Wenyan's blade shook in his hand—not from weakness, but from the weight of restraint. Every part of him screamed to end it now, to silence Xian Lu before more pain spilled into their lives. But something in the way Xian Lu parried, in the flicker of sorrow behind his smug grin, made him hesitate.
Steel clanged again. A crescent moon peeked through the canopy above, washing the clearing in silver light. Breathless, Wenyan fell back a step, sweat darkening the collar of his robes. Lianfang had not left Baoqin's side, her dagger poised and eyes sharp as arrows.
"You still don't understand," Xian Lu rasped, lowering his sword slightly. "This isn't about vengeance. It never was."
Wenyan frowned. "Then why the games? Why threaten a child?"
Xian Lu glanced at Baoqin, and for the briefest of moments, something softened in his expression—something that twisted Wenyan's gut.
"I once swore to protect what your father believed in," Xian Lu said. "I followed him into darkness, through blood and betrayal. When he fled… he left us behind. Left me behind. And now I see that the key didn't die with him. He hid it… in her."
Lianfang's fingers twitched at her dagger's hilt. "Baoqin is not a key. She's a child."
"She's more than that," Xian Lu whispered, the fervor in his eyes dimming to grief. "That girl's blood carries the last seal of the Celestial Order. Your father… He passed it into her veins."
Baoqin clung tighter to Lianfang's robes, burying her face. Wenyan's heart clenched. A child—caught in a war she had no part in creating. A legacy no one had prepared her for.
"You speak in riddles," Wenyan said, his voice strained. "If you want to honor my father's memory, walk away."
Xian Lu let out a dry chuckle. "You think I can? I've lived in exile for fifteen years, marked as a traitor. I lost my name, my family… because I followed your father. The Order thinks I died with him. But I didn't. I became their shadow."
Lianfang's eyes narrowed. "You came here to kill her, didn't you? To prevent whatever the Order still fears."
"No," Xian Lu said softly, stepping back, sword now pointed at the ground. "I came here to see. To know if the stories were true. And now… I've seen enough."
He turned slightly, but Wenyan raised his blade again. "You're not going anywhere."
"I'm not your enemy, Wenyan," Xian Lu said. "But the people who will come for her—they won't speak first. They won't give warnings. They will kill everyone in their way."
Silence stretched, thick as smoke. Then, Baoqin's small voice broke through.
"Is my blood… bad?"
The three adults froze. Lianfang dropped to one knee and took the girl's face in both hands.
"No," she said fiercely. "You're not bad. You're just… special. And people fear what they don't understand."
Baoqin blinked, a tear escaping. "But he said I'm the key to something."
"You're the key to your own future," Wenyan said, lowering his sword slowly. "That's all that matters."
Xian Lu gave one final glance to the girl. "Hide her well. Don't waste the time I've bought you."
He turned, fading into the trees as silently as he had come. No fight, no death—only a warning, and the sense that the forest had swallowed one more ghost of the past.
Lianfang stood slowly. "He's right, isn't he?"
Wenyan nodded. "Yes. More will come."
She looked at him. "So what now?"
"We run," he said, turning toward the road. "But we don't hide. We prepare."
And behind them, Baoqin wiped her eyes and followed—not a child broken, but one slowly stepping into a destiny written in shadow and flame.