The clearing had gone silent.

  Zhen’er stared through tear-blurred eyes at the two figures emerging from the mist. Robes flowing like water, presence so immense it seemed to part the air around them. For a single breathless moment, the weight of her fear shifted… and something divine stepped into the space where death had nearly bloomed.

  The men didn’t recognize it.

  Not yet.

  But the forest did.

  ?

  Lian Xue and Lian Yue crossed into the clearing without hesitation. Their steps left no marks on the earth, and yet the world seemed to move around them—drawn into their gravity.

  Yue’s gaze flicked briefly to the girl slumped against the tree, her robe torn and her skin bruised.

  Xue’s eyes narrowed, then shifted to the five men surrounding her.

  The laughter was gone now.

  In its place—confusion, then arrogance.

  “Oh, what’s this?” sneered the man with the gold-threaded robe. “Are we collecting strays today?”

  “Maybe they’re from a minor sect,” said another. “Or maybe they’re just stupid.”

  “Two more little pets. If we tame them, we might just forgive the runt.”

  Yue’s sabers did not move.

  Xue’s blade remained sheathed.

  But the temperature began to fall.

  The men felt it—but mistook it for coincidence.

  “I’ll be gentle,” the gold-robed one said, grinning. “Unless you like it rough.”

  Still, the twins said nothing.

  Yue’s hand brushed against the air. It shimmered faintly; dream-light pulsing along her fingertips like a serpent beneath velvet.

  “Oi! Are you ignoring us?”

  “Not used to being told no, are you?” Yue finally said, her voice soft and razor-edged.

  “You think you can just walk in here—?”

  He didn’t finish.

  Because Xue moved.

  ?

  There was no warning.

  Just a whisper of silk.

  A flicker of frost.

  Then—WUMMM.

  Her spiritual pressure dropped like a hammer made of ice.

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  The clearing groaned.

  One of the men staggered, clutching his chest, eyes wide as blood rushed from his nose.

  Another tried to draw his sword—and collapsed mid-motion, suffocated by the weight of her aura alone.

  Yue stepped forward, a faint smile ghosting across her lips.

  “We tried to be polite.”

  “We did,” Xue said, calm as winter dawn.

  Yue vanished.

  SHRRKT.

  One blade, half drawn. A flash of violet.

  A clean cut across the ribs.

  Another man fell.

  Screaming turned to choking. Then to silence.

  ?

  The fourth turned to run. A golden talisman flared in his hand.

  FWHOOM.

  He vanished—barely escaping with fractured spiritual veins and blood trailing behind him.

  Only the leader remained.

  He backed away, tripping over the grass, face pale with disbelief.

  “W-We didn’t mean—”

  Xue raised her hand.

  “No.”

  She pressed two fingers together.

  The frost beneath him exploded upward.

  CRACK—!

  His body struck the ground a second later, spine twisted. He did not rise.

  ?

  Silence returned.

  The only sound was the rustling of trees—resuming their motion as if giving permission to breathe again.

  Zhen’er hadn’t moved. She stared at them, wide-eyed, trembling.

  Yue sheathed her sabers.

  Xue stepped toward the girl, crouched gracefully and extended a hand.

  “You’re safe,” she said.

  Zhen’er hesitated, then reached out with shaking fingers.

  “Who… who are you?”

  Yue’s voice came from behind her sister, soft as snowfall:

  “No one the world remembers.”

  “But soon,” Xue added, “it will.”