Smoke still curled from Qiu Ran's crumpled form, his once-pristine robes charred and torn. His hair hung in burned strands, his face blackened with soot. He groaned weakly, struggling to rise, but the eyes of every disciple were no longer on him.
They were on Lin Xuan.
The spear in his hand dripped with the blood of beasts, his sleeve torn and soaked crimson, yet his stance remained tall. Calm eyes swept the gorge, unreadable as ever.
Victory draws more eyes than defeat. Every step upward, the shadows thicken.
The disciples dared a breath of relief. But the gorge was not finished.
A low rumble coursed beneath their feet. From the darkness of the ravine, lesser Shadowfang wolves crept forth, drawn by the Alpha's death. Their glowing eyes lit the shadows like scattered embers.
Dozens. Maybe more.
The timid girl whimpered, blade trembling in her hands. Zhao Kun swore under his breath, sweat breaking across his brow.
Wu Ming paled. "Senior Brother… you already killed the big one. Can't they just go home? I vote we all pretend to be rocks until they leave!"
Lin Xuan's grip tightened on his spear. Pain lanced through his damaged meridians, but his voice cut the fear like steel.
"Form up. Circle tight. Hold until the gorge empties its anger."
The disciples hesitated — then, one by one, obeyed.
The timid girl stepped forward, chipped sword raised, face pale but determined.
The lanky boy stumbled into position, his stance shaky yet firm.
Even Zhao Kun, jaw clenched, fell into line, unwilling to show weakness after Lin Xuan's calm command.
Lin Xuan adjusted their stances, correcting grips, steadying feet, his voice steady despite blood dripping from his sleeve.
"Breathe. Don't chase. Strike when they come to you."
His calm spread like fire in dry grass. Fear gave way to focus.
The wolves howled and charged.
Steel flashed, spears thrust, blades clashed against fur and fang. Lin Xuan's spear danced at the center — not wildly, not desperately, but with precise, minimal strikes. Each movement guided the others: redirecting blows, turning chaos into order.
The disciples found themselves striking true, their attacks weaving together almost unconsciously.
It was not strength that saved them.It was rhythm — Lin Xuan's rhythm.
By the time the last wolf fell, the disciples stood gasping, bloodied but alive.
Silence followed. Then, one voice broke it — the timid girl, whispering through trembling lips.
"Senior Brother Lin… you saved us. All of us."
The lanky boy nodded shakily. Even Zhao Kun looked away, unable to speak, his clenched fists betraying reluctant acknowledgment.
Wu Ming, of course, burst into tears and threw himself onto Lin Xuan. "My heroic, wolf-slaying, fire-reversing, gorge-defying Senior Brother! If we make it home, I'll cook pork buns every day for a year!"
Lin Xuan exhaled slowly, prying Wu Ming off with one hand. His gaze lingered on the bloodied disciples around him. Even enemies fought together when death pressed close. But unity born of fear rarely lasts.
As the last wolf's body twitched and stilled, the gorge itself groaned. A deeper tremor rolled beneath their feet, unsettling dust from the cliffs.
The disciples froze, dread pooling in their eyes.
Lin Xuan lifted his spear, calm despite his wounds. "We leave. Now."
Behind them, unseen, the ravine walls pulsed faintly with ancient qi — a reminder that the gorge's secrets were far from spent.