LUO FAN
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Night had fallen thick over the quiet homestead, pressing in with a hush that felt heavier than usual. Inside the small house, the only sounds were the gentle creak of floorboards and the rustle of blankets as Lan Feng knelt to lay out a mattress.
"You're still sick," I protested, watching him work. "You should sleep on the bed."
Lan Feng offered me a gentle smile, one that carried a quiet resolve. "I'm no longer sick. I'm fine now. Besides, you've exhausted yourself the last few days caring for me. You deserve a good rest."
I sighed in frustration. "Stubborn as ever."
Just as I sat down on the edge of the bed, a low sound pierced the quiet—a faint, guttural growl that rolled through the night air like a slow, deep thunder. My entire body stilled. It was distant, but unmistakable.
That wasn't a dog. That wasn't anything ordinary.
"Luo Fan?" Lan Feng's voice cut in gently. "Is something wrong?"
I raised a finger to my lips, signaling him to stay quiet. Rising to my feet, I reached for my bamboo stick from where it leaned near the door. I moved carefully, peering through the thin crack in the frame. The darkness beyond the doorway was thick and oppressive, cloaking the yard in a silence that felt… watched.
"It's too dark to see anything," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
"What do you think it is?" Lan Feng asked from behind me, his voice tense.
I couldn't answer honestly. If I was right, this was one of the Breeder's creatures, stalking its prey with eerie precision. There wasn't time to explain.
I extended two fingers through the crack in the door and released a pulse of light energy. It surged outward in a sweeping arc, briefly illuminating the front yard in a cool, white glow.
And that's when I saw it.
The creature stood several steps away, half-concealed behind the trunk of a tree. A hideous amalgamation of animals, it resembled a leopard, its lithe, muscular frame marked by patches of mottled fur. From its head protruded a single curved horn, glistening with a sharp edge that promised brutality. But most horrifying were its tails—three serpent-like appendages, writhing and hissing as they snapped in the air, each tipped with venomous fangs that dripped with toxic fluid. Its orange eyes glowed with an unnatural intelligence, gleaming like molten gold as it stared directly at the door, as though it knew I was watching.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
"What is it?" he asked anxiously.
"Stay behind me," I whispered, clutching the bamboo stick tightly.
The beast crept forward, its movements soundless, almost elegant. It wasn't mindless. It was calculating. When the light began to fade, I saw it move—shifting to the right, slinking around the house. My blood ran cold when I realized its intent—it was heading for the window.
"Lan Feng!" I hissed, whirling around just as he leaned near the paper screen to look outside.
I lunged and caught his wrist, dragging him back behind me. "It's coming in," I warned, my voice sharp.
The words had barely left my mouth when the window exploded.
A massive shape burst through the fragile frame, wood and paper flying like shrapnel. But I was faster. I surged a blast of wind forward, slamming into the beast mid-air and hurling it backward through the opening. It crashed to the ground outside with a heavy, snarling thud.
The window lay in ruins, but the beast was far from finished. Its serpentine tails lashed the air with violent purpose, venom hissing as it struck the wooden frame, sizzling on contact. It crouched low, muscles coiled, preparing for another attack.
I threw a glance at Lan Feng—he stood frozen, eyes wide, shimmering with fear.
"Stay here," I ordered. "I'll face it outside."
"But, ge—Luo Fan," he corrected, voice shaking, "that thing's too big. You can't take it alone."
"I know," I said, keeping my gaze fixed on the beast. "But it won't stop until it reaches us. If I can draw it away, you'll be safer. Barricade the door and windows. No matter what—don't come out."
His lips parted, as if to argue, but my voice left no room for doubt. He nodded—just barely. "Be careful," he whispered, the sound scarcely more than a breath.
I vaulted through the shattered window, landing softly in the yard. The lanternlight from inside spilled faintly through the broken frame, casting uneven bands of gold across the darkness—just enough to make out movement.
A pair of molten-orange eyes locked onto me instantly.
The creature snarled, its lips peeling back to reveal jagged, yellowed teeth.
With a guttural roar, it lunged.
