the flora, and I am no stranger to the blade, should danger rise."
Li Wuji reached for his bowl again, lifting it slowly as he considered her words. He sipped, then set it down gently. The warmth of the broth did little to mask the coolness of his tone.
"This is no venture for whim or sentiment. The road through the forest is not paved with heroism—it is soaked in blood. To join me is to gamble with your life."
Yuan Yi did not flinch. "I understand. And I accept."
For a time, they stood in silence, broken only by the camp's distant murmur—the thud of hammers, the snap of harness straps, the muttering of men and beast. The day pulsed on.
At last, Li Wuji spoke again.
"You may join," he said, voice low but firm, "if you swear not to falter. Not for fear, nor pity, nor sorrow. If you weep, it shall be after the killing is done."
Yuan Yi bowed her head. "Then I shall weep only when we return."
A grudging flicker crossed Li Wuji's eyes. Not a smile, but something like approval, unspoken and reserved.
The sun overhead began its slow ascent.