The rain came without warning—thick, cold sheets that drowned the streets of Yunqiu in moments. The city's lamps guttered out one by one until only the sound of water filled the night.
Mo Lianyin moved through the dark like a shadow that the storm could not touch. Qingxue followed close, her sword drawn, her white robes clinging to her like mist.
They were being hunted.
The stranger in ash had been right—someone was forcing him toward the Eighth Path. Every alley felt like a trap. Every flicker of movement in the rain made his hand twitch toward his weapon.
And then it happened.
A flash of steel. The hiss of an arrow through rain.
"Lianyin—!" Qingxue's voice broke as she shoved him aside. The arrow buried itself in her shoulder, the force knocking her into the flooding street.
Mo Lianyin caught her before she fell, his hands slick with her blood. "Stay awake!" he growled.
Her breath came in shallow bursts. "Behind you…"
He turned just as figures emerged from the rain—five masked assassins, their aura reeking of Zeiyan's influence.
"Give us the girl," the leader said, voice muffled, "and you walk away."
Mo Lianyin's eyes narrowed. He laid Qingxue gently against a wall, his fingers trembling for the first time in years.
"You shouldn't have come for her," he said.
The assassins moved as one.
---
The battle was fast, brutal. Mo Lianyin's strikes were precise, each one a killing blow. But they were skilled—two blades slipped past his guard, slicing shallow lines across his ribs. Blood mixed with rain.
And still, Qingxue's breathing weakened.
The assassins drove him back toward her, their formation tightening. The leader lunged—aiming not for him, but for Qingxue.
Something broke.
---
The voice from the dream returned, sharp and sweet.
> "One step, Heir. One step, and she lives."
The rain slowed. Time seemed to shudder.
Mo Lianyin felt the Seventh Art flare inside him, resisting. But behind it, the Eighth whispered, promising—promising—power swift enough to erase his enemies.
He saw Qingxue's pale face. He saw her blood.
> "Do it," the voice murmured. "Open the door."
---
His hand moved before he realized. He reached into the place the stranger had warned him about—a place in his soul that pulsed like a wound.
And the door opened.
---
The world exploded in silence.
The rain froze mid-fall. The assassins stopped mid-strike, their bodies trembling as something unseen gripped them. Mo Lianyin's vision burned black and red, his heartbeat replaced by the slow, steady toll of a great bell.
He did not swing his blade. He simply willed their deaths.
One by one, the assassins collapsed. No blood, no wounds—just lifeless bodies in the rain.
The voice purred.
> "See how easy it is?"
---
The world returned in a rush. Rain fell again. Qingxue gasped as air filled her lungs.
Mo Lianyin dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking—not from exhaustion, but from what he had just done.
Her eyes fluttered open. "You… what did you—"
"Nothing," he said too quickly.
She studied his face for a long moment. There was fear in her eyes, but it wasn't for herself.
---
Far away, Zeiyan felt the shift in the world's balance. A slow smile spread across his lips.
"The door is open," he murmured. "Now… let's see how far he'll walk."
---
That night, Mo Lianyin did not sleep.
The rain had stopped, but the tolling bell still echoed in his ears.