The profound silence of the highway night, punctuated only by the Sentinel's deep thrum and the soft rhythm of sleeping breaths, eventually lulled Liú Xīngchén into an uneasy doze. Her last conscious sight was the endless road unwinding in the headlights, Qí Hǔ's profile a stoic monument against the dashboard glow, the taste of mint and starlight still lingering on her tongue. The vast, shared vulnerability of their rest stop conversation replayed in her fading thoughts – the masks, the hidden weights, the quiet recognition that echoed deeper than words. Then, darkness.
Qí Hǔ drove on, a solitary sentinel navigating the sleeping world. The plains surrendered to gentle, forested foothills as dawn began its slow creep, painting the eastern horizon in bruised purples and watery pinks. His mind wasn't on the road, not entirely. It mapped the terrain ahead, the coordinates seared into his memory – the scar on the land he'd created eight years ago. He replayed tactical considerations: ingress points, potential ambush zones, the density of the forest cover Wáng Jiàn had highlighted, the chilling possibility that the Loom had seeded the area with watchers. The cigarette he'd smoked under the stars had done little to truly calm the coiled tension within; it was just a physical ritual, a familiar burn to ground him. Xiao Ling's face, Zhang Wei's quiet desperation, the stench of smoke and blood from the burning hideout – they were vivid ghosts riding shotgun in the pre-dawn gloom. He chewed absently on the phantom taste of mint gum.
As the sky lightened, revealing a landscape of dense pine forests crowding the highway, signs began to appear for small, remote towns clinging to the mountainsides. He bypassed them, following the GPS towards the specific forestry access point Wáng Jiàn had identified. The asphalt gave way to a narrower, potholed track, the Sentinel's suspension absorbing the bumps with silent efficiency. Finally, he pulled into a small, gravel parking area, little more than a widened shoulder at the trailhead. A weathered wooden sign, half-obscured by encroaching ferns, read: **Black Pine Reserve - Hiking Trail #7. No Motorized Vehicles Beyond This Point.**
He killed the engine. The sudden silence was profound, broken only by the chorus of awakening birdsong and the sigh of wind through the tall pines. Mist clung to the lower branches, lending the forest entrance an ethereal, slightly menacing quality. The air was bitingly cold and carried the sharp, clean scent of pine needles and damp earth.
Qí Hǔ sat for a moment, listening to the steady breathing of his team. Then, with the quiet precision of long habit, he opened his door and slipped out, closing it softly behind him. The gravel crunched faintly under his boots. He walked a few paces to a moss-covered wooden bench overlooking the trailhead and the wall of trees beyond. He pulled the crumpled cigarette packet and lighter from his jacket pocket. The *snick* of the flame was loud in the stillness. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, the smoke a grey plume in the chill, moist air. He stared into the green depths, his expression unreadable, the scar above his collar stark against his skin in the grey dawn light. This was it. The threshold.
Inside the car, the change in motion and sound gradually roused the others. Zhāng Měi was first, blinking away sleep, pushing her silk sleep mask onto her forehead. She stretched languidly, then peered out the window, taking in the mist-shrouded forest and the solitary figure on the bench. Her sharp eyes immediately spotted the cigarette in his hand, the packet beside him on the damp wood. A frown creased her perfectly sculpted brows. She unbuckled and climbed out, the cold air hitting her like a slap. She marched over to the bench.
"Qí Hǔ!" Her voice, though hushed, carried an edge of pure exasperation. Before he could fully register her presence, her hand shot out and delivered a sharp, sisterly *thwack* to the back of his head. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was undeniably firm. "Why are you *smoking*? I thought you quit! Years ago!"
Qí Hǔ didn't flinch. He took another slow drag, exhaling the smoke away from her. "Helps me calm my nerves," he stated flatly, his gaze still fixed on the forest. "Before... going back in there."
Zhāng Měi planted her hands on her hips, looking down at him. She saw the tension in his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes that had little to do with lack of sleep. The memory of Xiao Ling, the weight of this place, pressed on her too. Her expression softened fractionally, the fury replaced by exasperated concern. "Alright," she conceded, her voice losing its edge. "Fine. But don't smoke too much. It's a filthy habit, and we need your lungs in working order for hiking through... whatever that is." She gestured vaguely at the dense, misty woods.
"Yes," Qí Hǔ replied, the single syllable devoid of argument but carrying an acceptance of her point. He didn't look at her, but the tension in his jaw eased a micron.
Liú Xīngchén emerged next, shivering slightly in the cold despite her practical layers. She saw Zhāng Měi standing over Qí Hǔ, the faint scent of smoke hanging in the air. She caught the tail end of the exchange – "don't smoke too much" and the quiet "Yes." She walked over, joining them near the bench, her gaze also drawn to the imposing forest entrance. "Morning," she murmured, hugging herself for warmth.
"Morning, darling," Zhāng Měi replied, her tone shifting back to its usual brightness, though her eyes still held a trace of worry as they flicked towards Qí Hǔ. "Ready to commune with nature? Or at least, with whatever unpleasantness is lurking in it?"
