That midnight sound of footsteps was like a blade hanging over Lin Yan's head.
They came and went in irregular intervals, pacing outside the hut until just before dawn—never striking, never speaking.
When silence finally returned, it brought no comfort. If anything, the unease settled deeper. Lin Yan knew now for certain—within this so-called Wuming Settlement, he was living in a transparent cage. Every breath, every move, was being watched.
At sunrise, A Jin appeared as usual, bringing him food and fresh medicine. Her face betrayed nothing; she acted as though nothing strange had happened overnight. Lin Yan didn't ask. Some silences were fragile—once broken, even the illusion of peace might shatter.
Thanks to her herbs and his own stubborn will to survive, his wounds healed faster than expected. The cut on his shoulder began to scab, the bruises faded. But he hid his recovery carefully, still pretending to be weak and feverish, spending most hours indoors. Only under A Jin's watch did he occasionally step outside to stretch.
From these brief glimpses, he quietly observed the Wuming Settlement.
It was small—perhaps a few dozen households scattered along the mountainside. Houses were made of stone and thatch. The people—hunters, herb gatherers, fugitives—moved with the wary detachment of those long used to hiding from the world.
But one building caught his attention.
At the farthest corner, pressed against the cliff wall, stood a house built of heavy blue stone, roofed in black tiles instead of straw. No fence, no courtyard—only a cold, abandoned forge out front, a rusted anvil, and a pile of ash long since gone gray.
A blacksmith's shop. Long deserted.
His pulse quickened.
The mute uncle was a blacksmith… Could it be?
He forced his gaze away, but memorized every detail—the layout, the angle of the approach, the single narrow path leading to it. The smithy's position was perfect: back to a cliff, one way in, clear view over half the settlement. Easy to defend, easy to watch others.
During one of her visits, he asked casually while she changed his bandages,
"That building near the cliff—was it a smithy? Why is it abandoned?"
A Jin paused for the briefest moment before replying in a light tone,
"Oh, that place. It's old news. The blacksmith there had good skills once, but he either died or left. No one really knows. Why—planning to arm yourself?"
Her tone was easy, but Lin Yan's instincts caught the subtle stiffness in her movements. That answer had been rehearsed.
"A pity," he murmured. "A proper weapon would make travel safer."
"When you leave, I'll see if I can find you an old hatchet," she said briskly, tying off his bandage. "Stop thinking so much. Just heal."
Then she took the bowl of medicine and left.
Lin Yan sat in silence.
That forge wasn't just old—it was off-limits. Even the way people pretended it didn't exist felt wrong. Could it be connected to the mute blacksmith? Had he once lived here?
The thought refused to leave him. He had only two days left before the elders forced him out. He had to find out what lay inside that smithy—no matter the risk.
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
That afternoon, chaos rippled through the settlement. Lei Bao and several men grabbed weapons and rushed into the mountains. Even the elder appeared in the central clearing, his face grave as he whispered with the other old men.
A Jin returned from outside looking tense.
"What happened?" Lin Yan asked.
"The hunting party's missing," she said quietly. "They were due back yesterday. They found signs of Guoshan Feng—bandits—near the northwest forest. Uncle Lei took men to search."
Bandits again. The same name that haunted him like a shadow.
"Let's hope they return safely," he murmured, though his mind was racing. The guards were gone. The eyes that always seemed to follow him—gone too.
A perfect chance.
Night fell heavy and silent. The village was restless, people gathering near the square to wait for news. No one cared about the quiet corners.
Lin Yan waited until the noise peaked, then pushed open the small rear window he had secretly loosened days before. Outside lay a patch of dense shrubs, perfect for cover.
He slipped out, moving low and quiet despite the pain in his shoulder.
The wind hissed through dry grass, masking his steps. Every nerve was alive; each heartbeat thundered in his ears.
At last, he reached the abandoned smithy.
The main door was chained shut with a rusted iron lock. The windows were boarded tight, no light inside.
Circling to the back, he found something—a side door half hidden in the cliff's shadow, nearly fused with moss and stone. It hadn't been opened in years.
He pressed it lightly. It didn't budge. The hinges were corroded, the keyhole clogged with rust.
He leaned closer, ear against the cold stone.
For a long moment, there was nothing—then… a sound.
Faint.
Rhythmic.
A slow, deliberate scraping.
Not the wind.
Lin Yan's eyes narrowed. He held his breath, straining to hear—
—and the next instant, his body screamed danger.
A killing intent, cold and razor-sharp, swept from behind!
He threw himself forward on instinct—
"Shhhhk!"
A blade sliced through the air, grazing his back and tearing open his clothes. Sparks flashed in the moonlight as he rolled hard to the side, turning just in time to see a shadowed figure step out from the dark.
The man wore gray battle clothes, face half-hidden, eyes glinting like a predator's. In his hand— a long curved blade, already dripping with malice.
The same gaze. The same aura. The killers from the forest.
They had found him—and they too were after the smithy.
Without a word, the assassin lunged.
Steel clashed. Lin Yan's small dagger met the heavier blade with a burst of sparks that numbed his hand. His wounds tore open again, blood soaking through fresh bandages.
He was losing. One more strike would end it.
And then—
"Thwip!"
An arrow sliced through the night, aimed straight for the killer's throat!
The man spun, parrying it with a metallic clang!
From the darkness, a slender figure burst forth—staff swinging low and fast, striking the assassin's legs with a sharp crack.
A Jin!
How—why—was she here?
Caught off guard, the killer staggered back.
A Jin didn't hesitate. She seized Lin Yan's arm.
"Run!" she hissed.
They fled, boots pounding against the dirt, the killer's furious shout echoing behind them.
Lin Yan's lungs burned. His shoulder throbbed. Every step sent pain lancing through him—but he didn't dare slow down.
Beside him, A Jin's face was set with grim resolve.
She had saved him. But how had she known? And why was she near the smithy at all?
Behind them, the forest swallowed the echo of pursuit.
And in that shadowed forge by the cliff, secrets long buried had begun to stir again.
The calm of Wuming Settlement was over.
A greater storm was rising.