The Lan juniors returned with grim news: traces of blood‑written talismans found near the burnt beams. Old magic — style once seen in demonic cultivation, but twisted.
"Not the Yiling Patriarch's hand," one junior reported, glancing at Yujin.
"But someone who learned from the same scrolls."
Yujin nodded, jaw tight.
"Tell Hanguang‑Jun. And keep watch on the Pavilion. They might come back for Xiao."
That night, Xiao caught Yujin outside, staring at blackened wood.
"You really mean it," Xiao murmured.
"You'd risk your sect to protect me."
"Don't mistake it for righteousness," Yujin rasped.
"It's selfish. I don't want to lose what… what I haven't even had yet."
For the first time, Xiao reached up — fingers brushing the scar on Yujin's arm, where sword slipped years ago.
"Then take it," Xiao whispered, breath trembling.
"Whatever it is."
They didn't kiss.
But Yujin's hand closed over Xiao's wrist, thumb brushing the thin red ribbon.
For that heartbeat, nothing else mattered.
Not robes, not sects, not shadows.