Wáng Jiàn appeared silently, adjusting his glasses, his tablet already powered on. He gave the forest a swift, analytical scan, then nodded towards Qí Hǔ, a silent acknowledgment of their arrival point. His gaze briefly noted the cigarette packet on the bench but he made no comment.
The only one missing was Chén Léi. The rhythmic, slightly gargling snores continued unabated from the rear of the Sentinel. Zhāng Měi rolled her eyes dramatically. "Honestly, how does he *sleep* so much? And through everything? It's like he's hibernating. Right." She squared her shoulders, a determined glint in her eye. "Let me go wake Sleeping Beauty. A bucket of cold water might be effective, but sadly, we lack buckets." She turned towards the car.
"Wait," Wáng Jiàn said calmly. He didn't look up from his tablet. His fingers danced across the screen with practiced speed.
Zhāng Měi paused, intrigued. "Wang? What are you—"
Before she could finish, Wáng Jiàn tapped a final command. Instantly, the Sentinel's premium sound system, previously silent, roared to life at an ear-splitting volume. It wasn't music. It was a chaotic, jarring cacophony – a horrifying blend of shrieking car alarms, clanging industrial machinery, a yowling cat fight, and a distorted, looping clip of someone screaming "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" amplified to near-deafening levels. The sound blasted from every speaker in the armored SUV, vibrating the very metal.
The effect inside the car was instantaneous and spectacular. Chén Léi didn't so much wake up as *explode* vertically. A muffled, terrified yell – "WHAT THE F—?!" – was barely audible over the din as he slammed his head against the roof lining, limbs flailing wildly against the confines of the rear seat. He looked like a startled cat dropped into a bathtub.
Outside, Zhāng Měi clapped her hands over her ears, her eyes wide with shock before dissolving into uncontrollable, shoulder-shaking laughter. "Wáng Jiàn! You madman!" she gasped between peals of mirth.
Liú Xīngchén jumped at the initial blast, then pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes crinkling with genuine, startled laughter. "Oh my god!"
Even Qí Hǔ, startled from his grim contemplation of the forest, turned sharply. Witnessing Chén Léi's frantic, bewildered thrashing through the window, a low, rough sound escaped him – a genuine, if short-lived, chuckle. The corners of his eyes crinkled, a fleeting expression of pure amusement breaking through the granite mask.
Wáng Jiàn stood impassively, but the faintest, most definite smirk touched the corners of his lips. He watched Chén Léi's flailing with detached scientific interest.
Chén Léi finally managed to fumble for the door handle, practically falling out of the SUV in his haste to escape the auditory assault. He stumbled onto the gravel, hair sticking up wildly, eyes wide with residual panic and dawning fury. He spotted Wáng Jiàn, the tablet, the unmistakable smirk.
"You!" Chén Léi roared, pointing a shaking finger. "You son of a—!" Abandoning coherent speech, he lunged.
Wáng Jiàn, anticipating the move, took off with surprising agility, weaving around the front of the Sentinel. Chén Léi gave chase, shouting incoherent threats, his boots skidding on the gravel. "Get back here, you tech-terrorist! I'll reprogram your face!"
Zhāng Měi was bent double now, tears streaming down her face, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "His face! Did you see his face?!"
Liú Xīngchén was leaning against the bench for support, laughing helplessly, the absurdity cutting through the morning's tension and cold. Qí Hǔ watched the chase, the cigarette momentarily forgotten between his fingers, a rare, almost relaxed expression on his face as Chén Léi tripped over a tree root and sprawled gracelessly, only to scramble up and renew his pursuit of the calmly dodging Wáng Jiàn.
Qí Hǔ let them go for a minute. The sheer, stupid normalcy of it, the familiar dynamic of Chén Léi's bluster and Wáng Jiàn's quiet provocation, was a necessary pressure valve. It grounded them, reminded them they were still a team, still *alive*, before stepping into the unknown shadows. He took a final drag from his cigarette, then stubbed it out meticulously on the bench leg, pocketing the butt. He watched Chén Léi finally catch Wáng Jiàn's sleeve, sputtering indignantly.
"OK!" Qí Hǔ's voice cut through the laughter and Chén Léi's tirade, sharp and commanding. It wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of absolute authority. Instantly, Wáng Jiàn stopped dodging, Chén Léi froze mid-shake, Zhāng Měi's laughter subsided into hiccups, and Liú Xīngchén straightened up, wiping her eyes. All eyes turned to him. He met their gazes, his own back to its usual flinty resolve. "Let's go," he said, nodding towards the dark mouth of the trail. "And let's get this over with."
The brief, bright spark of laughter vanished, extinguished by the grim reality before them. The mist curled around the ancient pines like grasping fingers. The forest waited, silent and watchful, holding the ashes of Qí Hǔ's past and the deadly promise of the Nightingale Loom's present. The time for cigarettes, car games, and chaotic wake-up calls was over. The Shadow Weavers shouldered their packs, checked their gear one final time, and followed their captain into the green, swallowing gloom.