Wind curled around the Pavilion's carved eaves, stirring lantern tassels into slow spirals of red and gold.
Lan Yujin stepped into that restless night, the hem of his pale robes whispering over worn stone.
"I should have said something."
"Anything."
Instead, he'd turned his back.
No word. No "Stay."
Not even "Wait for me."
"He's used to this," Yujin tried to reason, jaw tightening against guilt.
"That look… like a stray cat kicked too many times. He won't take it to heart."
Yet the memory clung like wet silk:
Xiao leaning close, eyes dark and teasing...but behind them, a question too raw to voice.
"Will you leave like the rest?"
And he had.
The road to Yinshi lay long and silent, broken only by the faint chime of the Lan bell tied at his sash.... each sound an accusation.
Mist pooled in ditches, moonlight breaking in silver shards.
"Foolish," he scolded himself.
"I'm here for Gusu's sake.. not to guard a courtesan's wounded pride."
But the words felt thin, brittle as autumn reeds.
At dawn, the pale walls of Yinshi rose before him, temple roofs catching first light like brushed jade.
He found the other Lan juniors in a rented teahouse, steam curling from untouched cups.
They listened, faces still as carved wood, as he spoke:
How the suspect wore an owl‑marked mask.
How demonic energy had scorched the ground.
How the trail vanished near Baiyun.
Then came words colder than dawn wind:
"The man whose face you glimpsed? Found dead this morning."
A clean cut, no struggle.
Likely self‑inflicted...or by someone trusted enough to stand close.
"And the main evil ?"
"Gone," the eldest Lan junior answered, voice quiet as closing doors.
"He slipped past Qishan's border. And… Hanguang‑Jun himself has gone to hunt him."
At the name, relief sparked... brief, sharp.
Hanguang‑Jun: cold moonlight made flesh, whose presence could halt bloodshed by existing alone.
But as quick as hope came, emptiness followed.
"Even his shadow is enough to end the game I tried to play," Yujin thought, half‑bitter, half‑awed.
"And me? Just another junior in borrowed robes."
Stepping outside, the morning sun caught on his bell again... a soft chime swallowed by busy street sounds: vendors unrolling bamboo mats, the wet slap of cloth at wash‑basins, sparrows arguing in the eaves.
"He must be awake by now…" "Did he wait? Or did I leave him waiting for nothing?"
In that quiet moment, between duty and regret, the road ahead felt longer than any distance he had yet walked.
[ End of Chapter 9 ]