The sun had completely set.
As we left the forest, the path was visible, but its color had faded.
The soil looked gray.
The shadows of the trees were no longer straight—they spread crookedly across the ground, as if something had gone wrong.
Mu-Shan walked ahead.
His pace was a little slower today.
Chen-Wei noticed.
He didn't say anything.
After walking a short distance, Mu-Shan stopped.
He raised his hand slightly.
"Wei," he said, his voice the same as before, but there was a slight gap between his breaths.
"Tomorrow morning... you go to the forest alone."
Chen-Wei paused.
"You won't come?"
"No," Mu-Shan said.
"I feel heavy today. That's an old story."
He smiled.
A small, tired smile.
Chen-Wei nodded.
He felt strange—but he didn't question it. Grandfather never explained why.
The house came closer.
A small wooden house, with a mud courtyard outside.
Usually, a light smoke would rise from the stove at this time.
Today… there was nothing.
Mu-Shan stopped at the door.
He looked back.
Chen-Wei felt as if Grandfather was not remembering him,
but rather remembering him.
"Go inside," he said.
"I'll be back later."
Chen-Wei opened the door and went in.
The night had deepened.
Chen-Wei placed wood near the stove.
He boiled water.
He waited.
For a long time.
The door didn't open.
He peeked outside.
The courtyard was empty.
The air was cold.
Very cold.
Chen-Wei stepped outside.
And then he saw it.
Blood.
Starting from the doorframe,
a thin line—
stretching across the dirt.
His hand didn't tremble.
His breathing didn't quicken.
He simply continued.
Inside the house.
Mu-shan was lying on the ground.
His body was straight.
As if he hadn't been dropped—
As if he had been placed.
His eyes were open.
But there was no reflection in them.
Chen-Wei knelt down and looked at his face.
Nothing broke inside her.
Something froze.
Her world didn't break with a noise.
She slipped into silence.
Her breathing automatically fell into the same rhythm—
that same empty breath.
And then her vision changed.
She saw his neck.
A very fine mark.
The size of a needle hole.
The skin around it had turned blue.
She saw the gesture of the hands.
The fingers were bent at a strange angle—
as if, at the last moment,
everything had been gathered into a single point.
"This isn't an ordinary attack,"
Chen-Wei said softly.
A name popped into his mind.
Silent Void Needle.
The technique Grandpa had never taught.
He had only warned.
"If you ever see a mark like that, Wei...
then understand that the person in front of you doesn't like noise."
Chen-Wei closed his eyes.
And then he remembered something.
The same sentence Mu-Shan would sometimes repeat for no reason—
"When the sun sets
and the shadows fade,
look for where your childhood is sleeping."
He opened his eyes.
The old cradle sat in the corner of the room.
Covered with dust.
Chen-Wei went there.
He removed the dirt from underneath.
His fingers brushed against something hard.
A small iron box.
As soon as the blood from his finger
touched the hole in the box—
crack.
The lid flew open.
There was no gold inside,
no weapons.
Only an old, yellowed page.
On it was written—
Eternal Void Breathing Technique
Chen-Wei picked it up.
There were no tears in his eyes.
No anger.
Only a cold understanding.
The world was not as he had always imagined.
And if in this world
silence kills—
then he must also learn to win silently.