I spun aside, swinging my bamboo staff hard at its flank. The strike grazed fur, but it was fast—inhumanly fast. It twisted mid-air, landing with unnatural grace, then whipped around again. Its speed was dizzying, a seamless blend of feline agility and serpentine unpredictability.
Every strike I landed barely slowed it. Its eyes—those hellish orange eyes—kept flicking past me, toward the house.
It wasn't focused on me.
It wanted Lan Feng.
Realization struck a heartbeat too late. The beast abruptly veered sideways and launched itself at the house.
"No!" I shouted, chasing after it.
Its body crashed into the wooden wall with a deafening crack. The structure splintered under the impact as if made of reeds. I surged forward and dove through the hole just as debris rained down around us.
Inside, chaos had erupted.
Wood and dust choked the air. The room was shattered. And there, backed into a corner, stood Lan Feng. His robes were torn at the shoulder, and in his hand, he held a broken chair leg like a makeshift weapon. His face was pale, but his stance held.
The beast snarled and leapt.
Lan Feng flinched, frozen.
I surged between them and brought the staff down with all my strength. The blow cracked against the monster's snout, forcing a shriek from its throat. It reeled, stumbling back, but didn't retreat. Its tails coiled and hissed, venom still dripping.
"Stay behind me!" I shouted, planting my feet.
The creature charged again.
I spun, sweeping low. The staff connected with one of the tails and slammed it into the floor. The snake screeched. The monster retaliated, its horned head swinging upward in a brutal arc.
Pain exploded in my ribs as it struck.
My body flew across the room, crashing against the far wall. The breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp. I hit the ground hard, vision blurring.
Through the haze, I saw it turn.
The beast ignored me.
It was moving toward Lan Feng again—slow, stalking, its lips peeled back in a predator's grin. The way its eyes locked onto him, the hunger in them, was unmistakable.
It wasn't just attacking.
It wanted him dead.
Something ancient and vicious lingered in its gaze—a grudge not born of instinct, but of purpose.
I couldn't let this continue. The house was too confined—too dangerous. The risk to Lan Feng was growing by the second. Seizing his arm, I pulled him urgently toward the shattered window.
"We have to get outside."
He didn't argue. Together, we leapt through the jagged opening just as the beast barreled through what remained of the wall behind us. Its massive body slammed into the frame with a thunderous crash, eyes gleaming with relentless hunger.
Outside, the open space gave me more room to maneuver, but it also left Lan Feng exposed.
I spun and shoved him against the trunk of the nearest tree. "Stay right here!" I barked. The bark would guard his back. I would guard the rest.
My stance was defensive, limiting my movement—but it kept Lan Feng out of reach. Every time the creature lunged at him, I was there—my bamboo stick intercepting its claws, deflecting its horn, battering away its snapping serpent tails.
The fight dragged on. Sweat blurred my vision. My arms trembled from the effort. The beast snarled in mounting frustration, its patience wearing thin. Then it changed tactics—turning its full fury on me.
It pounced with a guttural roar, claws slicing through the air, its twisted horn flashing like a blade. I dropped low, pivoted sharply, and brought the staff upward in a clean, practiced arc. The tip struck its throat dead on.
A gurgling snarl escaped it as it reeled backward, thick, dark blood pouring from the wound like oil. Its tails thrashed wildly, striking the earth in a frenzy. Then, with one final hiss, the creature turned and vanished into the forest's shadows.
I didn't chase it.
I turned to Lan Feng—and caught him just as he collapsed into my arms.
"Lan Feng!" I cried, lowering him carefully to the grass.
His face was pale as snow, his breaths faint and uneven. Panic surged through me. I pulled him close—and my hand came away slick and warm.
Blood.
I found the wound quickly—deep, jagged gashes tore across his arm. During the chaos inside, the beast must've struck him.
He was bleeding out.
I tore a strip from my sleeve and wrapped it tightly around the injury, pressing down hard. He groaned softly, his head falling against my shoulder, his body trembling.
"It's alright," I whispered, my voice shaking as I fought to stay calm. "It's not serious. I've got you. I'll take care of it."
I should have gone after the beast. I should have ended it, but I couldn't leave Lan Feng defenseless. His life was more important than chasing a wounded monster.