Chapter 11 – Echoes of the Crimson Night
The road ahead was shrouded in mist, curling through the trees like silent watchers. The remnants of their brief encounter with the Crimson Night Talons lingered in the back of Wei Jin’s mind, gnawing at his thoughts like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He wasn’t a stranger to danger, nor was he ignorant of the power struggles that plagued the cultivation world. But something about this was different. The way those mercenaries moved, the way they hesitated, and most of all, the way Shen Mu simply stood there, untouched, unfazed, as if he knew the outcome before the fight even began.
Wei Jin found himself glancing at the young man ahead of him. Just what are you?
Even though Wei Jin knew he wouldn’t get a real answer, his curiosity refused to stay silent. He was the type who spoke his mind, and holding back a question felt more unbearable than not getting an answer.
Shen Mu walked as if the world around him was irrelevant, his pace steady, his posture relaxed. He had no sense of urgency, no wariness. If anything, he looked… mildly entertained.
Wei Jin exhaled sharply and sped up, matching his pace. “You could at least tell me what you did back there.”
Shen Mu didn’t turn his head. “I didn’t do anything.”
Wei Jin scoffed. “Right. And I suppose the wind just decided to trip them at the exact right moment?”
This time, Shen Mu smirked. “Strange things happen.”
Wei Jin narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Li Mei, who had been walking a few steps ahead, spoke without looking back. “You should stop asking questions you won’t get answers to, Wei Jin. You’ll only frustrate yourself.”
Wei Jin frowned. “Is that how it is? He does something impossible, and we all just pretend it makes sense?”
Li Mei shrugged. “That’s how smart people handle mysteries.”
Wei Jin let out an exasperated sigh. “You people are impossible.”
Shen Mu chuckled under his breath, but his amusement didn’t last long. His eyes flickered to the tree line, where the mist was unnaturally thick.
“They’re still watching.”
Li Mei’s smile faded. “I know.”
Wei Jin stiffened. “Again?”
Li Mei glanced at him. “Did you think the Crimson Night Talons would give up after one failed strike? That was a test. Now they know more about us.”
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Wei Jin’s grip on his sword tightened. “So what now? Another ambush?”
Shen Mu shook his head. “Not yet. They’re waiting for something.”
He turned his gaze skyward. The sun was beginning to sink, dipping into hues of deep orange and crimson. The world was preparing for nightfall.
“They’ll make their move when we’re most vulnerable,” Shen Mu murmured. “When the darkness covers their steps.”
Li Mei nodded. “Then we make sure they don’t get that chance.”
They found shelter in the ruins of an old shrine, its stone pillars cracked and worn by time. The walls bore faint carvings of celestial patterns, long faded beyond recognition. Nature had reclaimed most of it, vines curling through the broken masonry, but it was defensible.
Li Mei took watch first, her figure barely distinguishable against the growing night. Wei Jin sat by the dying embers of a fire, absently running a sharpening stone along the edge of his blade.
He looked at Shen Mu, who sat cross-legged on a smooth slab of stone, eyes half-lidded. Not asleep, but not entirely present either.
Wei Jin hesitated, then sighed. “Alright, fine. If you don’t want to tell me how you do what you do, at least tell me this—why are you helping me?”
Shen Mu’s eyes opened slightly. “Why do you think I’m helping you?”
Wei Jin blinked. “Uh… because you are?”
Shen Mu exhaled through his nose, something between amusement and tired patience. “I never said I was.”
Wei Jin frowned. “You saved my life back in the village.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t.”
Wei Jin scowled. “Then why?”
Shen Mu tilted his head slightly. “Does it bother you that you don’t know?”
Wei Jin opened his mouth, then closed it. It did. It really did.
Li Mei’s voice broke the tension. “He’s toying with you.”
Shen Mu smirked. “Just a little.”
Wei Jin muttered a curse and rubbed his temples. “I swear, you people are going to be the death of me.”
Shen Mu leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes again. “Then don’t die.”
Wei Jin huffed but didn’t argue. He was too tired for riddles. The shrine was quiet, the distant hoot of an owl the only sound beyond their breathing.
But Shen Mu didn’t sleep. He felt it—the faint tremor in the air, the ripple of something unseen brushing against the edges of perception.
The Crimson Night Talons weren’t gone.
They were getting closer.
And this time, they weren’t testing them.
They were coming to kill.
