As they moved deeper into the forest, the darkness thickened like a living thing.
His disciples glanced around with quiet worry and thoughtfulness, while Wangji moved without any of it. He knew he could handle things—especially if the topic somehow crossed with Wei Ying. Bringing him back was the only fuel he needed, the only purpose that had kept him breathing through the years of silence.
The crickets sang sharply into the forest, making their ears throb in the unnatural stillness. Nobody spoke for a long while. Thick fog covered the forest like a haunted blanket, swallowing the path ahead.
The forest itself gave a chilling feel, as if something was counting seconds before attacking.
Wangji felt it too.
When the others behind him froze at the sound of bushes rustling—as if any creature or human had run by with a solid shadow—he paused and turned slightly, looking at his side from the corner of his golden eyes. They had regained their sharpness and professionalism.
"Gōngzǐ, should we attack?" One Lan stepped closer and whispered to Wangji while the others stood tense, weapons ready.
Another pair of Lan disciples moved closer to him. "Gōngzǐ, we do not see the group you sent ahead."
"We may have lost their trail," the other one added.
Wangji listened, feeling the situation turning into something everyone had feared. But he knew his brother was nothing less than formidable against their enemies. He did not move an inch, still observing as if someone or something was circling them. The footsteps were different—heavy, slow, careful, and deliberate. A few echoed together, rushing as if their legs were broken.
'Surely some well-made puppets.'
But when he spoke, his voice was quiet, composed, and full of confidence—mixed with a belief he rarely allowed himself. "Focus ahead. The fog is just extremely thick. It is to be expected."
His hand tightened around Bichen's hilt as they walked again.
The Lan disciples exchanged glances before slowly following him—there was no other way out.
'The corpses focus on sounds. If they do not attack us when we are silent, it is better to investigate first before causing any chaos while the group is not complete.'
Wangji looked up. The trees stood tall, reaching toward a dark sky. Birds called out, returning to their homes. But there was an owl's cry too—one that was not natural.
The sound made everyone pause once more and look up. A shadow owl flew above their heads like a small nightmare circling.
The owl of the Wen clan.
'Unpredictable. They still do not stop—even after everything.' Wangji glared at the owl as it flew past.
The memories were clear. Those owls only appeared when the Yin Iron was near, when puppets were moving, and when the Wen heir was watching. He remembered that fierce fight with the owl and chains once, when Wei Ying was still alive in this very forest. The memory felt both bitter and tender.
Just like before—almost driven by old memories like a moth to flame—he pressed harder on Bichen, and it lunged toward the large tree where the owl had hidden like a terrible player of hide and seek.
The tree shook violently. His sword returned to him. The owl cried out, forced to show itself. As it screamed, he thought he heard his lost group crying out in panic and anger, along with the sounds of swords.
Everyone gasped, stiffening.
The whole time it had been silent—now it was visible like broken glass.
'So they have increased its powers to hide truth behind it too.'
He knew the owl would follow him again for the piece of Yin Iron that was Wei Ying's—the one his clan had managed to rescue. It might also target Xichen, since Wangji had received punishments before, but his brother had remained safe and trusted to guard the element and find the other piece lost the same day Wei Ying died.
"Gōngzǐ," one Lan called, determined, silently asking for permission.
Wangji nodded once. The two patches—one the flesh for Wei Ying and the other the Yin Iron—remained perfectly hidden beneath his robes.
'Apologies for keeping it with myself again.'
He had exchanged the real Yin Iron with a fake one to the one Xichen had, because he was ready to take all risks for the sake of his duty and to fix the mistakes he had made.
"Would you come with us, Gōngzǐ?" the Lan asked.
"I can handle myself. Just help them and capture the corpses as planned. I will handle the Wens and stop the attacks from here." Wangji's voice was final.
The others swallowed hard before bowing and leaving. The Lan disciples who had silently suspected Wangji shared a faint glance before joining the others.
Wangji was left alone. But no worry properly settled in him. The rest would be easier after training himself for so long.
He moved toward where the owl had gone, deeper into the fog. The familiar, unfamiliar chains lunged at him like that exact day—but now he worked alone.
He dodged each one and never stopped. He had decided to end the problem right here and now.
Until—
That familiar, ugly flute playing came out of nowhere. The same way Wei Ying used to play.
'What?'
For a second, he was caught off guard. The flute was played exactly as Wei Ying's had been—he knew every press, every note Wei Ying had ever used. That same demonic melody.
He knew Wei Ying's body was still not fully developed, which was why he needed the flesh. But he could not ignore the fact that it felt too close to home.
'Probably a trick to offend. I will not fall.'
Then suddenly, a figure in red-black lunged toward him—its mouth covered, a sword aimed at his throat.
Wangji immediately moved back, the wind carrying him away from the blade.
But the figure was the one playing the flute, which it had placed at its waist belt. Strangely, it did not even properly attack him.
It just tilted its head—as if smirking beneath the mask.
'What is it up to? Is someone behind me?'
Before he could think of the next move or turn around, a chain wrapped around his neck.
His breath caught. His eyes widened. He gripped it, trying to loosen it just enough to breathe. He could not believe how fast it had happened—even after all his training.
But the chain pulled him back somewhere into the forest, and he disappeared as if he had never been there.
His Bichen lay forgotten on the ground. The unknown figure picked it up, looked at it, then stared at the empty space where Wangji had vanished.