After exiting the Frozen Lotus Chamber, it sealed behind them with a whisper.

  No burst of light. No thunderous crack. Just a soft chime, like a single crystal note echoing through deep stillness.

  Lian Xue and Lian Yue stood once more beneath the open sky, the wind brushing through the high pines above them, stirring the frost-laced branches. The mist had begun to lift, revealing streaks of pale gold along the edge of the horizon.

  It was still morning.

  But the world felt changed.

  “She’s still alive,” Yue said softly, her voice steady now. “That changes everything.”

  “And we’ll be ready when she wakes,” Xue replied.

  They didn’t look back.

  The stone path behind them had closed. Their mother’s sword had returned to its resting place. The chamber was sealed once more—not in grief, but in promise.

  ?

  Their descent from the ruined sanctuary was silent for a time.

  The world around them slowly shifted from frost-bound stillness to early spring. The trees thickened. The wind softened. Moss and green shoots crept along the edges of the cracked stone trails. A bird sang from a far-off branch—startled into silence when it felt the ripple of their qi.

  They said little. Not because there was nothing left to say…

  …but because some truths lived best in shared breath.

  A single glance between them was enough.

  Xue moved like mist—calm, composed, every step grounded in deep stillness.

  Yue flowed beside her like shadowlight—loose, graceful, fingers brushing the ends of leaves as if chasing memories.

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  Their souls hummed in quiet resonance.

  By midday, the trees began to open around them, the path narrowing to a soft slope of scattered leaves and uneven ground.

  Faint traces of spirit qi still clung to the forest floor—residue from travelers, perhaps even cultivators passing in the days before.

  “Someone’s been here recently,” Yue said, eyes narrowing. “More than one.”

  “Three to five. Male. City-born,” Xue answered after a pause, kneeling beside a half-crushed spirit orchid. “Their steps were loud.”

  Xue’s gaze lifted toward the trees ahead.

  A breeze shifted the canopy, revealing the faintest outline of a clearing beyond—framed by willow vines and broad-rooted trees. The spiritual presence was stronger here. Tainted with greed. Rough. Wild.

  “This is where it begins,” Yue said.

  “Let no one harm what we protect,” Xue replied.

  Together, they stepped forward, leaves rustling underfoot.

  And the silence broke as they entered the clearing.

  The forest stilled.

  Not the peaceful quiet of dawn—but the suffocating hush that settles before blood is drawn.

  Even the wind seemed reluctant to pass through the canopy ahead. The birds had vanished. The rustle of leaves faded to a whisper.

  Lian Xue and Lian Yue stood at the edge of the brush, eyes narrowing as they scanned the path that opened just beyond. The trees had curved inward, their roots thick and tangled, creating a natural archway. Mist pooled near the base, thin as silk, clinging to the ground like a secret.

  And there—just beyond the trees—they could hear it.

  ?

  Laughter. Rough. Too loud for the forest. Laced with cruelty.

  The kind of laughter that didn’t belong to joy—but to ownership.

  To men who thought the world belonged to them.

  “Five,” Yue whispered, her voice low and cold now. “Four standing. One too quiet.”

  “One girl,” Xue confirmed. “Small frame. Weak breath. Suppressed qi. She’s already been struck.”

  A faint breeze stirred the mist at their feet. The moment it touched Yue’s robes, she stopped smiling. Her hand moved to the hilt of her saber.

  “They’re mocking her,” she said. “Listen.”

  From beyond the clearing came the sound of someone spitting.

  And a voice—slurred by arrogance, slick with venom.

  “So pretty and alone in the woods. Where’s your sect now, little flower?”

  Another laughed.

  “Let her cry a little more. The sound makes my spirit rise—”

  “Enough.” Xue’s voice was nearly inaudible. It stopped Yue mid-step.

  Yue turned to her dear sister, violet eyes flashing. Her spiritual pressure began to gather like a coiled storm.

  Xue’s gaze was fixed on the clearing ahead. Her hand slid slowly to her blade, but her expression remained unreadable.

  “Their deaths are already written,” she said.

  “Then let’s help them read the ending.”

  They stepped forward together.

  Mist rose behind them like the lifting hem of a burial shroud.

  And ahead, the laughter continued, completely unaware that death had just entered the forest.