Inside the Pavilion, Xiao caught the scent first: oil smoke.
His eyes widened — red silk sleeves sweeping lanterns aside as he ran.
Downstairs, fire licked the carved doors.
A masked man turned — torch lifted high.
"What do you want?!" Xiao shouted, breathless.
The man didn't answer — only stepped closer, flame dancing.
Outside, Yujin walked the narrow alley, thoughts tangled: talismans, burned ruins, Wei Wuxian's vanished flute.
A whisper of cloth behind him — too soft, too close.
Trap!
He turned, sword half-drawn — too late.
A blast of curse energy slammed him into the wall, ribs cracking.
"You should have stayed silent, lotus flower," the masked attacker hissed.
But before the blade could fall, a flute's single shrill note cut the night.
Not Xiao's — and certainly not Wei Wuxian's.
Another figure landed between them — white robes, frost cloud embroidered at the hem.
"Enough," the newcomer's voice was quiet steel.
Yujin gasped, blinking through pain.
"Hanguang-Jun…"
Inside the burning Pavilion:
Xiao fought like a cornered cat — lamp base in hand, eyes wild.
The masked man laughed — stepping closer, torch raised.
Until the heavy wooden beam above cracked, falling with a crash — blocking the way.
"Stay behind me!" someone barked.
A junior in pale Lan robes — young, sweating, terrified — but blade drawn.
"Lan send a boy?" Xiao snapped.
"Better a boy than ashes!" the junior retorted.
Outside, firelight tinted clouds red.
Wangji's sword gleamed moonlight, pushing the attacker back.
"Speak," he ordered, voice like winter rain.
The masked man spat blood, laughing.
"Too late, Lan Wangji. The ashes live on."
With a twist, he triggered a spell — and burst into flame himself, vanishing in smoke.
Silence returned.
Breaths rasped harsh in the dark.
Wangji turned, gaze steady on Yujin.
"You are injured."
"Not fatally," Yujin rasped.
"Then stand. We have work still."